The characters here and the world they inhabit are the creation and property of Margaret Mitchell, her heirs, and their assigns.

A/N: Sometimes, when typing along on a story, I know exactly what I'm doing with it, and suddenly a character or two takes me on a joy ride. The previous chapter was such an occasion, on a day when word count was everything. I hated every word of it, and yet it rang truer than what I was planning and I decided to see where it would end. And so I've been biting my nails since the last day of November, wondering how this would read. Most of you seem to be furious at Rhett, but not at me, which I will take to be a good sign. I'm going to breathe a sigh of relief and post the next chapter right away in response, because that ended on a bit of a cliffhanger and I imagine everyone wants to know what's been happening in Atlanta.

The Peachtree Street house was empty when Rhett got home. He walked through the house and found the study, which was overly clean except for an envelope on the middle of the desk. It had his name on it with Scarlett's handwriting. There was also a pile of letters to the side.

Rhett picked up the top letter, recognizing her Aunt Pauline's writing. Enclosed was a clipping from the Charleston Daily News. There was a picture of Rhett smiling down upon Alice during the Saint Cecelia ball. Pauline's letter was filled with too much of his doings, and summarized with, "They say he's going to marry her soon. I hope your divorce won't prevent you from your kindnesses to your aunts, small as they are."

Rhett knew a momentary urge to throttle the woman, but realized the blame was his alone. There were other letters, from people whose names echoed in the memories of his youth., a friend of Doctor Meade's, a relation of Mrs. Elsing's. Something had been sent to Mrs. Bonnell from an old school-mate. The past three months of Rhett's life in Charleston were very well documented, including one description of Rhett sitting with Alice to have that first cup of tea at the train station. Nothing was inaccurate, exactly, but the letters and clippings made it look like he planned to marry Alice. How did he miss all of those items in the paper? What must Scarlett think?

He picked up the letter from Scarlett.

My Dearest Love,

I know I won't have the right to call you this much longer, but please let me just this once more.

You win. It was a game to you, wasn't it?

I understand perfectly. and I will be as dignified now as I was undignified when you told me you were leaving two years ago. It didn't take you thirty-three years; it was a matter of weeks to find someone you wanted to marry. I've agreed with Uncle Henry to draw up the papers for you, and then you can be free of me. By the time you read this it will only need your signature. You only ever wanted me for your mistress, after all. We can pretend that's all it was. The passel of brats and I will soon be out of your life.

I'm angry, Rhett. I'm hurt and heartbroken and I don't understand how this could happen. I was starting to think you might love me again, and it was snatched away. I realized it didn't really exist after all. Everything I thought I knew is a lie. I'm young and foolish and nothing about me is good enough for you to do anything but mock. I know it to be true now and that it may as well have been true since the moment we met at Twelve Oaks.

I've had more people come to call this winter than in the whole time since we built the house. I've seen letters and newspaper clippings since a week after we got back. Everyone seems to have a relative or school mate who lives in Charleston, and they all know all about you. "Rhett's been to this ball or that party. He's been seen with this woman all around town. They say it's the perfect match." Each so confidentially. They all wanted me to know, privately while staying far longer than a visit should last, so they could see how I reacted. Poking me with their pins and needles and sticks and knives, wanting to see what color I bleed. And then the nightmare comes back, but now there are echoes of laughter. Every home I pass is filled with people who are happy and comfortable, and they're laughing at me, knowing I can't possibly catch up to you, and you're laughing most of all, happy with your Alice and your Charleston and all the rest. I feel like I can't breathe anymore. Doctor Meade says it's no good for me in Atlanta and I'm going to kill myself trying to continue here. He's making me leave.

This Alice Byrd… she's so pretty in the pictures, and she's just the sort of lady you should have married long ago, and there's such a romance in righting a long-ago wrong. In that picture from Aunt Pauline you look so in love with her… Am I selfish to keep you when you could have that, when all I do is vex you? Aunt Pauline and Aunt Eulalie seem to think so.

You wanted to make peace with your people. You said that when you first told me you were leaving, and I understand the loneliness behind that wish. I want that for you. This would do it up in a bow. And somehow everyone in Atlanta accepts me, now that your marriage to this other woman is a foregone conclusion. They feel so bad for me, and Uncle Henry thinks he's saving me, and now that it's spring and they've tortured me enough, Atlanta wants to love me and support me again. I suppose a divorce would make peace with my people, too. There are so many reasons we ought to do it. Yet I made myself sick at the thought of it, and so I had to leave Atlanta.

I will be selfish and admit that while Uncle Henry and the others—they tell me that if I can divorce you, I'll be free of you, I know won't. Since before we married, I've always wondered who you're dancing with and who is dizzy from your kisses. Since our marriage, whenever you didn't come home I wondered who is lying in your arms, and who gets to curl up next to you afterwards in those moments when you smoke that last cigar and sometimes tell me things and let me see what you're really like. Although I guess I will know, now. I can't stop loving you, Rhett. I don't know if I can do what I went through this winter any more. I'm not as strong as I was when I was so gone over Ashley. I had you then, and I counted on it more than I knew. You dance so beautifully, and no one kisses like you, and… Well you know what the other things do to me. Even when I wished for Ashley, I wanted those things from you. I should have realized, or perhaps I was smart enough then to know it wouldn't have mattered.

