An hour had passed since Sara stumbled into the darkened bedroom to fall in a heap of tears and regrets upon the homey quilt that covered her bed. She had somehow made it home and through the door of the cottage, but she had little memory of the entire trip.

Her mind had been reeling, her cheek numb but blooming red as she fled the Apolskis', her need to run away from what had to be the worst possible scenario under the worst possible circumstances driving her.

Jeanie had slapped her. Sara shifted on the bed and raised her fingers to her cheek thinking she deserved far worse then what she had received. Jeanie had every right to be angry with her, to hate her even. Tears that had dried in streaks were now met with a new wetness as her eyes flooded and spilled over. As a new concern hit her, Sara reached to brush the tears away and forced her body up into a sitting position. David could be there any time now. She had no idea when his Poppy would be dropping him off. Her red eyes moved to the clock on the nightstand. It was almost three pm.

A flashing light drew her eyes and Shaky fingers lit on the answering machine to press the button that would fill the small room with messages.

"You have one message."

A beep followed and then Paul's voice. "Hey, Sara, um, I'll ah, I'll be working late and then...And then I'm gonna just head back to my place." Following a slight pause, "We need to talk, Sara, I know, but I need some time." Another slight pause, and then tenderness in his voice, "I love you, Sara." There was a soft click and then the mechanical voice, "End of messages."

A new wave of tears built and then crested, her coppery eyes swimming in the tides, the hurt reflecting all that had gone wrong in such a short period of time. How could this be happening? Everything had fallen apart so quickly. Everything she had fought so hard to build.

Feeling as if the sobs rushing out of her might steal her breath, Sara fought for control, but it was useless. Lying back down, curling back up, she gave into it, six years of hurt, anger and regret coming to the surface in a scalding tide.

She lay there, arms attempting to self comfort, in a hug she felt she didn't deserve until she was drained, as if she had not a single drop left for tears. Her breathing more even, she swiped at the hair stuck to the tears on her face and eased up off the bed.

Eyes falling on the clock illuminated on the nightstand, she made her way to the bedroom door. A shower was what she needed, a hot shower might hide the flush of her cheeks, her red nose, the signs that she had been crying. She didn't want David to know how upset she was; it would only make their talk that much worse.

Once in the bathroom, she cranked on the water as hot as she could take it, and stripped off her clothes.

Closing her eyes to the heated spray, she stepped under the falling stream, the steam filling the shower stall as it's warmth enveloped her.

XXXXX

Feeling more human then she thought possible after her shower Sara had then gone about straightening the small rooms of the cottage. The chores were just busy work and she knew this but it had helped to take her mind off things.

Now as she stood, hands on hips surveying her work, she reminded herself of the stack of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink.

A new task awaiting her, Sara headed for the kitchen.

Three steps into her journey the doorbell rang freezing her in her tracks. Sara stood for a moment; her body still, as a deep breath in and a deep breath out was executed in efforts to help prepare her for what she feared awaited her on the other side of the cottage door.

Making her way slowly, Sara found a curious humor in the fact that she would actually rather it be Michael this time, then the alternative, their son and his hurt, questioning eyes.

How could she have missed that something was wrong, mistaking it for the onset of a simple cold or flu? It seemed foolish of her now. She should have known there was something seriously wrong, something off about David's behavior that morning. She should have asked him if something was bothering him. If only he had come to her with this instead of his grandmother. She could have talked to him about it. And maybe given enough time…She sighed deeply.

She couldn't kid herself that cookies and milk could fix this. And she would not play this down to her child. She would answer his questions the best she knew how and hope that someday he could forgive her for her lies.

Taking one final deep breath, she let it out slowly and pulled open the door. Poppy stood in the doorway, one hand in his pocket, the other resting lightly on David's small shoulder. She hadn't even thought about how this would feel, facing Alex.

Sara met Alex's eyes hoping to see just a small fraction of understanding, but it wasn't there, his eyes were guarded behind his horn rimmed glasses.

