The Borrower Uso - Finale
Fernando leaned back in his chair, eyes locked on the dining table like if he blinked, the entire situation would disappear.
It did not.
Because right there,next to his daughter’s plate, five miniature grown men and one very important looking bald man were absolutely demolishing a piece of chicken and a single green bean like it was a five-course meal.
Ryan didn’t even question it, she just smiled softly and started eating, comfort settling into her shoulders like this meal alone could reset her entire day.
Julie finally sat down beside Fernando, folding her hands in her lap.
Fernando was still staring.
Unblinking.
Unmoving.
Meanwhile Jey had climbed onto the chicken like it was a mountain.
Jimmy was tearing pieces off like a feral raccoon.
Sami was narrating the experience.
Solo ate in silence, efficient and focused.
Roman took controlled bites like he was still in charge of something.
Paul dabbed his mouth with a microscopic napkin like he was at a gala.
Julie glanced over.
“Honey… you’re staring.”
Fernando didn’t look away.
“I’m trying to see if I’m still high.”
Ryan choked on her bite, coughing into her hand.
“I PROMISE YOU’RE NOT,” she said between laughs.
Jimmy pointed at Fernando. “He’s valid though.”
Sami nodded. “I’d be questioning reality too.”
Fernando leaned forward slowly, elbows on the table, eyes narrowing at them.
“…Do they pay rent?”
Ryan blinked. “Dad—”
Jey raised a hand. “We contribute emotionally.”
Roman added, “And strategically.”
Paul nodded. “And financially, if necessary.”
Julie hummed thoughtfully. “Well… they’re polite.”
Fernando leaned back again, processing that.
“…Okay.”
A moment passed.
Then… as if summoned emotionally, Nova.
Her head popped up beside the table, nose twitching.
All six miniature men froze mid-bite.
Jimmy whispered, “Not her again.”
Nova’s eyes locked onto them.
Her tail started wagging.
Ryan slammed her hand lightly on the table. “Nova—no.”
Nova sat.
But she did not look away.
Fernando watched the entire interaction slowly unfold.
Then looked at his wife.
Then at his daughter.
Then back at the tiny men eating chicken like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“…So we’re just doing this now?”
Ryan shook her head quickly, waving her fork like she could physically push the conversation away.
“No, Dad—they only have about four hours left.”
Fernando blinked. “Four hours?”
Jey, mid-bite of chicken, pointed with the skin like it was evidence in court.
“We gotta figure out what’s wrong with your daughter, sir!”
“Jey!” Jimmy snapped.
Fernando’s head turned slowly toward Ryan.
“What’s wrong with you, Ryanna?”
Ryan straightened in her chair immediately. “Nothing!”
Sami popped up, a piece of green bean halfway hanging out of his mouth.
“She fainted, sir!”
Ryan’s eyes widened. “SAMI—”
Fernando leaned forward. “When did you faint?!”
“A long time ago!” Ryan said quickly.
Julie’s fork froze midair.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I did!” Ryan insisted. “I said I got tired at work!”
Fernando shook his head, “Being tired and fainting are two different things.”
Ryan crossed her arms. “No, they’re the same.”
Jimmy pointed at her. “Ryan, be for real!”
Then, without missing a beat, he turned politely to Julie.
“By the way, Ms. Julie, this is really good chicken.”
Julie smiled warmly. “Thank you, baby. I use the air fryer Ryan brought me.”
Paul nodded approvingly. “Excellent crisp.”
Solo added quietly, “Very balanced seasoning.”
Roman chewed thoughtfully, then gave a single nod of respect.
Fernando was not moved.
He looked at his daughter again, softer this time but no less serious.
“You passed out… and thought that was just being tired?”
Ryan shifted in her seat, eyes dropping to her plate.
“I was working,” she muttered. “I didn’t have time to think about it.”
Julie reached over and placed her hand gently over Ryan’s.
“You always have time to take care of yourself.”
Ryan didn’t respond.
Jey hopped closer on the table.
“See what we mean?”
Sami nodded. “You’re running yourself into the ground and calling it normal.”
