Anna's ability to take another step suspended as though her feet were set in the very concrete she lightly strolled upon mere seconds ago. Her vision meticulously fixed on him, the color draining from her face.

She wasn't sure.

He hadn't seen her. Her breath gripped tightly in her throat, her ribs grew taught and her head dizzy with doubt.

What if this was real? How could it be? Why would it be?

She wanted it to be him. Needed it.

Her head pounding with a heavy pulse of blood as her body screamed for her to inhale. She became lightheaded and nearing shock, dropped her coffee. It hit the ground splashing her pants. She never blinked.

The jolt to her system plateaued leaving her motionless, burdened, and Anna felt the moment reduce to nothing, and everything.

It was him.

Someone ran toward her, a caring stranger. She was beautiful with long hair embellished by the glow of sunlight. Her concern gave Anna the false sense that everything was about to be okay.

She was speaking to her but Anna labored to hear, "M'am? Are you all right?"

He turned now, focused on the commotion. Realizing his assistant had arrived and was offering help to someone, he started walking back up the path towards her.

Anna, breathing again, but nearly gasping, finally heard the woman's words. "Are you okay? What happened?"

Willing her senses to perform, Anna finally responded. "I'm sorry… I'm okay… I'm fine. I just…my coffee was hot. I dropped it." She was lying and trying to move away from the jarring moment. She couldn't.

He was still walking toward them, his head down and focused on the path as he moved with a peculiar certainty.

A barrage of questions steamrolled through her mind, why was he limping, he was alive - why hadn't he tried to contact her?

The kind woman instinctively reached for Anna's hands. "Did you burn yourself?"

She couldn't answer. There he was - resiliently closing the three-year gap between them. Anna couldn't release her penetrating glare, boring hard, searching for some type of justification in his movements.

He called out to the woman helping Anna. "Charlie? Everything all right?" Anna turned to look around, confused, "who is Charlie?"

The gentle woman smiled at Anna. "That's me. My name is Charlene, but everyone calls me Charlie," she said smiling while inspecting Anna's hands, "are you sure you're okay?"

When he finally reached them, he looked up - his eyes meeting Anna's for the first time. Even the most seasoned pain in her heart could not prepare her for this moment.

He pulled back slightly as she watched his face begin to comprehend, his brow furrow. He moved his mouth as if to speak but hesitated. He looked at her pants covered in coffee. His eyes empathized over the anguish on her face.

They stood silent for an eternal moment, neither certain of anything to say.

His face suddenly brightened, giving her the sense he was happy to see her.

But then he spoke.

"Hello. You must be Gwen. I'm John Bates," and offered his hand to Anna along with his oh-so polite but inexplicable introduction of himself.

As his lips began spanning into a small smile, a wave of unfathomable emotion erupted within her. Her shoulders slumping, Anna's eyes left his quickly.

Ignoring his hand, she wearily shook her head, clearly disturbed, his words incomprehensible to her. Her stomach clenching, she blinked back the imminent bite of tears as she noticeably stumbled. Moving away from them, now officially shattered.

They could only watch as Anna hid her face from them, tears hastening down her cheeks without effort as she began to turn away. That which she did not yet understand, that surprised her, looked and felt different from any memory of John – tore her up inside and she could do nothing more than run from it.

Charlie turned to John, "well that was odd. I hope she's okay."

John continued to stare at Anna, running farther and farther away from him. "Yes...I hope so too."

Anna didn't stop running the entire five miles back to her cottage.

Once in her front yard, she retched violently behind a tree and collapsed to the ground disheartened, beyond confused, and nearly exhausted.

Once inside, Anna paced the house, her heart pounding with palpitations. Where was Gwen? She had left her a barrage of messages. How could this be happening? Why didn't he know me?

There was a knock on the door. Finally. Gwen had returned.

Anna, in tears, moved quickly to answer, already talking before the door was open, "Gwen, you'll never believe who the photographer is…"

It wasn't Gwen at the door.

She had forgotten how tall he was. Somehow her memory had eroded his commanding stature. Now dominating her doorway, towering her small frame she searched his richly engrained face. He pressed his lips together nervously while angling his head to peer into her eyes apologetically.

The words from everyone who cared came crashing over her, flooding the moment.

Let him go Anna, they said. He's probably dead Anna, they insisted. You have to move on with your life Anna, they encouraged. But there he stood, in her doorway.

There was an inherent sadness about John Bates now. She distinguished it easily from his gaze. Deeply rooted in his eyes she also caught site of guilt.

"Hello Anna."

