I should have guessed everything would catch up to me one day. My life before the bureau was a dark time, filled with mistakes, regrets, and failures. I have tried for years to put it all behind me and move on, and with my graduation from the FBI and assignment in Graceland, I was getting a chance to start fresh. My life was once again a blank canvas, and I was the artist. The painting was beginning to look like a beautiful Rose period Van Gogh, but my masterpiece took a nosedive at the news. The canvas was splattered with black spots, a symbol of my scattered and incoherent thoughts. It felt like a bullet piercing my side. When she spoke the words, my heart stopped.

…

I wake up to the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Realizing quickly where I am, I stretch my stiff muscles and head for the house. I determine that I fell asleep last night thinking about what happened. I had gone out to the beach for fresh air and a chance to clear my head. My body is stiff from sleeping on the sand.

The sun hasn't risen yet, and neither have my roommates. I take advantage of the time alone and station myself in the kitchen with a bowl of cereal, but my focus won't shift from the dread. I can't bring myself to eat more than a few spoonfuls, despite the fact that I should be hungry after missing dinner. I have no appetite. I have no desire to see anyone. I have no reason to keep breathing. And it scares the hell out of me.

I don't know how long I sit there before cleaning up my dishes. Any minute now, the others will wake. Desperate for seclusion, I climb the stairs sluggishly to my room. I unset the alarm on my bedside table and sit down on the bed's edge. The feeling of numbness slowly erodes and gives way to the pain of my heart's shattering. I have never felt this level of agony in my lifetime, and what makes it worse is that I can do nothing about it. My composure dissolves as the hot tears begin to stream down my cheeks.

…

"Morning." I sit down to breakfast ala Briggs and shove a couple of bites into my mouth. Only Charlie is in the kitchen with me. My questions about the locations of my roommates are put on hold by another steaming bite of my delicious omelet. Man, can Paul cook. After swallowing, I voice my curiosity. "So where is everybody?"

"Um... Briggs, Johnny, and Jakes went surfing—"

"Jakes? Surfing?" I interject.

"Yeah, it's twisted. Let's see. Lauren's with her Russian sweetheart, and Mike is… I don't know where Mike is." She pauses in contemplation. "Maybe he went surfing with the guys?"

"Well, his bedroom door was closed when I came down. Did you see him at all?"

"No, I guess I didn't. Good luck with your search. I've got to go." She places her dishes in the sink before walking out.

There's still no sign of Mike after I finish my breakfast, so I decide to go looking for him. I wander to his bedroom door and knock, but there is no response, so I go in. Mike is lying face down across his bed, his limbs sprawled out.

"Mike?" I ask hesitantly. He isn't moving, but his chest is rising and falling steadily.

"Go away, Paige." His muffled voice sounds choked. I sit down next to him on the bed. Something is obviously wrong. Is he sick? Hurt? I can't tell.

"I said go away." Mike's voice returns.

"No." He rolls onto his back and stares at me with pained eyes that fill my heart with sadness and confusion. "What's wrong, Mike?"

He continues to stare at me, but something inside of him breaks and tears come rolling out of his eyes. We sit unmoving for a long time before he speaks.

"Cancer, Paige." My mind goes completely blank. Cancer? What is he talking about? I'm only certain of one thing. I have to keep him talking.

"Who has cancer, Mike? What do you mean?" More tears slip down his cheeks. He's broken inside and I don't know why.

"She's in a hospital in New York. I guess it's a great one… She's so young…"

"Who is? Who is it Mike?"

"Ella."

"Who is Ella?"

He opens his mouth to say something, but no sound comes out. I hold his sobbing frame close to me in a hug. He stutters, trying to form words, but it isn't working.

"Shhh, Mike, shhh…" I attempt to comfort him. "Who is Ella?"

He regains some level of composure and is finally able to speak. "My four year old daughter." I freeze as he breaks down again. His daughter? "You have to promise not to tell anyone," He whispers through his tears. I don't know how to respond to this. Everything is so confusing. This is just so much to take in. Mike has a daughter in New York. She has cancer.

"I promise."