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Chapter Text

My Dearest Meredith,

In another lifetime you'd have heard it from me years ago. You would know it was true with every beat of your heart. Every inch of your skin would know it. I’d have given you everything. In another lifetime repression and cowardice wouldn’t have run in my blood, and I’d have told the world from the beginning. About who I am, the way I love. About the way you made me feel. In another lifetime maybe, just maybe, it could have been us.

But there isn't another lifetime. There is only this one.
And everyday I feel more and more that it was wasted on me.

I remember seeing your body devoid of life, the day that you died. I remember how pale you were, true paper white, like your soul had been pulled right out of you and taken by the tides that had fought to claim you. Even in death you were angelic. Even as your soul drifted and tried to drag you with it, still you felt like the most authentic person I’d ever met. You always were. You were fresh air in a sea of faces all trying to be someone they weren't. You were just you. Though flawed and hurting, you were you. Still standing despite your pain, the weight of the world and a thousand expectations on your shoulders couldn't stop the way you would float into peoples orbits, changing them forever. You challenged me Meredith. You infuriated me, occupied so much of my mind with what I thought for so long was jealousy, you drove me to madness. But there amongst my madness was this inexplicable truth. I was feeling again. The first time in a long time, truly feeling. Feeling broke me open, forcing me to stand face to face with all I had suppressed. You have that effect on people, Mer. You always carried this sort of magic around you. I swear Meredith, you enter a room and the energy changes. You are magnetic. You were everything. You always have been.

And yet still you felt it once, this feeling. The need to leave, the sense of inadequacy that weighed your legs down like lead, sinking you further and further in the depths of the bay. That tide, the icy water claiming you. Every time you'd been kicked down further by the ones who were meant to hold you up ringing in your ears like sirens. You knew where you were, I know it. You knew you were supposed to be fighting.

“She knows how to swim,” he’d said, “she’s a good swimmer.”
And I knew in that moment that me and you? We were not so different after all.

Even then all I wanted was to hold you, and if my body had let me do anything but stare, if I could have willed myself to move closer, say anything, I know I would've. I have this nightmare sometimes, and in it I'm right back there in that moment when I first saw you so close to death. I was walking to you, temporarily paralysed by the sight of you. Then the coldest river rushes down the hallway, breaking down the door, sweeping them all away and leaving only you and me, separated by the current, your bed now unreachable. I wade in, try to fight my way across but it's too strong. I see a woman- she looks just like me but braver- and she catches my eye. Her hands are intertwined with yours, she brings them to her lips, kissing them over and over. She screams across the river at me as the monitors flatline, barely audible across sounds of the rushing water. “It was now or never.” Everytime I wake from it I can't bring myself to think anything other than, “she was right.”

That was the moment, that was the day I should've stepped up. I never so much as reached for your hand and yet I feel it sometimes, when it's dark and I lose myself in the depth of my regrets the way I sometimes do in the early hours. False memories, flashes of that cold lifeless skin, frozen fingers entwined with my own. How did it feel? To be the one frozen? Part of me wonders if it was peaceful, once the fight had left and you were sinking further down, was it quiet? Was it a relief? And when your body was warm and dry and the miracle took place that filled those once frozen lungs with air once more and that magic heart of yours beat so hard in your chest like you'd never been dead at all- did it feel like mercy? A watery salvation? Or did it feel like failure?

Mer, I’m so sorry.

I know you've been abandoned time and time again, as have I, and I know that pain. I’m unsure if you think of me often these days, or ever at all. But if it hurts to lose another then for that I am more sorry than you could ever imagine. I am years late I know, too many years and whether I’ll even send this letter I'm not certain, but I couldn't go without letting the truth, our truth, exist outside of my head even once. Even if just on paper.

Meredith Grey, it was you I wanted to fight for. You I should've stayed for.
You that I loved.

Take care, don't you dare go cold again.

Maybe in our next life,
Addie.

Chapter Text

Conneticut - 2011. Two Months Before.

