Over the past several years, Betty had grown accustomed to hot summers in New York, where the weather often felt stickier, nosier, and fouler. She found herself developing a tolerance for the weather and everything that it brought.

This year was going to be different for her. A few months earlier, Betty had received devastating news that her mother had fallen ill. There wasn't enough information to know how long she would last, and her diagnosis remained clouded in confusion with doctors and family alike – there was so much about the human body that couldn't be explained. The Hoftstadts had been told that Ruth had a heart condition, and that affairs should be settled in the event that her time had come.

All it took was one call from her father Gene to get Betty down to Philadelphia for the summer. Carla had been willing take on an extra shift for the Drapers while Betty was in Pennsylvania. The subject of bringing Sally and Bobby on an extended trip was loosely discussed, but with the amount of activity in the Hoftstadt household, it was decided that the children should stay in the city with Don and Carla while Betty tended to her father and mother.

Betty had moved back into her old bedroom, riddled with ribbons and trophies from horseback riding competitions, pictures of Betty's early modeling days, and various treasures from her past. Yet Betty sought no comfort from her old room or old routines. It was difficult for her to take care of Ruth, and her father by extension each day. Looking at her mother, once a strong and vibrant woman, now close to bedridden broke her heart.

There were many hushed backdoor discussions with William about what was going to happen to their father when Ruth passed. The house was bought and paid for, but it was painfully clear to Betty and William that Gene could not take care of himself. The man could barely boil water, and laundry and cleaning were out of the question.

At William's suggestion, a nurse was hired to take care of Ruth, and by extension Gene. It was one of the easier solutions to the growing problems, and it allowed William and Betty to tend to their own families. William's brood, which consisted of Judy and their three little girls.

Gene seemed pleased to finally get his princess back on her natal day, and Betty had attempted to put up her best front for her parents, though it wasn't easy.

"She isn't getting any better," Betty said quietly after lunch. Ruth was napping in the bedroom, and William and Gene were filling in the gaps for Betty.

"She's had better days, you just haven't seen them," William insisted.

Betty looked to her father for confirmation.

"I don't know why those damn doctors won't say what she has or find a cure for it."

Betty studied her nails, which had been bitten and gnawed at over the month. Apparently coming home meant reawakening bad habits. "I wish someone had told me sooner."

"It's not like we knew right away," William said. "What good would worrying have done for you?"

"I could have done a lot!" Betty said defensively.

Gene raised his hands between them. "I don't want you two fighting or worrying about your mother and me."

"Daddy…"

"You both have your own families to worry about."

"Speaking of which, when was the last time you saw yours?" William asked.

Betty bristled at the subject of her family. Over the past few weeks she had been torn over the guilt of leaving them for an extended period of time – the first time she had ever done so - , though Carla was an extremely capable housekeeper and nanny when the occasion arose. Betty wouldn't have left New York with two suitcases if she didn't think that things would be under control when she returned, but that didn't take away the pang of not seeing the children every night.

Don was an entire issue by itself. With nights in Manhattan gradually becoming more and more frequent, Betty often considered herself to be a single mother. She often found it easier when Don was in the city than when he was home, which presented a slew of different problems, the biggest one being her husband's apparent indifference to her. Sex was becoming more and more infrequent. He didn't come home, she was fast asleep when he did come home, neither one was in the mood. They could be together in the very same bed, and yet feel miles away from each other.

The icing on the cake came when Betty asked Don what he thought about her taking an extended vacation to see her family – just her, without the children. Don seemed blasé to the entire issue once the subject of Carla moving in temporarily had been suggested and agreed upon. Betty was unsure if it was her husband's disdain for her family, or his willingness to accept the title of bachelor for a month that prompted Don to not host one objection to her leaving.

Her second weekend at her old home, Don had brought the kids for a quick overnight visit. The reunion was short and not sweet, coupled with perfunctory conversation, dreary updates on Ruth's health, and generic information about how well the kids were doing with Carla without her.

Phone calls were placed twice a week come rain or come shine, though Carla took the majority of the calls, and made sure that both children spoke to their mother.

"Don says the children are doing well with Carla."

"It'll be fall soon and Sally will be going to kindergarten," Gene pointed out.

"I'm not going to miss Sally's first day of school," Betty said quickly. "It's all she talks about on the phone – going to 'big kid school'."

"I remember Alice's first day," William added, referring to his oldest daughter. "It's a big step."

"Well she's more than ready," Betty said with a tight smile. Leave it to William to turn everything into a competition. Got married first, had kids first, lives closer to Mom and Dad. The thought of spending another month with William was enough to drive her back to New York.

"It was great to have you here on your birthday, Elizabeth – no matter what the circumstances," Gene said, squeezing his daughter's hand.

"You could have always visited," Betty countered.

"It's not the same as having you here with us."

Betty let out a heavy sigh. "I promise to visit more often, and I'll bring the kids with me next time. I just didn't want them cooped up here causing trouble over the summer."

Gene seemed pleased with Betty's answer. "The best thing Ruth and I ever did was have you two."

Betty nodded her head. "We haven't lost her yet, Daddy. You shouldn't talk like that."

"Elizabeth…" Gene's voice trailed off.

"I just can't spend her final months worrying when it will happen."

