AN: Sorry sorry sorry sorry, etc, sorry sorry, etc. for the delay in updates. Ugh, it had been going so smoothly there for awhile, but then, as always, life happened. Some good things, some not so good things, and all of them taking up much more of my time then I would like. I use every spare minute I get to write, and will keep updating as quickly as I can. Thank you for your continued support and patience.

Hope everyone is doing well, and happy Mother's Day.

Take care.

CHAPTER 25

"I Years had been from Home

And now before the Door

I dared not enter…"

-Emily Dickinson

CATHERINE POV

I imagined something beautiful, but what greets my eyes come morning is absolutely breathtaking. I don't think the English language even has words to describe what I am seeing.

Closing the sliding door quietly behind me, I breathe deeply, inhaling the moist ocean air. It's so different than the dry heat that permeates Vegas most of the year, and I can't help the smile that comes to my lips.

Taking a couple more deep breaths, I turn my eyes to the only other person out here this early.

Sitting on a wooden bench situated at the edge of the bluff, Sara's eyes are closed, her head tilted back as the light breeze plays with loose wisps of her dark hair. Her expression is a bit hard to make out through the early morning mist, but from here she almost looks peaceful.

Almost.

Moving quietly towards her, she opens her eyes as I make my approach.

Our gazes meet, and the next few moments are spent quietly watching one another.

"You mind if I join you?" I eventually break the silence, gesturing to the spot next to her.

"No," she says softly, moving to give me more room. "Of course not."

We sit in silence, Sara watching the waves below, me watching her.

"You sleep okay?" Sara asks, eyes still on the water as she extends her coffee out to me.

"Thanks," I tell her, taking the offered item and swallowing a couple sips. "And yes, I slept well."

"Good."

Handing her back the coffee, I draw my feet up on the bench and rest my arms across my knees.

"You?" I question.

"Fine, thanks."

It's the answer I knew I would get, and it's also the answer that's anything but the truth.

All night long, I woke to hear Sara pacing in the room next door. I would listen for awhile, debating whether to go to her, before ultimately deciding to respect her privacy. I would drift back off, waking again hour after hour to hear her footsteps still moving quietly across the wooden floor boards.

Hard as it was to listen to her silently struggling on the other side of the wall, I knew from experience that Sara paces when she is deep in thought. And, there are a lot of potential things that could have Sara's mind preoccupied right now.

I figured the best thing at the time was give Sara some space to try to sort through and process everything that's been thrown at her in such a short amount of time.

"How're you holding up?" I ask her quietly.

I may have been able to refrain from addressing her last night, but I'm finding it damn near impossible to do when I'm sitting right next to her, seeing right in front of me the guarded look to her eyes and the stoic set to her features.

I simply can't ignore the woman that I care so much about when she's so close, and yet so far away in so many ways.

"I'm alright," she answers. "There's a couple places I need to go today to get things sorted out for Liam's burial."

Her subject change isn't lost on me, nor is her continued avoidance of eye contact.

Inwardly I sigh. I don't know what to do here. I don't want to ignore the fact that she so clearly isn't alright, but I also don't want to push her completely away from me. I'd rather have the limited communication we have right now than have nothing at all.

"What types of places?" I eventually settle on asking.

"The church and the funeral service."

I nod slowly, admittedly a bit thrown by the mention of a church as one of the destinations. Sara never struck me as particularly religious, and for some reason it surprises me even more so that her brother would be. That anyone in her family would be.

I think I'm going to have to accept that Sara is simply one of those people that you will never truly know everything about, the type of person that will continue to surprise you no matter how long you know them.

"You're welcome to come," she offers, redirecting my thoughts. "But if you want to go other places, look around the bay, that's fine. There's much better ways to spend your time in California than planning a funeral."

Shaking my head, I watch the waves with her.

"I didn't come here for a vacation, Sara," I tell her simply. "I came here for you."

