Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or any of its characters.

Author's note: Sort of sequel to "It's My Party." May end up being a one shot. I don't know if more chapters are coming or not.

Chapter 1

She sat at the beautiful cherry dining table for six in the perfectly decorated formal dining room. The latte colored walls usually made the room seem big—which it was—but today the walls seemed to be closing in on her. At the moment, she hated the matching china cabinet and buffet that had taken her forever to pick out. And on top of the buffet were pictures of her son and husband, who looked at her with accusing eyes.

Her elbows were on the table, her head bent over resting in her hands. This left her light brown hair that was touched with gray brushing against the tabletop as she shook her head. She didn't know how she was going to tell him, how she was going to ask the unthinkable. The only high point for her was that her son was not home to witness the storm that was about to hit.

She heard the front door open, then click shut.

"I'm home," came the cheerful call from her husband. He, too, knew that the boy was not home this weekend. They had a romantic weekend planned.

She wanted to call out to, let him know where she was, but no sound would come. The only thing she could do was sit there, wiping her tears, waiting for him to find her. She knew he was expecting a weekend to rekindle their romance, but what she had in store was going to break his heart for the second time.

"Here you are," he smiled as he entered the dining room. His smile was as beautiful as the first time she'd seen it. His hair had grayed with age, but it made him look distinguished. She had thought for sure he would dye it, but, much like her father, he had decided to gray naturally. He came up behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders, then leaned down and kissed her cheek. That's when he noticed it was wet.

He pulled out the chair next to hers and sat down, facing her. He turned her towards him after she didn't move. He could see the tearstains running down her cheeks. "What's wrong?" he was truly concerned. It only made things harder.

She could only shake her head. Her voice was nowhere to be found.

"Honey," he said soothingly, running his fingertips down her cheek. "What's the matter?"

She took a depth breath, knowing she didn't want to drag this out, knowing she had to tell him, to say the words. "Divorce," was all that came out.

A small, dismissive smile crossed his lips. "Sweetheart, I promise, nothing you could have done would cause me to divorce you. I love you." He laid a light kiss on her lips. He knew they had problems—that was the point of this weekend.

She shook her head again. "I want a divorce."

He sat back, shock evident in his face. He knew how she felt about divorce, how hard it was for her before. He couldn't believe his own ears.

"Wh-what?"

She looked up into his eyes and started to cry. She never wanted it to come to this, but how could she not ask? She whispered the truth, unable to fight the smile crossing her lips, "He's alive."

"No!" he yelled as if his denial would change the truth.

"Yes," she whispered, remembering the moment she knew it was the truth. She had been walking down the Strip and stopped to look at a window display. She had felt someone behind her, but that wasn't anything new—it was Las "overcrowded" Vegas. It wasn't until she felt the breath of the man as he said her name into her ear that she realized how close he was to her. And when she turned around, she thought she was hallucinating.

He slammed his fist against the table bringing her back to this moment in time. He knew that look in her eyes. It was the way he longed to have her look at him. "We've been through this before. He's dead. Even if he's not dead, he left! Twelve years ago!" He took a deep breath to calm himself. "It's probably just somebody that looks like him."

"We had lunch. It's him," she told him, and then flashed back to the sidewalk where she was this afternoon. After she had convinced herself that he was real and her heart started beating again, she had smacked him. She hadn't forgotten that he had left her twelve years ago either.

The anger returned to his face. He turned and punched the wall. "When?" was all he could think to ask.

She sputtered, only having vaguely heard his question. "This afternoon," she finally replied. "He's been following me for a couple days and finally confronted me."

He had convinced her to have lunch with him, to let him explain where he'd been. After five minutes with him, she honestly didn't care where he'd been, she was just glad he was back. And he asked her to take him back. She knew she couldn't say no.

"And you had lunch with him?" He was failing miserably at controlling the anger in his voice.

"He's my husband," she said before she could stop herself. Then quickly added, "I didn't mean—"

"Yes, you did!" he screamed at her. He turned his back to her and took some more deep breaths. "I know you still wear it."

Now it was her turn to show shock. "W-wear what?"

He turned and pointed towards her chest. "The rings—yours and his—on a chain."

She touched her chest where the rings rested. She stood so she could look him in the eye. She put a hand on his shoulder. There was no need to deny the truth. "I'm so sorry."

"Why did you marry me if you still loved him?" he asked quietly, the hurt evident in his voice.

She started to shake. It was the question she had been asking herself since she had left her lunch with him. "I…I thought he was dead. And Ollie…he…he loves you."

Tears were streaming down his face. "These last eight years, have they meant nothing?"

"Greg," she sighed his name. "I wouldn't have made it through without you. But Nick, he's alive." The last part came out more excited that she had wanted.

"So he's alive, Alex? He hasn't lived with you. He didn't help you through your dad's death. He wasn't there when Ollie got scared at night. And what about Ollie? Does he know his father's alive?"

"I haven't told him. I wanted you to know first," she responded.

"Well, I appreciate that," he replied sarcastically.

Alex's cell phone started to ring. She moved to silence it, but checked the number out of habit. It was Nick. She again lost the war not to smile.

Greg grabbed the phone from her hand and threw it against the wall, causing it to break in to pieces. "Dammit, Alex! How can you do this to me again!"

"Greg," she started to say something, but was cut off.

"Get. Out."

"Come on," she didn't heed his order.

"I said get out!" he yelled at her.

She let out a long sigh. "I'll go, for now. But I will be back to get Oliver on Sunday," she told him.

"We'll talk about that on Sunday," Greg replied through clenched teeth.

"I will get Oliver on Sunday," she repeated. "He deserves to meet his father."

"I am his father!" Greg yelled as she walked out the door. He hit the wall again as the door slammed shut. Then he collapsed in to a chair. He didn't understand how this could be happening to him again. He'd proven himself this time, why would she still choose him?

His whole body started to shake with his sobs. He loved her so much. He'd loved her since the first moment they met. And yet, she didn't feel the same. When would he learn?

Alex paused just outside the door. She didn't want to hurt him, not again. But she couldn't change her heart. She'd tried to love Greg the way he loved her, but it just hadn't worked. She hoped he'd be able to forgive her someday, but she figured that was asking too much.