Don't be terribly mad at me for not finishing 'Do You Promise?' or 'Yes Meredith' before starting a whole new story. I have this inability to finish things I start. But don't worry. I will add new chapters to both as soon as I get the inspiration to. Which I hope will be soon. I don't really plan out how my stories are going to end up, I just write the chapters as they come.

Enough with my ramblings, here's my new story.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I wish though.

There's an unfamiliar letter that seems to stand out from the mail that's haphazardly thrown on your counter by your teenage daughter. It's not unfamiliar in looks. It's not unfamiliar in shape. Yet something about it is so unfamiliar. You can't even see the return address, just the stamp on the corner, poking out from behind your daughter's Seventeen magazine. You want to pick it up and open it, but your husband and your daughter are waiting in the dining room for you to return with the chicken parmesan that you made for dinner. Duty calls, and you ignore the feeling that tells you to take the letter.

"Mer, there's a letter for you," your husband calls from the kitchen table where he's sorting through the mail later that night.

You hate it when he calls you Mer. It doesn't sound right coming from him.

"Lula, could you go get that for me?" you ask your daughter. She rolls her eyes and drags herself away from the computer to get the letter for you.

"Who's Derek?" she asks as she comes back into the living room. Your head snaps to face her and you snatch the envelope out of her hands.

"Don't be so nosy," you say, trying to brush her off, but she persists.

"Shepherd. I've heard that name before," she continues. Your eyes widen, and you glance down at the piece of mail that's clenched between your shaking fingers.

Dr. Derek Shepherd

252 Salsa Verde

New York City, New York

Your heart stops. Your daughter is still talking, she's repeating something, her arm waving in front of your face.

"Hello? Mom? Shepherd? Where have I heard that name before?"

You swallow the bile that had risen into throat before you answer her. "His wife—" you pause, the words making you feel sick.

"His wife? What about her?"

"His wife," you continue, "helped deliver you and performed your heart surgery."

"Oh. Right. So why is her husband writing to you?"

'Meredith. Just let Addison do it.'

'No.'

'Meredith! She's the only one who will be able to save you and the baby!'

That had been the last time you'd ever talked to him. You had let Addison perform the surgery, but you never talked to him again.

16 years. It's been 16 years since you've talked to him or seen him. It's been even longer since you've thought about him in the way that used to making your heart race like it is now.

"He probably just wants to say hi," you finally say, trying to get your daughter to lose interest.

"Can I see?" she asks, curling up on the couch next to you.

"No! Go away Lula."

"Mooom!" she whines.

"Tallulah! For God's sake, go bother your father!" you yell. She sulks out of the room, and you stare at his handwriting on the envelope. It's the same as it was when you left. Your finger slides underneath the flap and you pull a single sheet of paper out of the envelope.

Meredith-

I left her.

-Derek

Your heart stops.

He left her?

You take a deep breath before folding the piece of paper up and returning it to its envelope. Your heart is beating a little faster, and your breaths are a little shorter. Closing your eyes, you lean back into the cushioned couch and sigh deeply.

What next?