Finally looking over, Sara searches my profile a moment before returning her eyes to the horizon.

"Okay," is her quiet response, so soft that I barely hear it over the sounds of the ocean. "Thanks."

She doesn't say anything more, and neither do I.

Eventually, Sara lets out a breath, getting to her feet.

"I guess I should get ready," she states, finishing the rest of her coffee.

Standing as well, I gesture to where her free hand is absently holding her side.

"Mind if I take a look at that before you get dressed?"

Eyes moving to mine, Sara searches my gaze, her body still and silent.

"It's healing well," she eventually says.

"I hope it is," I tell her seriously. "But I also know you're not always the best judge when it comes to your own physical state of wellbeing."

Sara stiffens slightly at my words, her eyes immediately leaving mine.

"Please, Sara," I ask her quietly. "It would make me feel a lot better."

Clenching her jaw, Sara takes a deep breath.

Nodding, she gestures back towards the bed and breakfast.

"Alright."

"Thank you," I tell her sincerely, grateful beyond belief that, despite all the changes that have transpired between us, Sara still seems intent on putting my needs and wants before her own.

It may be selfish, but if it means I can use it to keep her safe, I'll more than gladly take advantage of it.

Leading the way inside, Sara follows after me, neither one of us speaking until we make it inside my room.

Quietly closing the door behind us, I gesture towards the bed.

"Make yourself comfortable," I offer, grabbing a towel from the bathroom and wetting it slightly.

When I return, Sara hasn't moved from her previous position, standing stiffly in the center of the room, eyes fixed to the window.

Stepping up to her slowly, I wait until she brings her eyes to mine.

"I'll be quick," I offer, letting her know that I recognize and respect her discomfort.

"I know," she answers.

Nodding, I gesture to her shirt.

"How do you want to do this?" I ask, giving her the option of whether she feels comfortable removing it or not.

Taking a breath, Sara takes hold of her t-shirt, pulling it over her head and leaning over to place it on the bedspread.

It may appear a simple gesture to some, but to me, it's absolutely huge. I know Sara, and I know this represents something more than her allowing me to see her in only her bra. It represents trust, it represents compromise.

Swallowing, I keep my eyes where it's relevant, trying not to let them explore the body that I have missed so much.

Moving forward slightly, I reach out and gently place my hand on her hip to keep her steady as I slowly wipe away a bit of dried blood from the deepest part of the gash.

I feel her eyes watching me, and it's nearly impossible to keep my fingers steady as the towel moves across her skin.

"I'm going to need to reapply the liquid sutures to this one part," I tell her, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears.

"Okay," she replies, her own tone distracted.

Clearing my throat, I force myself to step away to get the needed item from my suitcase. Removing it from the first aid kit I packed, I take a moment more than necessary to try to collect myself.

Breathing in deeply, I turn back and once again approach the brunette.

Gently coating her torn skin, I recap the bottle and straighten back up.

Watching her, I feel my hand lay itself gently against her chest before I am conscious of what I am doing. Stepping slightly closer to her, my other hand reaches out to hold her face gently.

Thumb moving of its own accord, it slowly traces her cheekbone, making its way across her skin.

I watch as Sara's eyes close under my touch.

"Catherine…" she gets out, her voice sounding conflicted.

"I know," I tell her in a whisper, yet unable to compel myself to step away.

I have wanted to touch her for so long these past days, wanted to feel her with my own hands like this so many times, I cannot for the life of me force myself to walk away now.

"Catherine…" she tries again, this time her eyes opening back up.

Reaching out, Sara takes my hand from her face to hold it in hers.

Swallowing, she shakes her head.

"We can't…" she gets out quietly. "Not now. Not like this."

Her eyes search mine for understanding.

"Not here."

Trying to steady myself, I nod, forcing my face into a neutral expression.

"Of course, I'm sorry," I tell her, suddenly feeling foolish for my loss of control.

