AN: I have written in ages, but I decided to start again. I'm a bit rusty, but it's coming back to me.

I've been a fan of Grey's since, well, the start. I've had this idea for awhile, and after the finale, I became determined to write it.

Timeline will be determined in the next chapter, but obviously there's an OC.

I look forward to the reviews.

(For the record, I ship Omelia)

Today was the day, the best day, a favourite day, the day that a few people looked forward to.

It could just be another day to some, just another fall Thursday, with the gift of temperatures expected to be in the low-60s and a moderate amount of sunshine to others. It could be assumed that it was a typical fall Seattle afternoon. It was October 15th, sure, but this day was special and held great significance to someone somewhere.

It was important to Alma Evelyn Flores-Hunt.

Today was her day. Her favourite day of the year. This was her 17th birthday, the 17th special celebration of her existence, and that day only came once a year. Honestly, she'd been waiting since last year for this day to come.

Her birthday wasn't celebrated like a national holiday, or a religious holiday, but instead it was her own personal holiday, one where she celebrated her birth and her life in her own way. It wasn't a day where she was peppered with lavish gifts, and she was one to shy away from parties or festive celebrations. She often opted to stay at home with her parents, Owen and Amelia, on this day. Usually, they had a quiet family dinner by ordering in Thai or pizza, which was considered a treat. Usually her father picked up a cake from Sol Bundts, her uncle's bakery, the day of. It was never the same cake and it was always specially made. This year she was hoping for a lemon cake with blackberry filling, but there was no telling what it would be. Surprisingly, neither of her parents had ever worked late on this day. This was somewhat of a miracle considering they were both surgeons. Their chief, Bailey, kept it on her calendar for them and never forgot.

Usually, after her actual birthday, her (rather large) extended family came to share a meal at their home, or in the restaurant of her choice, but never on the day of. Even for her quinceañera, the only thing she would consider a birthday party, was celebrated a weekend after the fact. So today, on her birthday, it was her day and she always made it so.

The reason Alma was truly excited, and why she always looked forward to this day the most was because on this day she was gifted the contents of a brown box from her mother, Paola. It had been that way her entire life. Every birthday she could remember was laced with memories of the cards, letters and a gift from her mother. When she was younger, she didn't quite understand, but now, she did. It was done to preserve a spot for Paola in her life. She had so many unanswered questions. It was not because no one volunteered information about Paola, they did speak of her so highly, but it was mostly because Alma was hesitant to ask all of the questions she had. With every passing year she found herself yearning for more information about her mother, who had always made her birthdays special, even if she wasn't present. She found herself questioning more trivial things about her, things those surrounding Alma may not be able to answer. Those thoughts didn't occupy her mind all the time, but they had taken center stage leading up to her birthday and she was excited to learn a few more pieces to the puzzle of her mother.

Alma had woken up early, some time before the sun rose. This early rising was typical for the day, but that didn't mean she wasn't exhausted from a night of tossing and turning. Outside of her window the sky was still a deep navy blue, and the stars still speckled in a cloudless sky. She didn't bother to check the time. Her first class did not start until 9:00am, and she was considering breaking her perfect attendance streak. She took her time to braid her straight, black hair into a fishtail braid, one of the ones that her cousin, Ruby, had shown her how to do recently. She was thankful, and impressed, that it was done on the first try. She gently put one of her gifts from her 15th birthday, a pair of her mother's delicate diamond stud earrings, into her ear lobes. They were small, and had belonged to her great-grandmother before Paola. They were worth more sentimentally then anything. She was careful to not bend the thin yellow gold posts, and admired the way they glittered in the warm light. She dressed plainly, in flats, leggings, cardigan and a patterned dress, forgoing makeup. She was still a novice makeup user and did not dabble in makeup as much as she would like. Alma had plans to sneak outside before her parents had woken up, to watch the sunrise in silence. She ended up creeping past their bedroom in silence, skillfully avoiding every creak and crackle of the stairs, careful to not make sound at all. The sky was beginning to turn to a dim grey, indicating the sun was beginning to rise. She hurried through the art studio, bursting out of the door to run toward the bay. She nestled into her cardigan as she plopped down on the worn dock, prepared to watch the sunrise over Meydenbauer Bay. She watched, in awe, admiring the way the foliage glittered in the first rays of light. It never ceased to amaze her, all of the beauty that surrounded her. All part of the life was she was gifted, the one she enjoyed living.