“Thank you for coming, your support means a lot to the whole family.”

The words had lost their meaning, spoken what felt like hundreds of times across the weekend. She wasn't even sure she had meant them at all to begin with. The emotional whirlwind of the previous weeks had drained her beyond belief, she wasn't sure how she was even standing, and yet she coped the way she always does. With a polished, desperate perfection. She looked perfect, sounded perfect, dripped in confidence and class exactly the way she was raised to. Every word was rehearsed, every moment of her day choreographed, intentional. A facade of waspy emotional detachment.

A normal daughter would feel sad at her mother’s funeral, she knew that, but as she desperately tried to feel something- anything- all she could come up with was irritation. All these people pretending to have known her, to have loved her. It was bullshit. No one had known Bizzy, not really. Not even Addison. The only one who truly had was Susan.

And all the secrets she had kept, all the shame she had instilled in Addison over the years, all of that meant nothing tonight, and as the guests began to slip away, so did the facade. She couldn't break. Not here, not now.

The coldness, the repression, it was familiar territory. This was a mask she was used to wearing. This was comfortable, in its own kind of agonising torturous way. In the walls of this house she had learned to hide, to suppress, to shove all humanity deep down inside, wear the heels and the dresses, smile sweetly, swallow back wine before she could even read the labels on the bottles. Here she’d learnt to keep her expression neutral and her voice indifferent. Never express an opinion outside the norm. Never diverge from what was expected of her. She couldn't undo her mother’s decision, but she could be who she had wanted her to be, just for one weekend she could wear the face of a woman in one piece. She hadn't planned to come back here. Not really, not so soon. This place had shaped her into the woman she had been, and back in this room, the girl inside her just kept screaming.

It felt ironic now, to follow the rules so precisely. To play the role that was expected of her.
God knows Bizzy hadn't.

Addison turned her back on the guests in the sitting room, rolled her eyes at the wall, filled another glass full of whiskey, and composed herself again. Just until they'd left, she could play her part. Make the effort one more time to be somebody her mother would have liked.

The Montgomery Estate- 1979.

“Stop staring, Addison, it's not polite.”

The sharp voice in her ear that snapped Addison out of her trance came from a face that continued to smile even as it criticised.

“Sorry” She whispered, as she chewed the inside of her cheek, forced herself to look down at her hands in her lap instead of at the girl down the far end of the dining table. The house was full tonight, work acquaintances of the captain, their wives, occasionally their children. She had hoped her brother would be here, but Archer, six years older than her, and with the privilege of not being born a girl, often found a way out of these dinners. As usual, she was alone, surrounded by adults talking medical talk she could easily keep up with, but wouldn't dare to join in with. It wasn't her job to be smart tonight. It was her job to be quiet, well behaved, set the scene of a happy family to a crowd who all assumed the same roles, who all knew better but wore the same smiles and forced the same laughs as the rest of them. But tonight at least she wasn't the only girl. The daughter of one of the Captain’s colleagues, she looked about Addison’s age, twelve, thirteen maybe. A glass on the table in front of her too. The same air of forced elegance, blanketing a fiery soul. Blonde hair and a burgundy dress Addison couldn't help but notice her fidgeting uncomfortably with when the adults weren't looking. She’d seen her before, she thought. Around the hospital. They'd never really spoken, but Addison recalled seeing flashes of honey blonde hair disappearing around the corners of the corridors where their fathers offices were. She couldn't help but stare, she didn't know what it was that drew her to her, but there was a pull. Like magnetism, like an enchantment. Just a longing to be her friend, or have a friend at all, she had told herself. She just really, really, wanted to be her friend.

It wasn't polite to stare, she knew. She hadn't needed reminding. But for a brief moment, the girl across the table had met her gaze, smiled at her, a real smile, and that had been worth the scolding. Addison thought maybe it would have been worth anything in the world.