The sound of her name spoken with such familiarity moved through her gracefully, soothing her soul with a gentle peace she had long forgotten.

He shifted his weight to one leg and watched as a flash of confusion consumed her for the second time that day.

He did know her.

Gwen walked up the sidewalk and passed John as he left. Her mouth dropped open. "Hello Gwen. Its been a very long time."

In complete shock, she couldn't formulate a single word. John turned and looked back at Anna still standing in the doorway, "I'll wait for your call Anna, please…you know where I'll be."

John walked down the paved path rubbing at his jaw, got into his car and drove away.

Gwen looked up at Anna, her arms folded, her face distinctly antagonized.

"Oh my god…was that?"

"Yes."

"Oh my god."

"I know."

"Oh. My. God. "

"Stop saying that Gwen. Get in here."

"Wait a minute"... she looked back at the car as John drove away. "Was he? That's the same car as…" Gwen was starting to put it together. "Anna…what's going on?"

Anna turned quickly and Gwen followed her through the house. Sitting herself on the edge of a kitchen chair Gwen leaned into the table anxiously.

Anna distracted herself with making tea. She knew Gwen was eager to talk about John's sudden reappearance, but still felt rattled by the ongoing turn of events. She desperately needed a moment to organize her feelings.

Gwen's head was spinning. Wanting to know more, she couldn't help but talk. "He's the photographer I hired to shoot your wedding? I can't believe this!"

Anna was silently stirring a lump of sugar around in her tea, her back to Gwen.

"Where has he been all this time Anna? Did he offer any explanation?"

Anna poured Gwen a cup of tea, moving as though she didn't hear, lost in her own thoughts.

"How long has he been in London? Does he live here? Why hasn't he reached out to you before?"

Finally, Anna joined Gwen at the table, sitting and sipping her tea quietly.

"I guess I need to find you a new photographer."

Anna dropped her cup of tea to the table, spilling it. She looked briefly at her shaking hands, and then met Gwen's concerned eyes.

"I'm sorry Anna…are you okay? How did you even get back to the house?" She walked over to the counter to gather paper towels.

"I took an unintentionally long run."

"Why was John here Anna? What did he have to say for himself?" She mopped up the spill while Anna collapsed backward into her chair.

"Nothing really."

"Nothing really?"

"I don't remember actually. I don't… really know what he said. I didn't invite him in."

"Will you call him?"

"I don't know."

"Where will he be?"

"What?"

"He said, 'You know where I'll be'. What does that mean?"

"Oh. He's at the Abbey today. He's doing a photo shoot there for an American magazine."

"What? How can you be so casual about this? Will you call him then?"

Anna was thoughtfully silent. She stood from the table and began pacing again. "Gwen, I'm just...I don't know what happened to him. I finally accepted that he was probably dead, now clearly he's not. This is...considerable. I need time to think."

"He's definitely alive, and he looked good. In fact, he looked really good."

Anna shot Gwen a discouraging look. "Oh come on Anna, you had to have noticed that much…what will you do?"

Anna paused; she stopped pacing, her mind contemplative, "he pretended not to know me this morning."

"What do you mean? At the park?"

"He was there...with a woman. He said she was his assistant."

Gwen sat quietly back in her chair. Anna turned to look at her; "he introduced himself to me in front of her, asking if I was you."

"What did you do?"

"I slapped him across the face."

"At the park?"

"No… Here, in my doorway."

"Oh Anna…was the woman Charlie?"

"Yes, how did you know?"

"That's who I spoke to at the pub last night. Why on earth would he do that?"

"I don't know. I don't know anything. I'm so confused."

"Unless Anna..."

"They're together? I know. I considered that."

Gwen looked concerned. "Will you tell Andrew?"

Anna looked out the window, "I don't…No. He doesn't even know about John. I've tried not to mention him. Ever. Its not relevant."

"Not relevant? Do you hear yourself? John Bates. Not relevant? You're about to marry another man Anna and John Bates just happened to show up from the dead? How is that not relevant?"

Anna stared back at Gwen for a few long moments pondering. "I'm not going to rile up over this Gwen. I'm not going to fall apart. I'm not going to do anything except get answers. He's alive Gwen - I always hoped it was possible." She paused for a moment, gathering her resolve. "But now there's a new issue to determine. Because he's alive, then he chose not to contact me, and he lied about knowing me this morning. I deserve to know why."

"Yes Anna, you do."

"Once I have the truth I can move on and finally close the John Bates chapter of my life." She tried to sound confident, but failed miserably. She couldn't hide the lingering devastation in her voice.