Ryan exhaled sharply. “Can we not do this right now?”
Fernando leaned back in his chair, studying her.
“…We’re doing it now,” he said.
Ryan lifted her glass, the ice clinking faintly as she took a long sip of sweet tea like it might anchor her back into herself.
Fernando watched her carefully.
“We’ve always taught you that it’s okay to stop and touch grass every now and then.”
Ryan nodded. “I know.”
“We always said work first, play later when you can… but not like this. Not to the point where you run yourself into the ground. You saw how your mother was at her last job… losing weight, hair falling out.”
Julie reached over, placing her hand over his, calming him before his blood pressure could rise.
Fernando exhaled, softer now.
“Am I being too hard on you? Is that what it is?”
Ryan shook her head quickly. “No!”
“Then why,” Fernando pressed, “do you keep dealing with all this mental health stuff? You know I don’t understand all of it, but you also know I try.”
The room stilled.
Jey suddenly stood up on the table, waving his arms.
“Fernando! Sir! Ryan’s dad—father—Darth Vader, I don’t know what to call you, but you seem like you do very well.”
Fernando blinked at him. “…You’re the one Ryan loves.”
Jey puffed his chest a little. “Yes, the women love me very much—”
Paul pinched the bridge of his nose. “Get to the point, Joshua.”
Jey looked back at Ryan, then at her parents.
“Maybe the problem isn’t that Ryan doesn’t know when to slow down.”
Ryan’s eyes lifted, locking onto him.
Jey’s voice shifted, something more grounded settling into it.
“I think the problem is… Ryan doesn’t want to be alone.”
Julie’s gaze softened immediately as she turned to her daughter.
“Mija… is that true?”
Ryan’s throat tightened.
Fernando leaned forward, brows pulling together.
“…Is it because we’re getting old?”
That did it.
Ryan’s composure cracked completely.
Her shoulders shook as tears spilled over, her voice breaking through the room.
“Ricky moved out with his girlfriend!” she cried. “What happens when you two pass away?!”
Her parents froze.
Ryan wiped at her face but it didn’t stop.
“I can’t always rely on wrestling,” she said, voice trembling against the tears. “What’s the point of watching something when there’s no one to watch it with?!”
Real silence followed this time.
Ryan pushed her chair back abruptly, the legs scraping against the floor.
She didn’t look at anyone again.
She just turned and ran.
Down the hallway.
Into her room.
Fernando’s jaw tightened, his eyes fixed on the tiny men scattered across his dining table.
“You made my daughter cry.”
Jey froze mid-step. “Oh shit.”
“Fernando,” Julie said gently, placing a hand on his arm. “Please… let the tiny man talk.”
Roman stepped forward, composed, unbothered by the tension.
“Darth Vader, sir—if I may—Jey is… incredibly stupid at times.”
“Hey!” Jey snapped.
“Not now,” Roman said without looking at him. “But he is not wrong. You have to understand something. You want to live forever for her—but that’s not physically possible.”
Fernando leaned back slightly, eyebrows raised.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say anything is physically impossible,” he said dryly. “Because right now I have a one-inch Samoan professional wrestler standing on my expensive dining table, eating my wife’s cooking, and trying to reason with me.”
Sami raised a hand. “He has a point.”
Fernando pointed at him. “Can it, Canadian.”
Paul stepped forward this time.
“Mr. Fernando… your daughter is not just overworking. She is avoiding.”
The room quieted.
“She overworks because she doesn’t want to sit with reality. She is getting older. Her world is shifting. And she does not know how to exist in it without you.”
Fernando’s expression softened slightly.
Paul continued.
“Has she always been attached to you two like this?”
Julie nodded immediately.
“Even when she moved out, she made it a point to come see us three times a week.”
Jimmy crossed his arms. “That’s not normal attachment. That’s love.”
Julie smiled faintly, but her eyes were distant now, as if somewhere else pulled her.
“When we were younger… I had to work three jobs. My husband too.”
Fernando nodded slowly.
