So, this is already posted on as a response to "The Real Reason She Left Miami" challenge.

If any of you are wondering, I'm really sorry but I'll probably not be picking my previous fic, You Can't Say Murder in a Theater, back up any time soon. That's not to say it will never get finished, but if you haven't already, consider it officially on hiatus.


Things Fall Apart

Chapter 1

It's funny how sometimes, when you least expect them to, things can go horribly, terribly wrong, and, in the blink of an eye, your entire life has ended. It's funny sometimes, how quickly things can spiral out of control. It's a fact of life that, eventually, things fall apart. The only question is when. Things fall apart, but I never thought it would happen to me.

The first thing I do after I wake up is cross the living room and slowly open the door of the bedroom across from mine. I silently approach the side of the bed and wait for the familiar sounds of inhaling and exhaling. I breath a sigh of relief that my daughter has made it through another night. Then I go back to my bedroom and complete my usual morning rituals.

My daughter has dilated cardiomyopathy. This means that her heart muscle is stretched and can't pump blood properly. It affects about six kids in every million per year. She was diagnosed six years ago, when she was three. We'd noticed when we were at the park that she couldn't go as long as the other kids without having to rest and catch her breath. The next year, while our daughter was still fairly healthy, my husband died.

After showering, fixing my hair into its customary bun, and applying makeup, I return to the other bedroom and gently jostle my daughter's sleeping form.

"Grace," I whisper. "Grace."

"What?" she asks groggily, her eyes still closed.

"I'm going to leave as soon as Megan gets here," I say, referring to the college student I've hired this summer to take care of Grace while I'm at work. "Remember, Tom will be here at ten," I refer now to the tutorer that comes every weekday to make sure Grace doesn't fall behind. He works with Grace year-round, because she gets too tired to work for too many hours a day. "How did you sleep?" I asked.

"It didn't wake me up," Grace answers, laying a hand on her chest, over her heart.

"Good," I smile. "I'll see you after work. Let Megan call me if something goes wrong. Remember, she's not a nurse yet. She doesn't know anything about this."

Grace's ICD, implantable cardioverter defibrillator, shocking her back to life once every couple of days is customary for us, but for a nineteen-year-old, the idea that one's charge's heart has stopped can be quite frightening.

Grace nodded and buried her face back in her pillow, half asleep already.

"I'll see you when I get home," I said once more. "We'll have chicken tonight."

"With cheese on top?" Grace asks.

"Of course," I replied. Chicken topped with melted cheese is Grace's favorite meal. She has dietary restrictions, low salt to avoid fluid retention and high calories to help with growth. "Have a banana for breakfast," I add, because one of her medications causes low potassium.

"I know," Grace grumbles. "Bye Mom." This is my cue to leave. I know that Grace is tired. It's early. I'm tired and I don't have a heart defect.

"Bye," I whisper, closing the door.

Megan arrives as I'm putting on my shoes.

"She's still sleeping," I inform her. "Make sure she's eaten breakfast and had her medicine by ten, when the tutorer gets here. If she needs a nap after he leaves, that's fine. She gets tired easily. All the food in the house is okay for her too eat. She knows her dietary restrictions. I should be home by five-thirty. I'll let you know if I'm running late. If you have any questions that Grace doesn't know the answer to, if anything happens, please don't hesitate to call. Kathy in the apartment right above us watches Grace during the school year, so she should be able to provide quick help if you need it." Megan nodded, clearly overwhelmed. "I have to go," I say. "I'm running late. Thank you for this." And with that, I'm out the door and on my way to the station.