She was oblivious to her father's eyes on her as he brewed the morning coffee, a small smile on his face. Owen prided himself in being a father. One would say his life revolved around it, more so then surgery or the army ever had, and he was proud to have raised such a dynamic, genuine, intelligent daughter. She had taught him the meaning of life, and she was so many things that he would never be able to place into words. She was half of Paola, through and through, and without her, Alma wouldn't be here. He furrowed his brow, frowning. This day was a happy day, but so deeply tied to Paola that a slight sadness always played a small part for him.

"She's up early," Amelia's voice was quiet as she walked into the living room, and Owen nodded curtly in agreement as he poured her a cup of a coffee. He knew she was awake when he's woken up, she had stirred when he'd kissed her shoulder before getting out of bed, but she'd let him be. Even after all these years, she still gave him the space he didn't know he needed in some moments. He glanced at her, and she was smiling gently, the brown box in her hands.

Owen swallowed, his heart racing. He had picked it up last night, when he picked up Alma's birthday cake a day early. This was one of the last brown boxes that was waiting for her on her birthday, and their contents were unknown. Paola had left strict instructions with Luis and Owen both, that these were only for her birthday. Not Christmas, not randomly, not when she had an awful day, they were only for her birthday. No one had even attempted to go against her wishes, and Alma had always understood.

Owen inhaled, almost wishing that some lingering, distant memory of Paola was on the box, but it wasn't. It never was. No matter how much time passed, he still grieved over her. It wasn't the overwhelming, life-stopping grief it had once been, it was a dull throb, that was always there, but some days there were more painful flairs. Today, the grief was hot, and painful, more than he had been expecting.

Amelia sat the box on the countertop, running her hands over the top pensively.

"17." She laughed, "It seems like just yesterday you were chasing her into the warm water after her tots dance practice, and now she drives herself to school in that banged up Jeep."

She grabbed the coffee mug from her husband's extended hand before walking to the window, taking in the beauty of the lake and of their daughter. Alma was still sitting cross legged on the dock, and Amelia smiled, taking a sip of her coffee. She was just as proud of Ali as Owen was, and watching her grow up was one of her favourite things.

She felt Owen shift beside her, and she touched his hand in an attempt go reassure him, letting him know all would be okay without speaking. Even after all this time, there was a crack on both of their hearts. Her husband hurt, in ways she understood and in ways she didn't. Nothing she did would make it better, that pained her deeply. She had never been jealous of the way he loved Paola, even before the tumor was removed. She felt sad for him, and related to his grief, even if their grief was different. Alma ached deeply, differently then Owen, she was always searching for answers to silent questions about her biological mother, and that bothered Ameila because she could never answer the questions. She shared the title mom with Paola proudly, and it was something she would always do willingly and lovingly, but it pained her to know things would never be whole for her family.

Owen swallowed, opening the box that was labelled with a neat "17", slowly exposing the contents.

There were a few items in the box, and Owen chuckled at the outdated items, but it had been packed with care. There were 2 unwrapped CD cases. One was labelled with "Memories DVD", and the other was "Coming of age", and he could tell this was a CD with music. Paola had become known for her playlists since Alma had turned 13. There were 2 wrapped boxes, along with a yellowed envelope, obviously a birthday card. Alma's name had been penned beautifully on the front. Owen gently lifted the contents from the box, stacking them on the counter with the gift from him and Amelia. The largest one on the bottom and it ended with placing the CD cases on top. They still had a laptop with a CD-ROM, so Alma could listen to the CD there, in her now very retro Walkman (a gift also from Paola) or they would convert it digitally for her to listen from her cell phone.

Owen glanced back in the box, noticing another envelope and an USB drive. He cracked a smile as he lifted the USB drive, turning it in his hand. "Owen" was written on it in Paola's familiar hand writing, and his heart stopped for a moment. He grabbed at the other envelope, reading his name again, written just as nicely as the front of Alma's card.

Amelia looked at him curiously, sitting her coffee down. "What is it?" Her voice was even, her attempt to still radiate feelings of calm. This was new, and she could tell it was slightly overwhelming for Owen.

"I-I don't know, my name is on these." Owen met her eyes, showing her the envelope and jump drive, "There has never been anything for me in any of Ali's boxes."

He looked at the envelope he was clutching, confused as he re-read his name.