Reaching out, Sara gently tilts my face back towards hers.

"Don't be," she tells me sincerely. "Never apologize for touching me like that, Catherine. I'm the one who's sorry."

Squeezing my hand, she lets out a breath.

"I just can't right now…this place…" she tightens her jaw, eyes looking away.

This time, it's me that reaches out to bring her gaze back to mine.

"I understand," I tell her sincerely, keeping our gazes matched. "I understand, Sara."

She takes a deep breath, my fingers leaving her face as she nods, letting out a breath.

With one final squeeze, she lets go of my hand.

"I'll leave you to get ready," she says, taking her shirt from the bed and pulling it on.

With one last look and the barest hint of a smile, she makes her way out of the room.

"Wow," I mutter quietly, my voice echoing through the empty chambers and alcoves.

All around me, I am surrounded by towering archways of dark stone, deep cherry wood pews lining a long, central aisle. Stained glass accents the walls, panel after panel depicting scenes ranging from judgment to resurrection, from death to life.

Making a full circle and trying to take everything in, I watch as Sara runs her fingers slowly across the top of a pew, clearly lost in her memories of this place.

"I didn't know you were religious," I tell her, still disturbed by the fact that I don't know anything about her thoughts regarding spirituality, an afterlife, any of it.

Sara raises a brow, shaking her head.

"I wouldn't quite consider myself religious."

Quirking my own brow, I watch her until she finally turns to face me after a few moments of silence.

"My family used to come here when I was younger, attend services every Sunday," she explains. "After everything that happened with Addison," she says, her voice trailing off. "After that we didn't do a lot of things we used to."

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my own emotions regarding Sara's past out of this.

"Did you miss it?" I ask.

Sara shrugs.

"I didn't necessarily miss the religion part of it, as I'm not sure I ever fully believed," she says. "But I missed the familiarity of it, the tradition."

I nod.

"I get that," I tell her honestly. "We used to go to church with my grandmother when we visited her in upstate Montana. Although I didn't believe in the faith she did, going to church with her are some of my fondest memories."

Sara watches me, her eyes heavy, before she turns away.

"Yeah," she breathes out.

Then, setting her shoulders, she takes a deep breath.

"The part I came here to see is out back."

Exiting out the opposite side of the church, we make our way across the grounds, eventually stepping between a thick set of pines and laurels. Passing through, we come to a clearing, trees and greenery parting to grant a breathtaking view of the ocean along the horizon.

"This is the spot," Sara tells me.

"The spot?" I question, eyes still looking around.

"Do you remember the cemetery we passed down below?" she asks, her voice strangely tight.

"Yes," I answer, eyes fixed to hers as she has my full attention.

"Our parents are buried there," she says, her fingers subconsciously clenching themselves into fists. "They bought us all plots together in that cemetery."

My eyes widen, my own heart constricting much like her hands.

"Oh."

It's all I can get out, all I can force my mouth to voice.

"I will not let Liam be forced to spend the rest of eternity next to them."

Jaw tight, Sara swallows.

She's trying so badly to keep herself together, keep her emotions under control.

"I know we never talked about this, Catherine," she says, her voice strained. "But if something ever happens to me, do not let them put me there either."

Her tormented eyes plead with mine, and I feel my own fill with moisture at her words, at the sheer desperation behind them.

"Oh, Sara," I breathe out. "Never."

Taking a chance, I step closer to her, reaching out to place my hand against her arm.

"Never, Sara."

Feeling her stiffen under my touch, I recognize that the emotions of this moment are nearly too much for her, and that the emotions of the physical contact are only adding to it.

Removing my hand, I take a step back, giving her room.

"Please," she forces out. "I don't care where the hell you put me, just please don't let them put me there."

"Sara," I get out, my eyes fixed tightly on hers. "You have my word."

Watching me, expression darkened with countless emotions, Sara finally nods. Swallowing, she turns away, taking a moment to collect herself.