“Ryan took on most of the motherly duties,” Julie continued. “She practically raised her brother.”
The Bloodline went still.
“We were poor. But we were saving. Trying to move to a better neighborhood. Put her in sports. Get her nice clothes… shoes she didn’t have to worry about wearing out.” Fernando added.
Julie shook her head.
“We didn’t grow up like she did.”
Fernando let out a quiet breath.
“There were nights I slept on the street because I didn’t have anywhere to go.”
“I bounced around between my cousins’ houses. And when I met my husband… we were all each other had.” Julie added.
Roman looked between them.
Then spoke, quieter than before.
“So she learned early… that family is everything.”
Paul nodded. “And now she believes that when that goes… she has nothing.”
Jimmy exhaled. “That’s why she’s scared.”
Sami added softly, “She’s not afraid of being alone… she’s afraid of losing this.”
Jey planted his tiny hands on Fernando’s dining table like a man about to pitch a life-changing idea.
“Can we use your computer, Darth Vader?”
Fernando blinked. “…Why?”
Jey glanced back at Julie, then at Roman, then back to Fernando.
“We’d like you to type something to your daughter.”
—-
Ryan didn’t realize when the crying stopped.
Or when the thoughts finally quieted.
Or when exhaustion pulled her under.
She had curled into herself on her bed, face buried in her pillow, Nova eventually climbing up beside her like a heavy, breathing shield.
And she slept.
Deep.
Still.
Until..
Lick.
Ryan groaned.
Another one.
“Nova…” she mumbled, trying to turn away.
Nova was persistent.
Ryan blinked awake slowly, vision blurry, face sticky with dried tears.
“…okay I’m up.”
She pushed herself up on her elbows.
And that’s when she saw them.
The Bloodline.
Paul.
Standing in a line on her bed like they were presenting something important.
In their hands was a piece of paper.
Massive compared to them.
Ryan rubbed her face, still waking up.
“…Guys, how much time is left?”
Paul shook his head. “Don’t worry about that.”
Jey stepped forward.
“Read this.”
Ryan hesitated.
Then reached out and took the paper carefully between her fingers.
She unfolded it.
Mija, We are not the best with saying things out loud, especially when it comes to emotions. You know your father, he shows love through action more than words. And you know me, I try to soften things, but sometimes even I don’t say enough. So we are writing this to you, because you deserve to hear it clearly.
You are not alone.
Not now. Not later. Not ever.
We know you are scared. We heard you tonight. And it broke our hearts to realize how much you’ve been carrying without telling us the full truth. You have always been strong for everyone, even when you were just a little girl. You stepped into roles that were never meant for you at that age, and you did it without complaint. You helped raise your brother, you helped hold this house together, and you never once made us feel like we were failing you.
But mija, you were just a child.
And somewhere along the way, you learned that love meant responsibility. That being loved meant being useful. That rest had to be earned. That if you stopped, everything would fall apart.
That was never what we wanted for you.
We worked hard so that you would never have to feel what we felt growing up. Your father slept outside so you could sleep safely. I worked until my body hurt so you could have stability. We sacrificed because we wanted you to have freedom, not pressure.
You were never supposed to carry us.
We were supposed to carry you.
And even now, we still do.
We see how hard you work. We see how much you give. We see how deeply you care for your clients, your coworkers, your friends, your readers. We see the way you pour into everyone around you, even when you are empty.
But what hurts us is knowing that you don’t give that same care to yourself.
You think you have to earn rest. You think you have to be perfect. You think if you slow down, you will lose everything.
That is not true.
Nothing you have built in this life is that fragile.
And more importantly, your worth is not tied to how much you do.
It is tied to who you are.
And who you are is more than enough.
We are not going anywhere anytime soon. And even when the day comes that we are no longer here physically, you will not suddenly become alone. Because we have raised you in a way that connects you to people. You have built relationships. You have created community. You have people who love you, even if it doesn’t always look the way you expect it to.
And we need you to understand something very important. You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to say no. You are allowed to choose yourself.
That does not make you selfish.
That makes you healthy.