"Let's take it to the office." Amelia said, grabbing the empty brown box as she broke it down to be recycled.

Owen walked to the office quickly, pushing the cracked door open with more force then necessary according to Cayenne, their elderly orange tabby. She jumped in her sleep, falling from her place on the window sill.

"Sorry," Owen mumbled as Cayenne split from the room, just as Amelia walked in. She leaned in the door frame, studying him. He sat the USB drive down, the letter still in his hand. He was considering opening it, he wasn't sure what to do, he was torn between reading it or saving it for later.

"You should read that later, after Ali's left for school." Amelia glanced toward the letter, not stepping past the door frame to actually enter the office.

"Yeah, yeah." He nodded, sitting the letter down hesitantly, "You're right."

They both glanced up at the door of the studio shut, before smiling at each other.

"Maman? Papa?" Alma's voice carried as she walked into the living room, her eyes lighting up as she spotted wrapped boxes on the counter top in the kitchen.

"Happy birthday!" Owen's voice boomed, and Alma grinned, giggling as her father wrapped her in a bear hug.

"What are you? 37? You're the surgeon now, right? Your mom and I finally retired from the OR?" He joked as they embraced before pulling away, making way for Amelia to hug her next.

"Happy birthday, mon amour." Amelia said cheerfully, squeezing her tightly.

Owen was already walking about in the kitchen, pulling colorful boxes from the pantry, before grabbing bowls from the cupboard. "We have cereal, your favourite, the kinds with dye and sugar. You know, the kind that we normally ban from the house at all costs except either a) the end of the world or b) your birthday."

"End of the world, check!" Amelia joked, causing Alma to roll her eyes.

Amelia and Alma leaned on the breakfast bar, both smiling at Owen, but Alma wasn't paying attention to the clatter of bowls or the splash of milk over cereal.

"Go ahead." Amelia nudged, and Owen nodded in agreement as he sat a bowl of cereal in front of the two women. Alma reached for the card, the paper was light in her hand. She held it to her chest for a moment, looking at the 3 wrapped boxes and the 2 CD cases.

"Can I open yours first?" Alma asked, sitting the card down, deciding to wait until after breakfast and school to open Paola's gifts.

"I'll see you tonight, text me if you need me to pick dinner up, otherwise we're ordering in." Amelia pulled on a coat, and Owen nodded, smiling tightly. "It's going to be okay."

Their lips met and Owen relaxed slightly, his mind focused on the moment.

"I love you." Owen called after Amelia as the door shut, before walking toward the office.

Cayenne was back in the office, lounging in the leather chair. It was almost like she was waiting and Owen picked her up gently, sitting down in the chair. Cayenne stayed in his lap, too lazy to scurry off. They'd rescued her as a kitten, when Alma was 6. She'd begged and begged for a puppy, and both Amelia and Owen toyed with the idea that lead them to the shelter. Her mind was made up, until Alma had seen the tiny kitten. The puppy notion was forgotten quickly by Alma once the ball of floof and rumbling purrs was in her arms, and then they left the shelter with a then baby Cayenne.

Owen pet her absentmindedly, running his free hand over the envelope. The memories, as good as they may have been, were sometimes painful. Paola had spent her last days in that living room, staring out of their bay window, surrounded by a baby Alma in her bassinet, the one handmade by her Uncle Francisco, Owen, recipe cards, and coffee. They'd exchanged several conversations during that time, but these were the last words he had from her.

He smiled, deciding to open the envelope. He unfolded the papers slowly, laughing to himself at the quality of paper that had been chosen. It was heavy, and resistant to stains. Paola had always been so particular.

Mi Amor,

How long has it been? Months? Years? I'm not sure when you'll read this. I asked Luis to randomly drop it into one of the boxes for mi chiquitita, along with a thumb drive with music for you. These are my last words for you, and I hope they're well received.

I must apologize to you again. I know this time has been harder for you than me. You put on such a brave face, thank you. You're a doctor, the basis of your very being revolves around saving others, assuring that people continue living their lives, and you don't understand. I was unknowingly too far in to this sickness before I found out about Alma, and when I found out I was pregnant, there was nothing I was going to do to get in the way of having a baby. I was never supposed to be able to have children, I never said that to you. I'll never say that to you. I can't say that out loud. I'll leave it here. Maybe now you will understand, why I fought so hard against you and Dr. Swender. I told Addison, the doctor who's monitoring me from Los Angeles, so she would understand, so at least one person would stop pushing me toward termination. I was diagnosed with endometriosis when I was 23, and was treated. I was hopeful then, naive even, that it was successful. I was never able to conceive, even through IVF, and that ultimately lead to my divorce. The whole reason I moved to Seattle in the first place, aside from Luis.