I, in turn, use the time to wipe the moisture from my own eyes.

"Liam used to love coming up here," Sara says, clearing her throat. "We used to come up here at night and watch the stars over the ocean. We came here whenever we needed to be somewhere quiet, somewhere safe."

She glances up, eyes squinting against the sun.

"My parents blamed each other, blamed God, blamed everyone but themselves for what had happened with Addison, with our family," she says quietly. "We knew they would never step foot in a church again. This became our sanctuary."

Eyes moving back down, she shifts her gaze to the church that's barely visible through the trees.

"With all their hatred towards God and the idea of church, I guess it's a bit ironic they forgot they signed up to spend all of eternity at one."

Eyes moving back towards mine, Sara is silent a moment before she turns away.

"After the service tomorrow I'm going to come up here and spread his ashes."

I take a breath, trying to keep my emotions in check, trying to not let myself become overwhelmed by it all.

Sara needs me to be strong right now, but I would be lying if I said I didn't feel like falling apart. That I didn't feel like screaming over the edge of this bluff about the injustices of the world, about the pain and anger I feel inside for Sara and what she was forced to live through back then, what she is currently being forced to live through right now.

But, I remind myself, it's not time for that. Right now is time for the woman standing in front of me who is struggling, no matter what she says. The woman who has always been so strong and stoic that she nearly convinces you that she's perfectly fine when she's anything but.

Right now is about her.

Whether she wants it to be or not.

"I'll be sure you have the privacy you need," I tell her. "Make sure no one wanders up here."

Turning, Sara takes a breath.

"Thank you, Catherine," she tells me genuinely, her eyes thanking me for my words, as well as my unspoken message that tomorrow I will give her the time alone with Liam that she needs, not only from other people, but from myself as well.

Just like his last moments at the hospital, I know that tomorrow Sara needs some time alone to say goodbye.

"Have you eaten yet today?" I ask as we make our way back to the car.

Nodding, Sara pays my question little attention as she unlocks the doors.

"Sara…" I call, causing her to finally stop and face me. "I'm serious."

Taking a breath, Sara pulls open the car door. She's quiet for a moment before she silently gets in the car.

Following her lead, I climb into the passenger seat as we close the doors behind us.

Sighing, she places the keys in the ignition but doesn't turn on the engine.

"I ate, but I can't keep anything down," Sara finally admits, voice quiet enough that it's almost lost before it reaches my ears.

Eyes lifting to mine, she sends me a look that's best described as apologetic.

Letting out my own sigh, I close my eyes briefly.

"Sara Sidle," I get out, pulling my eyes open to fix them on her. "You should have said something. How long has this been going on?"

"Since Liam used my gun to blow his brains out all over the living room carpet."

The words are blunt, but the tone in which she says them is so matter of fact that it's almost eerie. It's said in exactly the same stoic presentation that her entire demeanor has been for the majority of the past couple days.

I suspect she is telling the truth, that her inability to keep food down has started after Liam. But I also suspect, due to the extent of her weight loss, she has had problems reminding herself to eat before that time. In fact, I suspect Sara has been neglecting herself for awhile, probably ever since we broke up and our worlds began to spin off their axis.

Perhaps misinterpreting my silence, Sara shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Catherine. That was uncalled for."

"No," I counter. "It was honest."

Sara doesn't argue, but she doesn't quite look like she agrees either.

"Are you hungry?" she asks me. "Is that why you asked? Did you want to stop somewhere?"

"Yes," I tell her, not having the heart right now to tell her the real reason I asked was because of her.

Because of her hollowed features, because of her sharply angled cheek bones, because of her entire physique that is much too thin.

"Okay," she tells me simply, turning on the engine and putting the car into drive.

Our meal was nice, we spent awhile simply talking and joking around with each other. To be honest, it felt almost like the meals we used to share together before we broke up. The meals where we would forget about the rest of the world for awhile, so completely lost in each other that it honestly feels like there is nothing else or no one else but us in existence.