“It wasn't a heart attack. Or an aneurism” Addison laughed morbidly into the bottom of her now empty glass of whiskey. The fifth, sixth of the evening maybe. She wasn't counting. Today was not the kind of day to be sober. The guests had all left, and the two siblings were sitting outside in the grounds, gone to get fresh air, to get out of the stifling atmosphere of the house.

“She killed herself, Archer. She killed herself. And left me to find her body. Just her lifeless body and a stupid fucking note.”

The night air was cold and crisp around them, the only thing keeping them warm was the liquor, and now a silence settled around them that only felt icier.

“What? No… No! That doesn't make any sense. Bizzy? She would never…”

“Yes Archie,” she interrupted, “she would. She did. She couldn't live without Susan. Or, she didn't think she could. And I don't know, I ruined everything. I left her. I left her in the hotel room. Ha! I left a grieving woman with absolutely no emotional regulation skills alone in a hotel room. Who does that? Me, thats who. So. Trust me, she would. If anyone would know, its me, she absolutely-” The empty glass she’d been passing back and forth between her hands slipped, falling to the ground, safely cushioned by the snow. She paused, hiccuping before finishing her sentence. “Would.”

Archer's face had fallen now, pale, drained.
“The note… what did she say?”

“The truth is too embarrassing"

Chapter Text

New York - 2005

“Oh my God”

“Mhm. I know. God, I know.”

“No, I mean, my God. Addie. That was… that was unreal. You’re unreal. You’re perfect.”

Addison smiled. A soft smile, barely there. Barely believing, craving the praise regardless.

"Or so I've been told”

She rolled off of the man in her bed and onto her back as adrenaline coursed through her. The loss of his body heat beneath her was a relief, her skin was flushed red and hot, clammy to the touch. The flannel bedsheets were spilling off of the bed, barely covering her body. She felt exposed, stripped bare in more ways than nudity alone. Like layers of her she would rather keep hidden would peel off like the clothes scattered across the floor if she said too much, thought too much even. A black t-shirt and boxers lay on the floor on her side of the bed, her dark red bra and underwear lost somewhere tangled within the sheets, her dress and his jacket and trousers lost way back somewhere on the stairs. Her red hair was a mess, a little of its natural wave threatening to break through, as if authenticity was trying to leak through the cracks in her facade any way she could find. It was a touch matted at the back, sticking to her forehead just a little. She fanned herself with her hand as her heart pounded loud in her chest and found herself staring up at the ceiling, trying to fathom what had just happened. Trying to make sense of it. Trying to rationalise. She couldn't.

“Mark?” She said, voice small, eyes still fixed on the ceiling light overhead. “You know that this can't mean anything right? I know he's never here and, despite everything I said before, I know how it sounded but…” She trailed off, her voice more herself, more definite.

“But he’s my husband, and I made a commitment. I should honour it.”

“Yeah, you should,” Mark replied solemnly, “You should absolutely honour it” Grinning, he reached for her, pulling her close again. His hands on her hips burned into her, the rarity of being seen, feeling wanted, making her glow. “But must you start to honour it right this moment? You said so yourself, he’s not here. He’s never here. Addie, when was the last time anyone made you feel like this?”

“I suppose you’re right. He’s not here…”

Addison hadn't heard the front door unlock. She hadn't stood a chance. Between the heavy breathing against her neck and the constant rushing in her head, she hadn't heard the sound of the landslide that was headed straight for the life she had so carefully curated. She hadn't heard him call out her name from downstairs, hadn't heard his footsteps on the landing, hadn't heard the creak of the floorboard as he’d stood right there in front of them. She didn't hear him speak either. He hadn't said a word. His silence was haunting. Unsurprising, but colder than his indifference.

“Derek, no. Please don't do this, please, please, I’m sorry. It didn't mean anything, he was just there, it just happened. No, no, not my clothes, what are you doing with my clothes?!”