My life, compared to Alma's, does not weigh the same. I have lived my life, to the fullest, and although I may only be 35, she is my reason, mi esperanza para el futuro. My whole life, I've just wanted to be a mother, more than anything. If I'm only able to do that for 5 minutes, then so be it. That is God's plan. I know, you are not a fan of my religious views, but they get me through.

I hope this confession is able to bring you some sort of understanding, some sort of closure that I'm not able to give you now. I don't know to you'd even understand now, or if you even understand as you read this. I hope you do.

That night, a year ago, I didn't think my life would be this way. Pregnant, or intertwine with you. It was not as I pictured it, but to me, this is perfect. You're so wonderful, so loving and kind. I watch you sleep, when I can't, and it brings me an overwhelming sense of peace. You bring me peace.

I love you, and every moment we share, even when we just sit at the bay window in the house we spent too much money on for a child we swear won't be spoiled. Laughable, I know, but we can't money with us.

You're going to be such a wonderful father to Alma, the way your eyes light up when you feel her kick, or the way you are so attentive when we see the doctor, all your questions, how prepeared you are. It's like magic to watch. I can see the worry, and yes, rough seas may be ahead but one day, they will calm. She will be all you hoped for and more. I'm not sure if she will be more me, or you, or not like either of us. I hope she's similar to me, in a moment or a second, so much so you laugh. Don't fret, mi amor. Being a father to a daughter may be daunting, but you will do well. You, were built for tougher things.

I guess you know by now she's a girl. We had agreed to not find out, but, I wanted to know. I had to know. I know. They is really a she. And she will love Thai food, and be calm and wonderful and perfect. I have a feeling about this girl and I am saddened I won't see who she becomes.

I've made all these silly playlists for her, maybe you know that, maybe that's this box. And there's a journal, the first of the bunch of journals. The most important to me. The story, my side, of how we met, of how I loved you, regardless of this extraordinary set of circumstances. I would have picked you, no matter what, you know. I will stay with you to my end, and love you with my all.

As for you, mi amor, don't fear love. Don't run from it. Don't stop, because you are worthy of the love that sticks around. And you may have had a profound love within Christina, and a reassuring love within me, but there is a forever love for you out there, and you can't give up. Grieve me, but go, run, jump in head first and find that. Alma will need someone else aside from Gramma Evie and Tia Lupe, and as wonderful as all the strong women she will be surrounded with in the form of your female friends, Teddy, Mere, April, Bailey, all the others, she needs a maternal figure. So, find love.

I won't ever hear your answers, but I know that whatever they are, I would be happy with them.

I love you, Owen.

Even now, from wherever I am, wherever you are.

Paola

Owen held the papers to his chest, his eyes closed, his throat tight. He allowed himself that moment, to think of that night, of Paola, of the moments they had shared.

Alma sat outside during her lunch, under a tree. A few of the other kids were outside too, tossing a ball around, laughing.

She watched them for a moment, before looking down at the leather bound book in she was clutching in her hands. She'd opened the one of the boxes from Paola while standing outside of her locker this morning, unable to wait until later.

There was a note on the cover of the brown leather that was tied so neatly, barely worn. Paola's writing was distinct, and simply beautiful.

Alma,

I've kept a journal since I was 20, eventually Luis will see that you receive those. They will tell you many things, some good, some bad, some things in between. This is the only one that I intend to wrap or deliver as a present. For now, let this hold you over.

This one is my favourite, this one I started from the moment I met your father.

This is the story of life leading me to you, mi chiquita.

I hope you aren't sad, but happy, when you think of me.

I've only been happy since I found out about you.

You give me reason.

I love you, Alma.

-Mom

Alma had re-read the words, running her fingers over the words. Her father had spoken about Paola, but had never told her how they met, or much about the time they'd spent together.

She had wondered, but never asked.

She opened the journal, taking a breath, her eyes devouring the words on the first page.

It was late, one Saturday evening, too late if you ask me...