Gwen blinked at Anna silently. She knew her friend was only saying this in a weak attempt to shroud her pain, "do you want me to…I don't know. I don't know what to do."

"There's nothing for you to do Gwen." She smiled slightly, " You found him. You found John Bates. That's plenty for one day. That's plenty for a lifetime."

That evening Anna was dangerously distracted during her drive to meet with John. Planning a conversation in her head, Anna rehearsed speaking matter-of-fact, coldly, methodically aiming for answers. She would brag to him her wedding plans; dismiss anything he said, then leave. She had to remind herself over and over that she was a woman who knew what she wanted, and knew how to get it.

She agreed to meet him at a friend's summer home, where no one could disrupt them. Nestled between a flower garden of pansies and poppies and a small grove of trees, a cozy grass-roofed cottage overlooked a green pasture where sheep contentedly grazed - or so she imagined it to be in the summer. It was early spring however, and raining, fog settled all around and the air was heavy - much like her mood.

Stopping the car, sliding it into park, she gathered her courage in one slow breath. But before she could check her appearance for the fifth time since leaving the house, John opened the red cottage door and walked onto the small covered porch to greet her. His face eager while wringing his hands together conveyed his nervousness.

She ducked her head to peer out at him through the car windshield. He gave a quick wave with his hand; she thought he swallowed back a smile.

Her heart, pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears, would not settle. How long had she deliberated over this moment? In her dreams… In her counseling…She would devise this reunion again and again – each time a different location, each time a more terrifying reason for his disappearance.

Anna looked away from his soft gaze, and pulling herself from the car forced her anger to peak. Taking a mental inventory of the many reasons for her sorrow, she made a final attempt to solidify her resolve and remain angry with him.

John waited on the porch retained in dread, swallowing fear, suffering - all while guarding the fragments of his devastated love for her.

She wanted to run. She wanted to run to him. She walked slowly.

John spoke first, squinting his eyes at her cautiously, trying to read her body language, "thank you for coming Anna."

His handsomeness was understated. Dressed in jeans and a black button down shirt - the sleeves rolled to his elbows, he appeared more thin, fit, and stronger than before. His face covered in dark stubble, he masterfully defined a relaxed marque of distinction.

She felt her stomach tighten below the belt of her dress, but slowly managed to draw air into her lungs. Walking up two steps, then across the porch and past John without looking him in the eyes she responded, "of course, why wouldn't I come?"

She sounded aloof – as was her practiced intention. John felt uneasy.

Her stomach dropped as she caught his masculine scent - a dark yet subtle musk infused with the essence of orange cognac. Nearly losing her footing as the intoxicating aroma influenced her stability for a moment.

John opened the cottage door, moving aside politely for her to enter before him. Stepping through the doorway Anna felt oddly delighted by the overstated decor. The singular sensory enchantment of the sitting room offered two large leather sofas, book-ending a massive glowing fire within the stone hearth. The aroma of warming cinnamon filled the air. Anna quickly recognized the designer's efforts for sophistication, elegance and style.

John closed the door slowly, composing his rush of emotion, he turned to her, "please sit Anna, I just made tea."

She averted his eyes once more, choosing instead to look around the room. He paused, feeling anxious, "excuse me for a moment."

Touching his forehead while turning toward the kitchen, John wiped away a layer of light perspiration. A slight twitch above his right eye stubbornly pulsated. He clenched his jaw and moved past Anna, brushing against her arm slightly. Wonderful memories ignited as he took in the scent of her rosemary shampoo.

John moved swiftly into the kitchen, now doubting his ability to share the truth with her.

Anna couldn't possibly sit, she paced the room - as was her usual response to anxiety- absentmindedly caressing the part of her arm where he had moments ago grazed over her.

The cottage felt as though it had been conceived for romance. Neutral colors with deep reds and blues subtly mixed throughout window trimmings, heavy throw pillows and large iconic pieces of art. The mantle covered in candles, a piano, soft light. John's friend had impeccable taste. His friend...she recognized photos around the room. Mary and Sybil. Cora. Edith. This had to be Robert Crawley's cottage she determined.

John returned to the sitting room, a tray in hand. Anna still lingering around photos allowed him to pause a moment and admire her quietly. Her face intricately soft and utterly feminine, John enjoyed the sight of her discreetly then pushed back his rising emotions, "Anna, please have tea."

She turned quickly and reached for a cup from his tray along with a slice of warm cinnamon bread. Forcing herself to appear relaxed, she ate the bread quickly and immediately felt sick- she hadn't been able to eat anything all day. She sipped the tea and smiled graciously at him nonetheless.