The rush of cold air as the door was flung open stole the air from her lungs, her voice straining, her screams begging him to say anything at all as he walked away. The armful of her dresses he had been holding were scattered down the porch steps, the pouring rain soaking them through in an instant, distracting her momentarily from the car keys in his hand. As the rain dripped down her neck and her bare feet slipped across the steps, with the last of her voice hoarse and desperate, she called after him.

“Derek! Please! Please listen to me… I just. I didn't mean for this to happen. I just needed to, to see, to find out-”

“To find out what?” He finally yelled, keys clutched in his hand as he headed for the car. “Find out how much of a whore you can possibly be? Just see if you could get my best friend in bed? I can't even look at you Addison. How do you expect me to listen to what you have to say? How can you expect me to hear you out on this?”

Addison sobbed, breath heaving. She deserved that, she knew. “I had to see if it was different. If I could just feel what I’m supposed to feel”

“Because I'm not enough for you?! Because I haven't given you everything you could possibly have needed? Anything you ever wanted?”

“No, Derek. No. I do need you. I only need you. Don't go, you can't go. If you leave now we’ll never make it through this, I don't know how to exist without you. You're my best friend, you're my person. I need you. We’re a team! We said we’d always be a team! Addison and Derek, we don't quit! We can make it through this, but not if you leave now. Derek we won't survive this if you walk away”

“No, Addison. I won't survive this if I stay.”

Chapter Text

Seattle - 2005.

She was younger. Much younger. Petite. Dark blonde hair that fell beneath her collarbone, that he untucked from the collar of her coat like it was a habit. She was a vision, the kind of beautiful that demands something of its witnesses. An aura that stuns you like a tranquillizer. One look and Addison was struck. She’d had a plan originally. Everything was meticulously planned, in her head, in the shower, on the edge of the bed in her hotel room. She’d played it out in her head over and over how this was going to go. How she could apologise, prove she still wanted him. How she would try and put the pieces of her life back together and keep everything exactly the way it was, the way it should be. But one look at them, at her, and she felt something inside her break. She had to pull it together, build those walls around herself that keeps her image safe and her truth far out of sight.        

They looked happy. She watched for a minute, the awareness seeping over her slowly that no matter how she played this, she would be the villain here. This woman before her, laughing and gazing up at Derek like he was home, was about to hate Addison. And something in her was so deeply sad at the thought of it.

She took a deep breath, ran her hands through the curls in her hair, pushed her shoulders back as if fixing her posture could fix all that she had broken, and finally walked towards them, fortress up, all her vulnerability pushed so far down inside that she herself would barely remember it was there, and locking eyes with him, watching the colour drain from his face, she knew what she had to do.

“Hi. I’m Addison Shepherd. And you must be the woman who’s been screwing my husband.”

She had tried to hate her. She really had. But Meredith wasn't just beautiful. She was sweet, kind, competent. She was wise beyond her years, wore this face that said “I don't care”- but you could always tell that really, she did. She was calm under pressure but fiery where it mattered, and when Addison spotted her across the bar she couldn't drag her eyes away. She danced like a woman who carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, who’d been freed from her burdens for just one night, and just one more shot of tequila. She’d never seen anything like it, the way one person could carry so much sadness and yet seem so free. It fascinated her, angered her, drew her in like magnetism. The world seemed to slow down around her, every light in the room seemed to follow her like a spotlight as her hair fanned out around her as she danced, arms flung around Christina’s shoulders. She called it jealousy, the way she was hypnotised every time Meredith moved. Called it jealousy, and buried it deep.

For weeks she stayed that way, admiring from a distance. Knowing she was hated, knowing it wasnt her place to watch.

But she was watching anyway.

Chapter Text

The Montgomery Estate- 1983

Sun poured through the vineyard, its warmth faded but still glowing gold. The vines rustled slightly in the gentle breeze. It wasn't often that Addison really felt at home here, but sometimes the energy shifted. Some days she couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

There was just something about late spring evenings like these, a different sort of magic.

