Numb and shaking with wretchedness, Harris shambles back to his study in what is now his own, vacant house. Not only is there no one there to receive him, but upon sniffing the air he finds it heavy with the rankness of sullied wine. Distracted by the whirlpool of his thoughts, he wobbles on both feet until he realizes he is still merely standing at the entrance to his palatial solitude with nothing barring his way but his own anxiety. Abruptly, he decides against working. Making his way down the hallway, he hears the quietness of his footfall. Anger courses through him as he reminds himself that she is no longer here and thus, he will walk as loudly as he pleases. The click of the bedroom door closing reassures him, however briefly, that he is safe. Removing his phone, he sees that evidently no one is looking for him. Why would anyone choose to seek out Harris Ryland now, unless they wished to kill him? Casting the phone across the room, the scream of glass crackling forces his attention toward the gilt-framed mirror by the wall. The sight is an extraordinary one as Harris notices the reflection staring back at him is an entirely different creature from the one residing in the photo that is carefully tucked into a drawer by his bed. In it, he is younger of course, but also bearing an expression that the image he sees now has not known for some time. Facing him stands a forbearing figure, one filled with fear. Only when he recognizes his own terror does the shaking stop and simultaneously, Harris is jolted out of his stupor by the minute tinkling sound. Creasing his brow, his lips part as the glass suddenly tumbles out of the frame, no longer able to bear the weight of him in its cracked surface.

Bending down, he tends to the task of clearing away the last delicate evidence of his marriage to Ann that lived in this room. Well, almost the last. Glancing at the dresser, he decides it is the perfect evening to light the fire in the living room.

Brandy has never tasted this fine against his parched throat. Bathing his tonsils in the warmth of the molten liquid, he inhales the scent of burning coals. Standing before the flickering hearth, he leans one arm against the mantelpiece, undoes his trousers and abuses himself, his distressed moans filling the room. Seconds are all it takes for his seed to spurt out, giving ammunition to the sizzling coals in front of him. His hairs are prematurely grey, reminding him of what a ridiculous creature he is, despite the toned physique that bears them. Momentary escape over, he slumps and shrivels before stowing himself away and returning to his regular poise. Making his way back to his room, he sits heavily on the bed, hiding his face in his hands. The correspondence on the dresser is ancient and answered, but it taunts him nonetheless. Vaguely conscious of his movements, he begins to move the papers aside as they only serve to remind him of the current chaos his life is in.

Opening the drawer, with trembling fingers, he finds the much-thumbed image of their wedding day. How young they both look. Not untroubled, though they certainly carried any upset lightly when they were together. What Harris has always liked about the photo and indeed, what induced him to keep it, is the fact that it captures Ann at her most serene. The way she was the moment he first saw her, despite all that was happening to both of them at the time. Daintily clasping his lapel, her hand rests below the white rose nestled into his buttonhole. Looking down into the drawer, he rummages through letters he has kept there. All traces of her devotion may have vanished, but Harris has kept the letters she wrote him while they were courting. In particular, his favourite has always been when she agreed to the elopement. The lines catch his eye like a single barb of a fish-hook, dragging him back to that moment in time more than twenty years ago when elation swept through him at the thought of freedom.

Yes, Harris! The answer is yes. A thousand times, yes! Thank you for the thoughtful letter and the book. My heart has held on for that moment when the meaning of my name would ring true. I never, in my wildest dreams, thought I would be fortunate enough to find this happiness with someone like you.

Now and forever yours,

Ann

The scented proof of her passion for him wafts into the room. Saved from oblivion, much as Harris felt he had been saved by the contents of it. Underneath the mound of handwritten papers, he sifts through years of memories, but the title of the book her words have retrieved, evades him.

Still clutching the letter, the safe is the first thing he thinks of, but remembers that he emptied it some time ago. If only he could ask her. If only he could bring himself to ask her so many things.

One month later.

Winter is here at Southfork and things have returned to normal in many ways. Rebuilding took about as much time as Bobby had foreseen. On the balcony, overlooking the acres of land early on this fresh morning, he feels revived and back at the helm of what was left to him. As his gaze slips to the floor, he spares a thought for the things that have not been so easily rebuilt. Casting his eyes into the bedroom, he sees the bright, crisp rays that bounce along his wife's hair. In slumber, she is everything he has ever wanted. When her eyes are closed, Bobby cannot see the ever-changing palette of her innermost thoughts. Even when he can see them, he doesn't understand them. Ann was delivered into his life as a beautiful, angelic creation; one whom he never thought could hurt him. His own eyes shut as he relives the moment when Judith broke the news to him about what his wife had done. The way he shut down on Ann, refusing to listen to reason. How did the sweet nature with which she once delighted him turn so sour?