As he raised a cup to his mouth, Anna noticed he still wore a sterling silver cuff bracelet, an enduring symbol of her hold on his memory. She had gifted that to him during their last night together at Downton.

Anna felt the need to break the silence. "So? You're a photographer then, seeing the world through your camera?"

John was somehow taken by surprise with her casual question. Her manner was professional, businesslike. What had he expected from her after all? Did he prefer another slap across his face? God knows he deserved it.

He reminded himself she was getting married. Clearly, long over him and successfully moving on with her life. "Its...its going well, thank you. I've had a bit of luck with it."

Clearing her throat, attempting to swallow the awkwardness, she stood stoic before him, her voice cold. "How lovely for you. It must be nice living effortlessly and worry free behind a camera."

John anticipated Anna would be terse, but her tone still stung.

"What happened to your passion for wine?" She continued with easy questions.

John paused and looked at her with intention, "I still have all the same passions as before Anna.'

How many nights I had longed to hear you say my name. "Forgive me if I find that hard to believe." She continued quickly, "so tell me about Charlie, she's a lovely woman. Are you two an item?"

John raised his eyebrows surprised by her question. "Charlie is strictly professional, we…" He hesitated, "she works for me Anna, I'm not...an item with anyone." He wanted to be clear of that detail.

She felt relieved by his admission but quickly asked the next question, "will you tell me now - why the charade of not knowing me in front of her then?"

"Yes…about that…I was only protecting you."

"Protecting me? Quite the heartfelt gesture John. She seemed lovely and caring, why on earth would you need to – "

"I'm sorry…" he interrupted. "I can't fully explain that part right now. There are…other matters to discuss first."

Anna was clearly frustrated. "How often are you in London John? Can you explain that part now?"

"This is my first time back, in three years Anna."

"Well then, where do you live?"

"Right now I'm living near San Francisco."

"Really? I would have thought -well, it doesn't matter."

"You would have thought what Anna?" John took a step toward her.

"I've thought many things over the years John. None of which matter any longer." She sipped her tea again, turned away and walked toward one of the photos on the mantel. "So, it would appear from these photos that this is Robert Crawley's cottage?"

"It is."

"How is good old Robert these days?" Her voice continued to sound crisp, demanding.

John was silent while Anna continued with her back to him, "gosh, I had forgotten how beautiful his daughters are. Do you see them often?"

John, thoughtfully silent, took another step closer to her. He longed to reach out and touch her soft hair. He set his tea down on a side table and picked up one of the family photos instead. "No. I hardly ever see them now. In fact, this is the first time I'd been in touch with Cora since..."

Anna turned to look at John; he had stopped talking.

He carefully placed the photo down and met Anna's eyes glaring at him. He wanted to reach for her hand, but the strange somber energy between them prevented him. "Anna..." he spoke her name so tenderly; in such a whisper it made her resolve diminish rapidly.

She quickly looked away, moving across the room. He closed his eyes, disappointed, releasing the breath he had been holding. This was harder than he expected it would be. This. Being near her.

"I hope you're not here to cause any trouble John. I never told Andrew about you," she blurted out.

"Andrew? So, that's his name." He felt like someone had drop kicked him in the stomach. "So, you never told him about us then?"

"No. I mean, I never told him about finding a new photographer." She wanted him to feel irrelevant. He was anything but irrelevant. He consumed her every thought.

He silently followed her with his eyes as she moved about the room, touching photographs, picking up books and pretending to read the back covers.

"John? May I ask you a personal question?"

"You may ask me anything." He caught up to her, cornered near the baby grand piano, her back to him.

"I noticed you have a...limp. What happened to you?"

His face flushed. He leaned in closer to her, wanting more than ever to pull her into his arms. "Its a very long story."

"Isn't that why you asked me here? I would imagine you have many long stories I should know." She turned quickly, discovering his close proximity to her - he was standing near enough to feel the static energy pulsating from him. Her heart was pounding again.

"That's not the only reason I asked you here Anna." They searched one another's eyes. He desperately longed to feel her lips on his. The purposeful and orderly atmosphere she had been trying to create had finally given way.

John felt the emotions building and spoke quickly, "After you left the park, I thought I should just leave you alone."

"That's what you do best."

"No it isn't Anna."

"No?"

"No," he said. "I never intended to leave you."

"But you did."

"Yes...I did do that, but I didn't want to."

"But it happened nonetheless."

"I'm sorry. You have no idea how sorry." His eyes were brimming now with emotion.

"Well, after three years, it's nothing to me now," she lied hideously.