Far from the house she could breathe, let herself be less than polished. Messy even- almost. Almost herself. The rays of low light dappled by the leaves of the grape vines cast flickering shadows across her hands as it illuminated the dark blonde hair tangled around her fingers. Cecilia. Her best friend of four years, her only friend. Louder than life away from the grasp of her family. Fiercely protective, unashamedly honest. A lifeline. Magical.

“I like it better when you're here.” Addison sighed, twisting strands of hair into a braid. “I feel better. Less, y'know."

“Repressed? Stressed? Depressed?”

“Yeah. All of that.”

“I get it.”

“Sometimes I think you're the only one who does. I know we’re supposed to just be grateful and all that but god, sometimes I wish they could just be normal parents”

“What, who love you and actually show it? Yeah, that's not a real thing.”

Cecilia raised her voice a few octaves and plastered on her most exaggerated trans-Atlantic accent.
“This is Connecticut darling. Love is assumed, not displayed. We can't be making a big fuss of you all of the time. However will you grow a backbone?”

“You sounded exactly like your mother. That was scarily accurate.”

“Rude!” Cecilia gasped.“I don't think you've ever sounded like Bizzy a day in your life.”

“Andddd I plan on keeping it that way.”

“Do you think we, like, become them as we age? Or after they die? Is it some kind of paranormal possession where we put them in the ground and just immediately absorb all of their coldness and interest in tableware? Were they always the way they are, or did they just fill the role their parents left for them? Did they choose the wasp life or did the wasp life choose them?”

“Cece, I love you, but I am definitely not drunk enough for this conversation” Addison groaned, rolling her eyes.

Cecilia grinned, uncorked their second bottle of wine with her teeth and passed it back over her shoulder as Addison finished braiding her hair. 

“Well then we better fix that, because I need answers. And I want them before our folks are dead and all we can talk about is whether next door's topiary is vulgar. ”

Hours passed and the two girls stumbled back through the vineyard towards the house, arms linked as the stars above in the clear sky blinked down at them. The air was crisper now, and Addison figured she would be cold if she could bring herself to feel anything but tipsy and content.

“You’re not really going to prom with him are you?” Cecilia asked, a vulnerability in her voice that she'd swallowed down as quickly as she’d realised it was there.

“God I don't know, I don't even really want to go. But if I have to, then yeah I suppose. Who else is gonna ask me?”

“But… he’s, Skippy Gold. God. He's actually as nerdy as it gets.”

“So?” She giggled. “So am I!”

“No Addie, you're just smart. There's very much a difference. He is not smart, he is a nerd. You're settling. Please, are you telling me you want to spend all of prom debating weird sci-fi movies? You're too critical of yourself, you could do much better than him.”

“Hes not that bad. And he's okay looking! He can be alright sometimes. I kissed him once, remember, after a band recital.”

“That was just because everyone looks better in concert black. It's basically an aphrodisiac. And your perception of alright is completely skewed. That doesn't count. He sucks. SKIPPY SUCKS!" she yelled out into the night.

“Well I don't exactly see anyone else lining up to kiss me.”

“I kiss you,” Cecilia teased, cupping her hands around Addison's jaw. “Often. And I bet I'm much better at it than SKIPPY GOLD.”

The two girls shrieked with laughter as Cecilia pulled her in, kissing her hard before they fell apart, drunkenly clinging to each other as they narrowly avoided falling into a tangle of grape vines.

“Dont go to prom with him. Let's just both go without dates. We’ll have way more fun that way.”

“Okay. Okay. I'm not going to prom with Skippy Gold. Now be quiet! The staff cottages are near here and I swear they hear everything.”

“Girls, it's getting a little late isn't it?”

Bizzy called out from the couch she was sitting on when she heard them enter half an hour later. She didn't turn around, her book in her lap and a glass of sherry in her hand.

“Surely your parents will be expecting you home shortly Cecilia? I would say it's time to go now, wouldn't you? We wouldn't want them getting worried. Our driver will take you home, we wouldn't want you driving back” she turned then and looked the two of them over, hair messy, clearly well over the limit, “...at this hour, all by yourself now. Would we?”