"Sorry to keep him so late, Sara, but a boy needs his daily dose of ice cream, right Davey?" Poppy's hand moved up to ruffled David's hair, sending the ghost of a smile to her son's eyes and then David was looking up at her. "It was chocolate, Mom, my favorite."

Sara forced a smile. "That's great honey. Why don't you run along to your room for a minute so I can speak with your Poppy?"

David glanced with curious eyes to his grandfather and then took off; his backpack full of Lego's banging against the side of his leg as he ran.

Sara watched him disappear into the hall and then turned back to Alex meeting his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Alex…I…I don't…"

"Stop, Sara." His hand came up as if to stave off her words, the confrontation. "I don't think this is the right time or place to talk about this," nodding towards the back of the cottage. "It seems to me the boy has overheard enough…Don't you think?"

Sara felt her forced calm vanish, tears she thought herself incapable of producing filling her eyes, scalding her cheeks as she nodded sending them down her now ashen cheeks.

Alex turned away from her then, the same man who had opened his heart and his home to her six years ago when she was a scared little girl with no one to turn to, with no one to help her when she needed it most. She wanted to chase after him, beg him to understand, but she knew he was right, David shouldn't hear this, he never should have found out this way, and another overheard argument would only deepen the blow.

Backing away from the door she pushed it shut and moved through the silent living room. Her blurred vision moved over her son's closed door as she headed to the bathroom. She had to get herself together before she could speak to him, she couldn't let David see her like this.

Without meeting her own eyes in the mirror Sara turned on the tap. Lowering her head she scooped up handfuls of water, each cup pouring over her hot face, washing away the tears. If only she could wash away the pain etched there as well; the pain she desperately sought to avoid in fear of unleashing the torrents she knew to be hiding behind burnished copper.

The roar of the tap and the closed door blocked out all outside noise, or Sara might have heard her son's door opening and closing.

She might have heard his light tread in the hall. She surely would have heard the front door banging closed when David pulled it a little too hard and the echo bounced off the silent walls of the cottage.

Pale knuckles clutching white porcelain, Sara stood, her eyes squeezing shut as the bathroom filled with noise and steam.

She was now unknowingly alone in the small cottage,

XXXXX

(Michael)

Michael's jaw was clenched as he listened to his Father, Aldo's words hitting him like a blow. "He wants you off the project Michael. It's his house, it's his money."

Michael felt the words ready to boil out of him and forced a calm he was not feeling. "So that's it? Paul Kellerman can tell you who works on his house? Tell me Dad, if this was anyone else's place, any other project would you let them tell you who to put on your crew?"

His father met his eyes, serious blue igniting with a thunderous blue. "I would if the circumstances warranted it."

Michael felt his calm crumbling. The circumstances suck, Dad! He wants to take my son! He wants to adopt David!" At this outburst Aldo moved towards him, but before he could speak, "Fine, I'll finish out the day, then I'm outta here. I'll pick up my things from the office Monday morning." Michael's eyes were filling with hot tears, but he blinked them back.

"Michael, you don't mean that!" Aldo reached and attempted to grab his son's arm, but Michael jerked away. "I do mean it, Dad! I never should have started this. I never should have..." He was about to say he should never have taken the job at his father's firm, but a loud noise drew his eyes and stopped his tongue mid sentence.

David was standing there, a pool of white paint from the overturned can at his feet soaking into his shoes. "David..."

David's eyes were filling with tears as his small voice raged out of him. "I wish you had stayed away! I wish you had never come here!" He turned then and slipping a little from the paint on his shoes he ran.

Michael stood shocked for a beat his mind moving quickly over all that David could have, probably had, overheard. And then avoiding the spilt paint and Aldo's offer to help, Michael ran after his son.

Heading in the the direction David had to have taken Michael's long legs closed the gap from living room to front entry way.

He was coming around the corner leading to the taped off area when he heard the small scream.

(Chapter End Notes:)

Sorry to leave it here! I hope to update again this week.