Please don't follow me, Rhett. You had planned to leave before, to make peace with your people and to look for the charm and grace of the world that once was. You can have that now, and I will try to content myself with our children and my memories.

I love you my darling, and therefore I know I must let you go, to give you the peace you've always wanted. Your very own, Scarlett.

So she knew everything, probably more than he did. This letter was very well written, probably copied over and over again during the past few months. Tara was the only place Scarlett would go to lick her wounds, but then Suellen Benteen was expecting a baby. His hands shook as he got a sense of the humiliation his wife must feel.

"Captain Butler." It was the new maid, Nan.

"Yes?"

"There are some gentlemen at the door." She handed him Henry Hamilton's card.

"Thank you, Nan. I will meet them in the parlor."

Rhett blew his nose and poured himself a finger of whisky. They must have been watching for him at the train station, or perhaps someone in the house was given directions to send for them as soon as he arrived. Hamilton no doubt wanted his signature as quickly as they could get it. They might offer him a ride to the station if he obliged. He took a breath and then took his drink. He had no intention of being obliging. He would get this conversation settled as quickly as possible.

He found Henry Hamilton and Doctor Meade as well as Sylvester Hammond, Henry's new associate. Rhett cleared his throat. "Henry, Doctor Meade, I didn't expect to see you so soon. Let's have a drink, shall we?" Rhett poured and handed out the glasses, and they all sat down.

Uncle Henry looked at the other two gentleman and brought a file out of his case. "On the advice of her doctor, I've gone through my niece's papers and put everything in order. At the moment she agrees, but even if she changes her mind, we're prepared to file for divorce on her behalf."

"Do you have her power of attorney?"

There as a clearing of throats. "We're working on it."

"She loves me."

Henry nodded his head, "Yes, we know you've had a hold on her since the war, but we think that she's making the rational choice now."

Doctor Meade used a persuasive voice. "Surely you agree that you never intended to be a proper husband to her. We all know your relationship to Mrs. Watling, and now your affair with Mrs. Davies in Charleston is well documented. What could you possibly want from her any more?"

Henry held up the thick file. "She claims to know most of what's recent in this file, although I don't think she ever realized just how much there is. For Scarlett's sake, if you care for her at all, please consider it."

"I'm not signing anything right now. I won't agree to it, and you'll never get it through. The laws aren't that easy on women trying to divorce their husbands who fight it, and you're going to do it against her wishes."

"We believe Judge Ranier will see the situation for what it is," answered Henry.

So that's how it was. They found a friendly judge. There were a few out there, and more would be appointed as the remains of Reconstruction dissipated. There was one other authority in the matter. "What of Scarlett's church? Surely that priest she's befriended won't go along with this."

"We've discussed it with Father Halloran, and he is not happy with the idea. He has some foolish notion that you're going to return to Scarlett. He agrees that if it's legally necessary, if we find her a suitable husband, he will appeal to Rome for a declaration of nullity. He's been over your paperwork and doesn't seem to think it will be that difficult in your case."

And there it was. He'd left on his own terms, several times in the past two and a half years, and yet he'd never thought it would actually come to this. He'd always held out the possibility of divorcing Scarlett, had used it as a weapon when she was most at his mercy. Now it would be done to him. Scarlett was a woman of action. She would actually do it.

"Does she know all the arrangements you've made?"

The two lawyers and doctor looked between themselves and then at Rhett as though to question his sanity. They thought of her as just a woman. Scarlett must be in a fragile enough condition that they thought they could put one over on her.

"I take it she's ill? Where is she? Is she at Tara?"

The gentlemen looked at each other again. Doctor Meade quietly said, "She's asked us not to tell you. For her peace of mind and fragile health, I will ask you not to try to find out. I don't believe she's in any great danger as long as she's left alone. Perhaps, in time…"

"I won't sign the papers until I've seen her, spoken with her myself."

Doctor Meade put his hand on Rhett's arm. "I must insist, as her doctor, that you leave her alone for now. She needs rest more than anything."

Rhett stood up at that. "Are you saying she's sick? Could she die? I have to see her!"

"I don't think she's in danger of dying if she's not upset. Right now, though…"

"What if she gets worse and I'm not there? I want to be with her, if…"

"She will probably come to no harm if you stay here, and you may risk her life if you go. Which is better for her?"

Rhett sat down again and put his hand over his face.

Young Mr. Hammond stammered as he handed Rhett another file. "He—here are the divorce papers Captain Butler. They're ready for your signature. I'm sure you can see that Mrs. Bu—Butler has been more than fair. If this goes to court, Henry and I p—plan to ask for far more." He cleared his throat and stood a little taller. "There are other men who would b—be hap—py to care for her."

The three gentlemen stood and shook hands with him. In his opinion the action was hypocritical given the conversation that went before. Then they were gone.

Despair threatened to be the new emotion he felt. Rhett picked up the whisky decanter and his glass and went up the stairs. If he was so surely damned, he would indulge his fall tonight.

A/N2: Thanks to the readers and reviewers, including gumper, gabyhyatt, Guest 1 & 2 & 3 & 4, Snowandbows, , Twilighternproud, kanga85, samandfreddie, Romabeachgirl1981, Laina Lee, abbygale94, and Truckee Gal.