“No Mrs Forbes, of course." Cecilia said smiling sweetly, her voice and posture completely transformed inside of the house. "I’ll head off now, thank you. I’ll let my parents know you're looking well, and I’m sure they would love to see you all for dinner soon.”

“Goodbye Addie” She turned to her, smiling softly, "I'll call you at our usual time.”

There was a tone to Bizzy’s voice only Addison could pick up on. A questioning that made you feel as if whatever she suggested was really your decision. She’d become accustomed to it throughout the years. Friendly but sharp, a tone used to clear a room most politely as she geared up for the most restrained of arguments. A tone she used most often with the most problematic of her children. The daughter she resented quietly yet criticised at great volume, frequently. Cecilia's absence made the house run cold. She braced for whatever was about to come out of her mother’s mouth.

“It isn't proper, darling.” She paused, eyebrows raised as she took in the red lipstick smudged slightly around her mouth.

“What isn't proper, Bizzy?” Her voice slightly slurred, “What exactly have I done this time?”

Bizzy's shoulders tensed.“It isn't proper to be seen, by staff who are supposed to respect us, fooling around with another girl. It's not what we do. It is not something one does when there is a risk of being seen. It isn't right Addison.”

“I wasn't- we didn't! We were tipsy, one too many glasses of wine by accident, and needed to lean on each other to walk back. If somebody saw us close to each other that's all it was. We didn't, we’re not-”

"I don't care to hear your excuses.” Bizzy cut her off with a dismissive wave of her hand. “The groundsmen are already talking, and we can only hope it stays between them. Tell yourself whatever you want to believe, just keep that sort of behaviour far out of sight and not here, on our land, where you could drag us all down with you.”

“She’s my best friend Bizzy. I don't know what that groundsman thought he saw but it isn't like that. We’re friends, is that not allowed now?”

“Well you're not to have her over at the house anymore except when the rest of the Lowell’s are here, you hear me? Goodness, think of her father finding out about this. Are you unaware of how rumours like this reflect on families like ours? Are you that ignorant, or just trying to frustrate me? There are things that are expected of us, ways that we simply must behave. And you Addison, are a ticking time bomb for this family. You are a Montgomery, you wear that name every second of your life and I will not have you make a mockery of it. Keep all that silliness to yourself. Don't let me hear of anything like this again.”

So Addison did. The room spun as she lay on her bed that night, makeup still on. Eyeliner smeared now too. All she could do was lie still, listening to the sound of her heartbeat thumping back at her from her pillow. She would keep it to herself. 

When the phone's usual incessant sound chimed out as it did each night, she just let it ring.

When the the noise finally ceased trying to break through the wall she was building around herself and the silence had enveloped her again, she rolled over and unplugged the cord.

And when prom rolled around, Addison went with Skippy Gold. Despite all her efforts to appear interested as he rambled on and on about star wars, her eyes couldn't help but dart around the room, hopeful she would catch a glimpse of honey blonde hair and a dark red dress. She wouldn't.

Chapter Text

Seattle - 2005

Addison watched them together. Obsessively. She noticed every moment, every spark between them. Saw how he looked at Meredith like she hung the moon, or invented the night sky itself. Every smile, rare as they had become lately, every movement of her hands, every breath seemed to have him hooked. Addison could hardly remember the last time he’d looked at her like that. She remembered the feeling, the pride, the sense of achievement that comes with being desired. It had been euphoric, addictive to have had this great man notice her, praise her, adore her, call her his own.

But looking back now, she can't remember when it ended. 

The penalty of losing his affection? Withdrawal. A craving for the affection she once received, a desperate, agonising plea for his gaze, his touch, for that sparkle in his eyes to be all for her. She remembers that, all of it. The rejection, the feeling of inadequacy, the fight for his attention.

