Millicent had all but forgotten about the holiday. Ever since her mother had shown up in Azkaban on Wednesday, she hadn't known what to do with herself. She'd spent an uncharacteristically small amount of time in Azkaban, as little as she could get away with, and she'd been more irritable and volatile than usual while she was there, where usually the prison was one of the few places she genuinely enjoyed being. The rest of her time she'd spent at home, not wanting to leave her flat, not wanting to discover what her father was up to this time.
It had been her father who had gotten her mother imprisoned, she'd seen it in the logs. Thankfully the why wasn't in the logs - rather, the fact that she had actually been his wife and Millicent's mother wasn't in there - but that didn't make Millicent feel any better. What the hell was she supposed to do with this new development? She felt like she was constantly looking over her shoulder; she felt like she'd been living with the weight of her mother's presence there for ages, not just a few days.
Which was why, when the knock on the door came, she wasn't exactly eager to open it. She peeked out the window first, and relaxed slightly when she saw Bayleigh; at least she didn't have to worry about Bayleigh being a part of her father's plan. But what would Bayleigh think of what was bothering her now? Her mother, a Muggle - not even a Muggleborn, just a Muggle, no magic at all - not even her stepmother knew that, she didn't think.
But Bayleigh would be disappointed if she didn't open the door, and the younger woman was surprisingly tolerant of Millicent's mood despite the way she always seemed to be smiling. So, begrudgingly, Millicent opened the door, unable to do much about the frown creasing her forehead, even though it had nothing to do with Bayleigh's presence. "Hi," she said, though even the pleasantness of that one syllable felt insincere.