And we want you here. We want you safe. We want you happy. Not just productive.
Not just dependable.
Not just strong.
Happy.
And one more thing. Your little… friends.
They are loud.
They are chaotic.
They eat like they have never seen food before.
But they care about you.
We saw it in the way they spoke about you. In the way they stood up for you. In the way they tried to understand you.
And we are grateful to them.
Because sometimes it takes outsiders to say what family cannot see clearly.
So thank you, little men.
For reminding our daughter that she deserves care too.
Mija, you are not behind in life.
You are not missing something.
You are just tired.
And tired people need rest.
Not pressure.
Not fear.
Rest.
So when you’re come sit with us. Eat with us. Watch something with us. You don’t have to perform here. You don’t have to earn anything here. You are already loved here. Always have been. Always will be.
Love,
Mom and Dad plus the weird little Bloodline.
Ryan didn’t realize she was crying again until a tear hit the paper.
Then another.
Her hands trembled slightly as she held it.
The room was quiet.
Even Nova sat still beside her.
Jey stepped forward, softer than he had ever been.
“…You’re not alone, Ryan.”
Pink glitter shimmered around the tiny men like someone had popped a bubble of confetti mid-air. It spiraled up from their feet, catching the light in little sparks, swirling faster, brighter, until each of them looked less like action figures and more like candle flames about to blow out.
Ryan’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit—what’s happening?”
Jey glanced at his glowing fingertips and grinned. “Pretty sure we’re going home!”
“Wait!” Ryan leaned forward, both hands out as if she could catch them. “What if you don’t remember me?”
“We will!” Jey promised, though even he sounded a little unsure.
“How can I be so sure?”
Roman planted his tiny fists on his glowing hips, the swirl of glitter already climbing his torso. “Write us.”
Paul straightened his jacket with theatrical flair. “Yes, Ryan—write us! That’s how we’ll remember. Stories stick.”
“But what if—”
Solo cut her off, stoic even as the light wrapped around his shoulders. “You can’t live in what-ifs, Ryan. You keep on keepin’ on.”
Ryan’s throat tightened. “I’ll never forget you guys.”
Sami flashed a gentle smile, half green-bean still on his shirtfront. “Good luck with everything, Ryan.”
The glitter reached their chests of tiny stars shooting past their ears. Jimmy gave a final thumbs-up; Paul bowed; Jey blew her a ridiculous kiss; Roman offered a single nod of respect; Solo simply closed his eyes; Sami mouthed thank you.
Then, like someone snapped off a lamp, poof.
The glitter collapsed into a bright pulse and was gone.
The bed was empty.
No footprints in the comforter.
No crumbs of chicken.
Just Ryan, Nova curled against her side, and a faint shimmer in the air that drifted down like dust, catching the afternoon sun.
Ryan exhaled, a shaky, stunned breath and smiled through new tears.
“I’m not alone,” she whispered to the quiet room.
—
Night hung over the Orlando compound, moonlight pooling across the kitchen tile where five full-size men and one advocate popped back into existence exactly where they had vanished that afternoon, shoulders still braced for flight.
The breakfast spread was gone, lights were switched off, and crickets were chirping outside the patio screen. They blinked at one another, taking silent roll call, then at the empty countertop.
Rhea entered from the hallway, hair pulled into a loose ponytail, baby monitor clipped to the waistband of her sweatpants. She paused when she saw everyone clustered in a tight semicircle like kids who had stayed out past curfew.
“When did you lot get home?” She crossed her arms but her mouth curved in amusement.
Jey recovered first. “Just a few minutes ago, babe.”
“I finished putting the triplets down,” she said, keeping her voice at a hush level for the monitor’s sake. “Are you hungry? I can order pizza. Or I have chicken thighs and green beans in the fridge.”
Sami stepped forward, clearing his throat. “Actually, we will cook tonight.”
Solo nodded once, already moving toward the refrigerator. “We have a recipe in mind.”
Rhea raised an eyebrow. “You look… different. Did something happen?”
