Sunday. Family dinner. But surely Angela wouldn't continue adhering to the tradition? Maura peered through the curtains in the kitchen to observe the guest house. There didn't appear to be anyone at home, which was unusual as Angela was always awake by seven in the morning.

Actually, come to think of it, Maura hadn't really seen the matriarch around since Jane's trip to the hospital. She cocked her head to contemplate before deciding to simply walk over there. It could simply be that Maura hadn't really been paying attention to anything not related to Jane or marriage, which meant somewhat actively ignoring Angela in the process.

She slipped on some shoes before crossing the yard and knocking on the door. She knocked again after receiving no response. Worrying that something had happened to the older woman, she tried the door. It opened easily beneath her fingers.

It was obvious that Angela was gone, truly gone, when Maura opened the door. Still, she made herself walk through the place, noticing every absence of a Rizzoli heirloom or masterpiece. She wasn't naive enough to believe that Angela would've stayed, but some small, irrational part of her had hoped for it.

Angela had left her a note, though, which was unexpected. Maura hadn't been aware of the possibility that she would leave something behind for her. It was nice: having someone who probably loathes you to leave you a parting remark. Of course, it was highly probable that the letter would be filled with blame and sadness, anger and distrust, but it meant that Angela had held her in high enough regard at one time to deem she deserved something more than an empty guest house and a recently vacant space in her heart that her own mother could never fill.

She'd known that giving up Jane would mean giving up her extended family. She'd accepted it, but it still hurt, it still ached. There was still that stifling, crippling pain in her chest as the reality of the emptiness consumed her.

The pain is part of what drove her to her decision. Before she'd met Jane, sure, she hadn't experienced that higher level of happiness that family and friends could supply, but she also hadn't experienced devastating loss either. It was a trade-off of sorts, and now that she'd spent time on both sides of the spectrum, she'd made her choice.

The choice to go on living without family, without an inner circle of friends, without Jane, her drug of choice. It hadn't been all her responsibility, she had taken other people into account, somewhat. Angela had a hard enough time keeping her three blood children under control, she didn't need to add to the woman's constantly high levels of stress and anxiety. Barry and Vince would no longer have to try and pick sides between the two of them when they were in the midst of a fight. Frankie no longer had to fret about Doyle coming to 'deal' with Jane or anyone else in the family. Tommy would no longer attempt to pursue a romantic relationship with her, now that she was an outcast to their clan, which would put him on better terms with Jane. And Jane, well, this was better for Jane in the long run due to many things: if she's no longer close to Maura, she's no longer in danger from the mob strong-arm; if she's no longer acquainted with Maura in any way, she'll no more feel the need to save her.

In return, Maura wouldn't have to hurt. She'd close off her heart, again, and she wouldn't have to feel the clutches of agonising flames licking the tender flesh of her heart whenever Jane couldn't be located, or was chasing down a threatening lead, or even went out to walk her dog. No matter what Maura may have said about her propensity for "What if" statements, the truth of the matter was that the hypotheticals, the possibilities always occurred to her. About everything. And it was driving her mental because even though the probabilities were in her favour, they were never one hundred percent. There was always the chance that Jane may never return.

That frightened her, and Maura couldn't keep living in fear.

Standing in the front hall of the guest house, she tore into the envelope.

Dr. Isles,

I wasn't sure how to address this anymore. Two weeks ago, it would've been a no-brainer, but then again, two weeks ago this wouldn't have happened. I'm not going to ask why. I'm not going to yell or curse or hate you, but I do have to leave.

I apologise for not doing this in person, but this was the only way I could say what I needed to say while remaining relatively calm.

I will admit that I do not understand. I don't comprehend why this had to happen, or why it had to happen now. The two of you always seemed so happy with each other and then I get the news that you served her divorce papers. While she was in the hospital, no less.

I just can't wrap my head around it. You were a daughter to me, Maura. I loved you, always thought you were good for my Janie and her for you.

I'm not saying that we can never be friends, or even with a lot of time, get back to where we used to be. What I am saying is that we can't right now. I have to be there for her; someone has to. It used to be you, but I think she'll settle for me.

Take care of yourself.

Angela.

Maura's tears remained unshed. Dr. Isles of the past had returned.