"None of us can," William said quietly.

"This may be my last birthday with Mother." Betty could feel tears prickling behind her eyes.

"Then you should enjoy it with her," Gene encouraged. No one said anything, all in a solemn haze, no one wanting to say that Ruth was dying out loud.

The kitchen phone broke the stony silence. "I'll get it," William offered.

Betty examined her fingernails once more, disgusted with herself for tearing them apart. If her mother could see them now, really see them, she would criticize her only daughter for destroying an important part of her beauty.

"Betts, it's Don."

Betty stood up and walked over to the phone. "Calling to wish me happy birthday," she mused out loud, cradling the receiver on the left side of her body. "Hello?"

"How are you?"

Betty's heart fluttered the faintest bit at her husband's voice. "The same."

"I miss you."

"Is that your way of asking when I'm coming home?" Betty heard a laugh on the other line.

"I wish things could be different."

"So do I." Different in more ways than one, she mused, twisting the cord around her fingers. "Can you put the children on?"

"Afraid not."

"Aren't they at the house with you?"

"I'm not calling from the house."

"You're at work on a Saturday!" Betty scolded. "It's bad enough that the kids don't see either of us during the week, but the weekends too!"

"Calm down. Why don't you sit?"

Betty paused. "How would you know that I'm standing?"

"Look out the kitchen window."

Holding the phone Betty peered out the lower level window. The phone dropped from her hand and dangled on the ground. "Don!" She could see him, standing on the porch of one of their neighbors. Betty raced out the kitchen door and crossed to the fence, opening the gate. "It's really you."

Don closed the gap, his arms circling around his wife, holding her against his chest. He had truly missed her over the past month, though his actions rarely showed it. Showing emotion, being able to express feeling was never easy for Don Draper, who saw so very little of it growing up. Don leaned in to inhale her hair, relishing the familiar scent of lilac. He was unwilling to let her go, wanting to freeze time with the two of them in their own little world. Part of it was out of sheer guilt, knowing how poorly he behaved towards her while she was away with her family, and when she was at home. He craved her familiarity, finding that no other mistress or conquest could captivate him quite like her.

"Hey," Don said gently, feeling his shirt become wet from her tears. "Why don't we sit down together?" He led her to the bench swing on the front porch, and helped her to her seat.

"She's dying," Betty murmured, her face still buried in his chest.

"I'm sorry." Don didn't know what else to say. He could never share his own personal dealings of death with her, the passing of his mother and father. He had trained himself to keep that part of him well hidden. He knew how unfair it would be to expect her to do the same.

Don produced his handkerchief for Betty, who accepted his token and began to dry her eyes. Bringing the cloth to her nose, Betty's body stiffened, once again recognizing a scent that did not belong to her. Well now I know what he's been doing while I've been away.

Betty handed the handkerchief back to Don, unwilling to meet him in the eye. "It was very sweet of you to come."

"I didn't want you to spend your birthday alone."

"I have my family," Betty pointed out. "They've kept me busy. I'm guessing you've been busy as well?"

"An ad man's day is never done."

Especially when he's working extra hours. If she hadn't of been so distraught over her mother, if she had been willing to put up a fight against her husband, she would have confronted him over the evidence then and there. But in her heart she knew there was no point. He would deny wrongdoing, she would make an unpleasant day even worse.

"You haven't asked about your birthday present."

"I thought the present was your visit."

Don shook his head, producing a square box out of his pocket. "I really hope you like it."

Betty said nothing, accepting the gift and opening the lid. The sunlight made the sterling silver locket seem more like a million wishing stars than a piece of jewelry. What I wouldn't give for one of those, Betty thought to herself, knowing what her first wish would be. "It's beautiful."

"Open the locket," Don instructed.

Betty did as she was told, unlatching the side. Her eyes squinted at the tiny picture fit perfectly into each half of the locket. One was her mother as a little girl, and the other was a picture of her mother on the day she was born. "How did you find these?" Betty asked.

"Your father helped with this year's present."

"Did he know you were coming?"

"He did – but I told him not to say anything."

"He didn't." Betty closed the locket, feeling a fresh wave of tears ready to form. "You must have worked very hard on this. Tracking down the pictures, getting them in the locket…"

"Birthdays only come once a year."

"No matter what," Betty grimaced.

"I thought you would like it. This way you get to keep a piece of your mother with you at home."

Betty nodded her head. "I'm just feeling tired I suppose."

"Would you like to take a nap?"

Betty nodded and stood up. "What time are you heading back to the city?"

"I could stay the night if you'd like," Don offered, taking her hand.

How generous, Betty glowered. "The children would miss you, and I don't think I want them alone with Carla overnight."

Don flinched back slightly, stunned by Betty's apparent rejection of him, but employed a quick recovery with his classic smile. "I suppose you're right," he agreed, deciding that maybe it would be easier and better for both of them if Betty dealt with her mother on her own."When do you think you'll come home?"

Betty bit her lower lip. "I'd like to stay another two weeks or so. I'll be home before school starts for Sally."

Don seemed satisfied with her answer. "Shall I walk you upstairs?"

Betty nodded, never feeling more alone than she felt at that very moment. She was losing her mother, and apparently her husband as well, and she didn't know what to do about it.