Roman shot Jey a warning glance. Jey ignored it, sliding beside his wife and taking her hand.
“Rhea, I need a favor.”
Her eyebrows lifted higher. “What sort of favor?”
Jey’s grin carried mischief and gratitude in equal measure. “A small social media favor. Nothing complicated.”
Paul adjusted his jacket, gaze flicking toward Roman. “You will not regret it, Mrs. Fatu.”
Rhea looked between them, curiosity clearly winning out. “Fine, but if this turns into chaos I am tagging out.”
Jimmy clapped his hands. “No chaos tonight, promise.”
They spent the next hour in companionable busyness. Solo seasoned the chicken with measured precision, Sami trimmed green beans, Jimmy set the table, Paul folded linen napkins with the meticulous care of an event planner, Roman stirred a pot of rice with exact circles, and Jey talked Rhea through an explanation she only half understood about how following a certain Tumblr writer and adding a few clicks on X would brighten someone’s entire year. Rhea chuckled, rolled her eyes, and did exactly what he asked.
Rhea tasted the finished dish first. “This is better than mine,” she admitted, giving Solo a small round of applause. “I am officially replaced.”
Roman poured sweet tea for everyone and raised his glass. “To a mission completed.”
—
Morning arrived three states away with a burst of sun through worn blinds. Ryan stirred at the first beep of her alarm, sat up, and realized her cheeks felt stiff from dried tears. She expected heaviness in her chest, yet there was only a quick skip of possibility. She reached for her phone and tapped the screen to silence the alarm, then froze.
A notification banner filled half the display.
@RheaRipley_WWE, @WWERomanReigns, @SamiZayn, @WWEUsos, @HeymanHustle are now following you on X.
A second line waited beneath.
@SoloSikoa is now following you on Instagram.
Her breath stalled. She scrolled down. Comment after comment filled her timeline, her phone buzzing in her hand.
@spiicii : girl you just won the lottery
@lovelyjay45 : teach me your ways queen
@darkandlight00 : the Bloodline plus Mami on the same follow list, I am deceased
@xnightmarexpunkx : Ask solo if he’s single now!
@4yourheartonly: wait so Jhea really is real?!?
@foodislife42-blog : I’d die if Paul Heyman ever followed me.
Ryan pressed a hand to her mouth. A laugh escaped anyway.
She opened X, thumbs flying, heart beating too quickly to count. A blank post box waited. She tapped into it and words flowed like they had been waiting all night behind a closed gate.
I have a crackfic dropping that will make you laugh AND cry, coming tonight after work. Title, The Borrower Uso. Inspired by the movie The Borrowers, with some extra magic sprinkles. Stay tuned💜.
She added a row of hashtags, hit post, and watched the reblogs start before she could even back out of the screen.
Her phone vibrated again. A direct message from @HeymanHustle.
Looking forward to your next literary triumph.
She giggled, hardly daring to believe the blue checkmark was real.
Nova barked at the door, tail slapping against the frame. Ryan moved to let her in, laughing when the pitbull bounded onto the bed and pressed a wet nose under her chin. “We have famous followers now, Nova,” she whispered into soft gray fur, careful to avoid the old anxiety words that used to trip her up.
The hallway creaked. Her mom called out. “Mija, breakfast is ready if you want to eat before work.”
Ryan glanced at the time. Early. Plenty of minutes to spare. For once she did not feel guilty taking them. She set the phone down, scratched Nova behind the ears, and stood. In the mirror beside her dresser, her reflection looked the same, yet everything felt already a few shades brighter.
She reached for her planner. On today’s page she wrote three lines.
Take mandatory lunch.
Finger painting signup, try again.
Rest is allowed.
She tucked the pen behind her ear, opened the bedroom door, and walked toward the kitchen with Nova trotting at her heels, ready to face a day that did not feel like something to survive but something to meet.
Behind her, her phone pinged with one last notification.
@WWEUsos just liked your post.
Ryan smiled without turning back, humming the opening chords of a song about unwritten pages as she joined the smell of eggs and coffee and the sound of her parents talking over morning news.