"It's everything to me Anna. You're everything to me. I was painfully reminded of that when I saw you today."

She blinked at him, her resolve completely faltering now.

"Don't." She demanded.

John was silent.

She swallowed hard. She wanted to be disappointed by what he had to say. She wanted to hate him. She loved him. She gave him all the grace she had. She needed to hate him. She loved him.

"I should be happy for you I suppose. I knew men would fall in love with you. I tried not to think about it, but I knew. You deserve to be happy Anna."

"Talk to me about where you have been all this time, not about how happy I should be."

His face grew pale. "I know. You deserved more from me. You deserved the truth much sooner. I just...I just started facing it all myself a few months ago." He wanted to punch something, anything, the wall, the piano.

He started to speak again but faltered behind his own emotion. "I don't know where to begin...tell me where to begin Anna."

"Tell me why you never returned John...start there." She choked back her own grief.

He reached for her hands, influenced by the sorrow in his eyes, her resolve defeated, she allowed him to hold her fingers gently in his while he spoke, rubbing her knuckles softly with his thumbs.

"My life became a series of unimaginable events Anna...my world, our life, was dramatically altered by an endless array of horrifying circumstance." He stepped so close to her that she almost collapsed against his chest. She wanted nothing more.

He reached up and lifted her chin, "the most important thing I need you to know Anna…I never stopped loving you. Not for one second. Not even now."

Anna, completely captivating by his confession closed her eyes. As he leaned down to kiss her, Anna's phone rang loudly in her purse, altering her mind and pulling her out of the moment completely. Realizing what was happening, she panicked.

"This was a mistake. I should leave," she was alarmed, confused and pushing her way past him in frenzy.

"Anna..." His voice was soft, pleading.

"Please. Excuse me I need to go. I shouldn't have come." She couldn't breath.

John lightly grabbed her arms as she tried to pass. "Please don't leave...there is so much that needs to be explained." His face exploding now with fear, with regret.

There was no mistaking his effect on her, and no imitating her ability to resist her need for him. Even a small touch, a handhold - took moments to recover from. Anna grew angry with this, and pushed her way past him. How dare he make her feel anything besides anger toward him.

He called out to her as she moved quickly to leave, "Anna, I'm sorry. Don't leave like this..."

She grabbed her purse but stopped abruptly; her unending love for him causing a lack of sensibility and control. She began rambling in a fury of emotion. "I'm getting married John. I'm going to be happy. I don't want answers or long stories or memories of you. I don't need a photographer or an assistant photographer or anything else from you!" She was crying now. "Why didn't you...why didn't you just...why was it so easy for you to leave me John?"

How dare she let herself fall apart like this. This wasn't the plan. Brushing away the pain from her cheeks, she gave him one last look then stormed out the door embarrassed and angry and headed straight for her car.

Once outside Anna barely noticed that it was raining heavily now. Her head pounding, she couldn't find her keys. Quickly she was rain soaked and cold.

John followed after her pleading in the rain. "Anna!"

"Leave me alone John!"

"No I won't...I can't. Not until you hear the truth."

"I can't find my car keys!"

"Its raining Anna. Please come back inside."

The rain had saturated their clothes and hair. Even though she was soaking wet, Anna continued standing there digging for keys. Frustrated, she threw her purse to the ground and pounded her hands against the car. She could hear herself yelling but couldn't stop, "Why didn't YOU come back? Three years John! Three! And not one word! How was that so easy for you?"

There was a crack of thunder above and the sky lit up with lightening. She saw pain behind unshed tears in his eyes as the sudden light reflected across his features.

"Come back with me inside Anna, please. You can't leave like this." He pleaded with her and holding out his hand, reached for her to take it.

Anna just stood there staring up at him, feeling stone cold and afraid of his truth, terrified by her feelings. She was overwhelmed to the point of surrender.

Another crack of thunder, then lightening hit close behind her. Startled, she screamed and ducked instinctively. John reached for her again but she started to run, escaping his grasp and heading for the porch.

He stood there, rain dripping off his hair and into his eyes; somewhat relieved she had been influenced to return to the cottage. But then in the next horrifying moment he watched Anna slipping on the wet stone stairs and fall.

Unable to reach for anything to stop her violent motion, Anna slammed her head hard against the wooden porch then landed her shoulder to the ground with such force it made it's own thundering sound.

"ANNA! No!" John made his way to her quickly, his heart nearly stopping.

She was unconscious lying in wet grass, buried in rain. He raised her limp body carefully from the ground and carried her into the warm dry cottage.