Kate and Claire

Claire looks out the cab window. The house is beautiful, unlike any she had ever dreamed her son would grow up in. Her son. The words are both shocking and utopian, as if she had never done anything to deserve such a title as a mother. She won't know her son. Her son won't know her. She might as well not have been the one who really gave birth to him. The idea of her being a mother is too picturesque compared to the last three years of agony without him. She doesn't know her son anymore.

"Come on, Claire," Kate encourages, opening the cab door for her. "Let's go home."

Claire silently steps out of the cab, taking her first steps warily. But Kate holds her hand tightly, reminding Claire that she isn't alone. She never will be again.

They listen for the soft footsteps of a running toddler from inside the house after they ring the doorbell. Kate feels her heart begin to hammer in her chest. Imagines Claire must be feeling the same thing, but not in the same way. Kate's son - Claire's son - will no longer belong to her. Yes, she will most likely still see him, but it won't be the same. He knows Kate as his mother. Aaron is just a little boy. He won't understand. He might be confused. Or angry. Or upset. Or maybe happy. She doesn't know. Part of her doesn't want to know and part of her feels there will be meaning in the circumstances.

The door opens. The little blonde boy is standing there, his stuffed orca trailing behind him. His bright blue eyes illuminate when he lays eyes on Kate. Claire just stares at him. This is her son. The son she hasn't seen for three years. She marvels at him, not knowing what to do or say. Her vision is clouded with tears. Tears of joy.

Kate sheds a tear as the little boy's face lights up. She wants to hold him, to kiss his soft forehead. But Claire should be first. He needs to know his real mother.

"Aaron," Kate starts, holding back endless tears of happiness. She steps back, places a hand on Claire's shoulder. "This is your mommy."

The little boy's expression does not shift the slightest bit. His round cheeks are rose pink, his sapphire eyes are sincere. He is not confused, or angry, and certainly not upset. He welcomes his real, young mother as if he had known her all his short life.

Claire sees the look in her son's eye. He knows her. He loves her. And all at once, she knows him. She knows everything about him, and she only knows that he loves her as she loves him.

And he places his orca gently on the ground next to the doorway. And he skips over to her with open arms. Claire kneels to the ground as he runs toward her, nearly unable to see her child through her tears.

"Come here, sweetheart," she laments through a choked, raspy voice, stretching her weary arms wide as her son leaps into them.

She holds him tight. And it feels as if she had never left him, as if he had always been with her, as if she had watched him grow from an oblivious infant into a beautiful lad.

"I will never leave you again."

She grasps his silky blonde hair tenderly, buries her face into his small shoulder, her tears seeping into his cotton tee shirt. His short arms reach around her neck, get caught in her identically blonde waves. She wishes she had never abandoned him. She wishes she hadn't blamed Kate for taking him when he had been left alone. She wishes she had been a better mother to stay with her own child. But she knows that doesn't matter. Because she is a mother now. And her son knows her.

"Kate?"

Kate looks up at the sound of her name. Carole Littleton stands atop the staircase, gripping the banister, leaning over to see the commotion.

Claire smears away her tears with her shaking hand as she pulls away from Aaron, staring lovingly into her son's eyes. She hears Kate's name from inside the house. Doesn't recognize it at first.

Kate looks down at Claire and grins. "Claire," she whispers.

"What's the -"

Claire looks up as she holds her son's hands. She looks into the house, her eyes trail up the stairs. She sees a blonde woman standing at the top of the stairs.

Carole looks from Kate, to her grandson, to the woman embracing her grandson. She sees the blonde hair, the blue eyes -

Claire sees the woman's concerned face. She knows it, she remembers. But she can't place it. This here is her son, Aunt Lindsay is in Australia . . . so that woman must be her mother -

"Mum?" Claire says, remembering her mother laying in a hospital bed in a coma. She remembers the car crash, the machines, the surgeries, the nature shows, telling her mother she was pregnant, apologizing to her mother for the accident, for saying she hated her, for nearly killing her, then leaving her, believing she would never see her mother again . . .

Carole remembers everything - her daughter's birth, her growing up, her father's early visits, raising her daughter alone, arguing with her daughter, loving her daughter while she was despised by her, driving in the car with her daughter, the car being hit, waking up in the hospital and being told her daughter was gone forever, then being told her daughter was still alive . . .

"Claire."

Claire clutches her child's hand for dear life as she stands. Carole gingerly steps down the staircase, holding the banister for dear life. She gazes at her beautiful daughter. Claire sees as her mum's expression changes from concerned to stunned as she lets go of the banister. Claire reluctantly releases her son's hand, but she has to. She needs to welcome the mother who had been dead to her. Carole needs to welcome the daughter who had been dead to her.

They stare at each other, a meter apart. The moment lingers as they recollect each other. First comes tears. They embrace, burying their faces into each other's shoulders, weeping into the fabric of their shirts.

"My baby, my baby . . ." Carole repeats through a hoarse voice.

She grips her daughter's shoulder, runs her hand through her hair. "I've got you, sweetheart. I've got you."

Claire feels the tears gush down her rough cheeks and blend into her mother's blouse. "I love you, mum. I will never leave you again."

Kate watches through tears as mother and daughter reunite. They were meant to be together. All of them. As a family. Parent had been separated from child, but they all found each other again. This was meant to be. Jack had been right. Everything had happened for a reason.

Jack.