Stirring beneath the cotton sheets, Ann shifts to lie on her back. Outside the covers, her wrists are red raw from the treatment she received at the hands of Judith's henchmen. Wincing at the memory of seeing her in so much pain, Bobby feels a familiar heaviness invade him. Since returning home after Judith kidnapped her and Emma, much of their old routine has resumed its course. To protect Emma and Ann, Bobby had ceded, allowing the girl to remain in the house until a suitable solution could be worked on. Ann however, had insisted that Emma be moved somewhere safer than Southfork, or her father's house. After much deliberation, Emma had agreed to staying with Sue Ellen temporarily, while she focused on training again; an arrangement that for the most part had surprised all involved for how harmonious it proved to be. Perhaps the coupling of two addictive personalities who carried more understanding of the world than they wished others to know was a beneficial thing, Bobby muses.

Watching how soundly Ann sleeps now, Bobby feels an uneasy suspicion resurface. The questions he had asked had been answered; truthfully, he believes. The discussions had been arduous and tiresome, but they had happened and while progress had undoubtedly been made, there were still many obstacles. There is also, a certain hopeful attitude that Ann seems prone to display as of late, which concerns him. One that indicates she is subtly attempting to win Bobby over to the idea that Emma is likely to change, if given the right encouragement and support system. Distracted by the protruding bones of her hips, he wonders has she always been this waif-like?

It pains him to look at her every day, to know that she willfully kept her life locked up inside her and would have thrown away the key had Harris not invited himself back in. Still, Bobby wonders was it really Judith's interfering that destroyed them. Ann had been insistent when he drew her out on this that the marriage would never have worked. That they were too different to be able to live together. That they ultimately wanted different things and so, it would never have worked out. Had she not seemed so desperate to convince herself in her explanation, perhaps Bobby would have been comforted.

The large diamond cluster on her badly bruised hand twinkles in the sunlight. Now, it is time to deal with the past and talk about the future. Looking at the slender shape that fills his bed, Bobby blinks back tears.

"You know she's gonna choose her daughter, baby brother."

"Yes. I know."

Stepping inside, the warmth of the room fills his senses. The king-size bed seems much smaller than normal as Bobby finds himself by her side all too quickly.

"Ann?"

The flicker of lightly-veined eyelids is accompanied by a chortle of inhalation. This is really happening and Bobby feels his gut twist with an acute sense of childish dislike for the situation that is about to unfold. For the first time since JR's passing, Bobby realizes he is actively feeling emotion. Drowsy and not yet fully awake, Ann blinks sluggishly as the image of his face looking down at her becomes less hazy.

"We need to talk."

The swirling texture of emotion within her eyes has begun. Ann is awake.

The house is sickeningly humid. For Harris, it is particularly uncomfortable on account of his penchant for scotch after a snifter of brandy. At this point, he has trouble telling the difference. Arising from his place on the sofa, he fetches a glass of ice water before returning to the sprawling paperwork on the floor.

"…extraction of two thousand barrels per diem from the designated land of one John Ross Ewing II at Southfork Ranch, Parker, Texas in these United States, with responsibility for its transportation…signed J.R Ewing…signed Harris Ryland…"

A labored sigh as the bitterness of the brandy seeps into every taste bud aligning his tongue.

"Contract of Negotiation…null and void…signed Harris Ryland…Judith Brown Ryland…"

"…custodial interference…Emma Brown Ryland…attempted murder…"

"Original Petition for Divorce….IN THE MATTER OF…PETITIONER: Ann Ryland nee Smith...RESPONDENT: Harris Ryland…I ask the court to make conservatorship (custody) as follows…Mother and father should be Joint Managing Conservators of the child/ren…STATUS: GRANTED…"

"Missing child believed dead…"

The short sigh Harris releases evaporates loudly into the room. Worn out, shoulders slumped, his eyes again fall to the smiling image that he has kept separate from all the rest.