Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I always appreciate it! I hope that everyone is enjoying this. And if you aren't enjoying that you are at least feeling what Rhett is feeling...

It was like looking at a ghost. She was as pale as she had been when she had accused him of killing her, of course that had only been in his mind-- she had only been a vision, a manifestation of his guilt and fear and anguish. She had somehow survived. Scarlett was alive, although that had not been a certainty for quite some time after she fell. He stood across the room from her watching as her chest rose and fell in a slow steady rhythm. Her hair was a stark contrast to her pale, ever so pale face that matched the sheets of her bed. Dark, heavy half circles set below her eyes; her eyelashes fanned out upon the heavy shadow.

There's was a tragedy, a tragedy in league with all the great tragedies of history and literature. He had lost his best friend and confident when he had married her. Weren't you supposed to be able to friends with the person that you loved with all of your heart? Weren't you supposed to be happy when you found a love like this. But no, this love was like a madness. This love was insanity driving him beyond limits to a place he did not understand. He had no footing here. He was like a child thrown into deep water, water so engulfing that he could not discern what was up or down. And it was accompanied with a feeling that he couldn't breathe, that all air supply was gone. And that was his love for her.

Sometimes she moaned in her sleep. He knew that it was inevitable even as he watched her. Ever since Melanie had consoled him on that desperate terrifying night, listening to the ravings of a mad, desperate man, he had been visiting Scarlett, but only at the times when he was certain that she was soundly asleep and that there was no chance of anyone even catching him. But he needed to see her, he needed to know that she was still alive. She had to stay alive even if he could never hold her again. But he was not ready yet to look into her eyes. He wasn't ready to face her. Not with the cold words he had spoken, not with the acts he had done. He wasn't ready to see her eyes open.

Sometimes she cried in her sleep. She didn't awaken, and so he was never certain what was causing her tears. Perhaps she was in pain, or perhaps she was reliving the terrifying moments of that seemingly never ending fall. Or possibly it was both. Or maybe even she had really wanted their child, and she was now mourning her loss. It could have even been all three.

But the sad fact was that she never called for him. Never once did he hear his name pass through her pinched, taut lips. He listened intently, hoping against hope, praying that God really could hear him. But his request never came through. Rarely was anything she said even discernible. Her voice was nothing but a whisper, as if it took all the strength she possessed to murmur the indistinct sounds that flowed out.

He desperately longed to pull her into his arms and shelter her from everything in her life-- from the memories and from the snubs and hurts thats pricked at her. He remembered the nights that he had held her, fighting away the demons of the nightmare that plagued her. Perhaps these nightmares had returned. Perhaps his arms would soothe her, but he was too afraid to act. Afraid because he had nearly killed her. He was more afraid than he had ever been during the war.

She would be safer and possibly even happier if they were polite distant strangers in their own home. He would stay in the marriage, despite Scarlett. Scarlett would be safer and happier without him. He would stay for the sake of the children. It was obvious that Bonnie loved her mother and he could not take the child from her mother again. He could not deprive his princess of anything.

Wade and Ella needed him as well. He had been a part of their lives for as long as they remembered. Ella mostly didn't remember any time without him. He was staying for them. He was the only father that these children had.

Could he be happy away from her. It was pointless to end their union, because he had proven time and time again that he was helpless to the pull that she had on him. He had tried over the years to escape from her, but he had failed miserably each and every time. He had risked everything, seemingly beyond reason and logic to be near her and keep her safe. Keeping her safe was the least that he could offer her, even if it hurt him.

But nothing seemed to matter as he stared at her face, still ivory against the sheets. Nothing mattered but saving her from him. He finally believed what those around him had been saying for years. He was no good. How could he be any good. He was a murderer. A murderer of his own child.

Finally, he turned and left the gaudy rose palace of a room behind him, retreating to his own masculine sanctuary where the light glowed brightly through the night. Bonnie was sound asleep; her small lips puckered in a rosebud kiss. She looked so much like her mother. Sometimes he felt like he must have fallen back in time when he stared at her ivory completion. Her skin was pale in the flickering light, and her dark curls tumbled around her face. Her lips parted with each breath, before closing again. Her dark lashes fanned out in a delicate spray across her creamy skin, and the faint blush of roses painted her cheeks.

Here was his solace. Here was the place that he could retreat from the terror that his hands and words had caused. And he knew that he didn't deserve the love of such a child. But he loved her all the more for that reason. She was his chance at redemption. She was all that he could hold onto of his love for Scarlett. She was his only hope. The only light in his future, if it wasn't for Bonnie, he would have nothing. He would be nothing. For all he was her poured out into her, she was his all.