Boston, 1993
The words rang loudly in Frasier's ears; a painful reminder of what had become of his life.
"You're being impossible, Lillith!"
"Like hell I am! You know very well that this was important to me and you showed complete disregard for my feelings!" Lillith snapped.
And so it went... on and on... followed by slamming doors, angry words... and then silence.
Silence from a young bright boy who was always so talkative. Now he was frightened and uncertain...
Much like his father.
Frasier sighed and glanced in the mahogany mirror that sat above his dresser.
Dear God, how had things gone so wrong?
He was a psychiatrist and he knew full well that he couldn't leave things the way they were.
They had to talk this through.
He rose from the bed and walked into the study where he found his estranged wife shuffling through paperwork. Even from where he stood in the doorway, he could see the redness around her eyes; a sure sign that she'd been crying.
Part of him wanted to go to her and take her in his arms to tell her that he was to blame for their marriage crumbling.
But he didn't dare.
They both knew that they were equally at fault.
This had been going on for far too long, and it wasn't fair to either of them; especially Frederick. He was a smart little boy and could handle anything that came his way.
But Frasier feared that this would be the one thing that his son would never understand.
Now he stared at Lillith; her red-rimmed eyes indicating that she was just as upset as he was.
But there was no sense in delaying what would ultimately have to happen.
Slowly he entered the study; his heart heavy in his chest. Almost instantly she looked up and as her eyes met, they both knew what would happen next.
"Lillith-."
"Frasier, I want a divorce."
And there it was.