The waves of hurt that would flood her brain as he'd close his book, leave it on the nightstand, roll over and fall asleep on a side of the bed that may as well be miles from hers without so much as saying a word. The silent prayers into the darkness. “Please. Please see me. Hear me, remember that once upon a time I was more than this. I was more than this to you, once. Wasn’t I?”

Please.

The slow descent into madness. The desperation that claimed small pieces of her each day when she realised she felt the most alone she ever had in the place she'd planned to build her family. This house where she waited alone in warm lamplight in the evenings, cross legged on the hardwood floor with a bottle of wine, was once full of joy. A place where promises to each other were woven into every fibre in the building- that this was forever, this was worth fighting for, the hard parts were over now.

The choices she made in the bedsheets he hated and the guilt she'd feel as his best friend lay beside her still weeks later, paisley cotton against bare skin and his fingers tracing gentle circles on her stomach.

The choice she’d make in the doctor's office days later.

And now there in the gallery of the OR, she wondered how she could live with herself to cause even a fraction more of this pain for the woman in front of her who had been caught in the crossfire. A woman whose fierceness withers when his eyes stray from her, a mirror of Addison’s former self. Wonders if the damage she has done to her already just by showing her face here is forgivable. The path of destruction that her desire- her carnal need to keep somebody’s attention- had spread like wildfire and suddenly she couldn't bear the thought of Meredith being burnt any more than she already had been. 

She could see the love radiate between the two of them, and as she watched them operate together so harmoniously the uncertantly crept back in. She wondered if her husband could really choose her again, choose her out of adoration rather than obligation.

But her train of thought was broken when she felt Meredith return her gaze from below, eyes flickering in confusion momentarily before settling on her. Not in anger, not in pain, just witnessing her.

And Addison wondered for a moment if she even wanted him to.

Connecticut - 1985

“But what if I don't want a husband? Not everybody wants the same life as you Bizzy. I have a real shot at the life that I have dreamt of. I want to be a surgeon more than I've ever wanted anything. What if the love I have for that is enough and I don’t even have any left to give to another person?”

“Surgery is no replacement for marriage. Besides, marriage isn't necessarily all about love. This is the problem with you Addison, life is not some fairytale.”

When Addison’s acceptance letter for Yale first arrived, she’d slept with it under her pillow for a week. Hidden out of sight of prying eyes, her joy was hers and hers alone, and she knew it wouldn't be reciprocated. She just wanted to stay in the joy as long as she could. Her father had expected nothing less from her, she could hardly get Archer on the phone for five minutes since he had started medical school, and having kept her distance from Cecilia, Addison hadn't made any other close friends. She called it focusing on her studies, growing apart. Refused to call it shame, could never have called it heartbreak, and these days they hardly spoke. So she kept her news to herself for a little while, kept the joy untouched by the world around her as long as she could. She hadn't expected much from her mother, had hardly anticipated affection, or even pride. She had hoped perhaps she could have gotten a congratulations. But once again, they'd ended up here.

“Why are you on me about this in the first place? Archer’s older than me and I don't see you lecturing him about marriage.” Addison bit back, arms folded across her chest protectively, an unconscious mirror of Bizzy’s own stance.

“It’s different with Archer.”

“What, because he's a man?”

“Because there are different expectations for him.”

“Expectations like becoming a doctor? If you hadn’t heard me the first thousand times I've said it, I'm going to be a doctor too. I'll be a better doctor than him, just wait!”

“Sure you will darling,” Bizzy smiled as she spoke, cold and apathetic, “go, be a doctor. But while you’re at it, find yourself a nice man to marry. You don't have to be soulmates, just find a decent one and for once in your life do what is asked of you.”

She’d wanted to shout, cry, scream until her voice was hoarse that all she did was do what was asked of her. All she’d ever done was hide, repress, push away her happiness. That this was the first thing in years she had done for herself. She had worked for it, wished for it. This was her fairytale. This a mother should be proud of.

But she didn't. She went quiet, tucked the letter back underneath her pillow, and kept counting down the days until she could leave. Until she could be anywhere but here.