The man who had sacrificed himself for the island, for the people he loved. And now he is gone. Kate will never see him again. What if they were meant to be together? What if that was the destiny they never fulfilled? No. It couldn't have been. Kate was supposed to leave Jack behind. Jack was supposed to stay with the island. She wishes it didn't have to be that way, but it doesn't matter what she wishes for. It only matters that she loved Jack, and that he had died for her because he had loved her.

She looks on as Claire and her mother part, their blue eyes flooded, the droplets streaming down their faces. Next come smiles. And then giggles. Finally, the whole family, including Kate, are exchanging embraces, pecks on the cheek and foreheads.

Aaron knows and loves his real mother, the one who would have raised him. Carole remembers her daughter whom she had thought to be dead for so long. Claire is reunited with her mother and son whom she had been separated from. And Kate does not feel estranged in this family reunion, but feels as if she belongs and will find solace in this house with her new family.

Sawyer

It took him forever to find the apartment. He knew Rachel lived in Miami, but he is not the tracking-down type. Regardless, when the battered plane landed on the LAX runway to the surprise of everyone, he had a somewhat clear idea of where he was headed from there.

When they had landed, there was nowhere he felt he belonged. He might as well have, God forbid, stayed on the island, let it all play out like it did in the beginning. But that was in the past for him. Whatever happened, happened . . . or whatever it was they would say in the old days.

And Sawyer realizes he is headed to the home of a complete stranger, someone he has never met and only knew through the stories of his deceased love. Juliet.

And he is here to relay the tragic news of her vanished sister. The sister who never knew her nephew, who was unable to keep her promise of being there when he was born. Sawyer would have preferred seeking comfort with those he knew, or even prostitutes. But this was the right thing to do. Rachel's sister had a right to know of her sister's death.

He doesn't know what comes after this. He doesn't know how the remainder of his life will play out for him. Honestly, he doesn't care: it doesn't even cross his mind. He has learned to live in the present - to let go of the past and to never try and plan out the future.

And he knocks on the apartment door. Number 15. His number. He shakes that thought off of him, trying to leave whatever occured on the island in the past. Well, he can't quite yet. He has to inform Rachel of her sister, and then he can move on. That is the only step he needs to climb before the precipice. And then he can jump, free from anything that happened.

A woman with dirty blonde hair opens the door. Sawyer is taken aback by the blueness of her eyes. Juliet, he thinks, picturing her perfect cyan irises, how he could have looked into them for eternity, how they looked at him when their hands parted, the last time he saw their beauty.

"Hello," the young woman says shyly. Over her shoulder, Sawyer catches a glimpse of a little boy eating at the kitchen table.

"Uhh . . . hi, ma'am, I'm . . . " Sawyer starts, staring down at his fidgety feet.

He does not know where to begin. Who is he? Why is he here?

"She's dead." The words shock even himself, as they slip out accidentally. And they sound choppy. He feels his throat tighten and his eyes sting.

Rachel stares at him, a million different emotions and reactions stirring around in her mind. She doesn't know what to say to this strange man at her door. She has never seen him in her life.

"Excuse me?" she mutters. She's not sure what to think.

Sawyer looks up into her eyes. Juliet's eyes. "Juliet . . . is dead. She's dead."

Rachel freezes. Her mind stops whirring, her thoughts vanish. She watches this man break into tears in front of her, not even thinking about it. And then she stops watching him. Her vision is blank.

Sawyer stands in front of the door. He feels the tears flooding from his eyes. He can't stand it. He never wanted to repeat this tragedy ever again to anyone. But he had to. And the woman he is telling it to isn't reacting to him. He dares to look up into her eyes - Juliet's eyes - to see her reaction.

Right then, Rachel breaks down. The news reaching the center of her mind, and it is decoded there. She feels as if all the water in her body is pouring out from her eyes in one moment. She stands there, unmoving, as the tears gush down her cheeks. They hit the floor at her feet in a puddle.

She abruptly collapses to the ground. Her knees give in. She falls, leaning against the door frame.

Her sister. Juliet. Her sister, Juliet. Is. Dead. Juliet. Is. Dead. Juliet is dead.

Sawyer sees as Rachel crouches down on the floor, burying her face in her hands. He sits down beside her, touches her arm. Rachel removes her palms from her eyes, looks into his face.

She knows who he is. He loved Juliet. They lived together. Juliet, who had been gone from Rachel's life for six years, loved this man. James.

She didn't know what to believe for so long. Your sister is dead, they told her. She didn't want to believe it. Her sister was not dead to her as she was to everyone else. She remembers the memorial service after Juliet had been missing for four years. They had given up on her. Rachel had not.

But now her sister is dead. She is gone.

Rachel reaches and clasps both arms around James's neck. She cries into his shoulder as he embraces her and cries into her shoulder.

And they hold each other for a long while as Juliet's nephew looks on, puzzled.

And James tells Rachel everything.

He tells her about the island Juliet was taken to. He tells her about how she was there to take care of the pregnant women who kept dying on the island. He tells her that she wasn't allowed to leave and was kept there for three years, researching. He tells her she finally did find out about her nephew and her sister's health.

And then he tells her how they met, how they fell in love, and . . . how Juliet died.

James stays for several hours, sitting with Rachel and her son and comforting them. Young Julian, despite his obliviousness to Juliet's existence, cries when told that Juliet loved him and wanted nothing more than to return home to her family.

James is offered coffee (or whiskey) by a mournful Rachel, which he politely accepts. Then he leaves, Rachel telling him he can visit whenever he would like. And they part: Rachel and her son crying against each other for the remainder of the day before she tells him they "have to move on now", and James moving on to do whatever comes next.

Whatever that might be.

He decides he's going to visit his daughter for the first time.