It gave me hope that parts of the old Sara and I, parts of our relationship together, may still exist under the surface somewhere.

May not have been lost forever.

Directing the car through mild traffic, Sara's eyes are focused straight ahead while mine dance from one side of the street to the other, trying to take everything in.

Trying to picture this as the place that Sara grew up, where she spent her time, where she went to school, where she lived the first 18 years of her life.

It's like I'm getting to know pieces of Sara just by being here, pieces that, until recently, have been nothing but blank pages.

Glancing back over to Sara's side of the street, I catch sight of her profile as she stops at a light. Furrowing my brows, I take in her death grip on the steering wheel, the paleness to her skin.

Before I have time to comment, Sara pulls out into traffic, forcing the car into a u-turn as other cars express their protest.

Accelerating, Sara pays them no attention as she clenches her jaw, turning off the main road onto a series of side streets.

"Sara?" I question, eyes shifting nervously between her and the roadway.

Sara doesn't answer, her own eyes forced straight ahead, never moving to look at the houses spread out around us.

Traveling from one side street to another, we continue to travel in tense silence as the houses become spread further apart, the trees and foliage growing more thick.

"Sara?" I try again, eyes searching around us to try to figure out what the hell is going on with her.

Slowing the car, Sara stops at a white mailbox, the numbers nearly rusted off, but still legible.

1310.

Turning to her, she is staring at the mailbox, breathing quickened, her hands still gripping the steering wheel in tight fists.

Looking back, I follow the gravel driveway up as far as I can until it curves and gets lost in overgrown bushes and pines.

Hearing the car door open, I quickly force my own open and scramble out after Sara, who is now standing rigidly at the foot of the drive.

"Honey," I get out, not even entertaining the idea of reaching out to touch her right now.

"I need to see it," she says lowly, her voice quiet but strong. "I can't keep driving past it pretending like it's not there."

Eyes moving back to the drive, I take a deep breath, my suspicions confirmed.

"This was your house."

"Yes."

Jaw tight, Sara clenches the car keys in her fist. Taking one step and then another, Sara purposefully strides up the drive.

Quickly following after her, I catch up to her as she turns around the bend, the house ahead suddenly coming into view.

I don't know what I expected to see, but this sure as hell wasn't it.

The house itself is modest, but at the same time stunning. It's traditional in its styling, wood work and design suggesting it was built many decades ago. Perhaps even centuries.

The allure of the house, however, is greatly diminished by the thick metal fence completely surrounding it. Signs in bright yellow have been posted at precise intervals along its length, declaring the area within its boundaries restricted under persecution of the law.

Grass and vines have worked their way up the metal rails, weaving in and out of the chain links.

Stepping up to the fence, Sara stands at the gate, barely glancing down at the padlock before she takes hold of the metal in her hands.

"Oh no you don't," I warn her, reaching out to take hold of her by the back of her belt.

"It's my house," she counters. "It was Parker's. When he died it became Liam's. Thus now it's mine."

"Maybe," I tell her, "But it looks like at some point it's been claimed by the state."

Gesturing to the posted warnings, Sara barely pays them any attention, foot already placing itself in the fence.

Before she can lift herself even an inch, a bellowing voice from behind us nearly scares the living shit out of me.

"What in heaven's name do you think you're doing?"

Turning, I see a large woman, approximately in her forties quickly ascending the drive towards us.

"This house is not for you gawkers to come and trespass all over! Can't you read the goddamn signs?"

Shaking her head, I raise a brow as she moves right past me and literally pulls Sara off and away from the fence.

"You nosy rubberneckers get back in your car before I call the police."

Raising her own brow, Sara looks down at the woman darkly.

"Sorry," I offer, trying to diffuse the situation. "We're visiting a friend from out of town and must have gotten the wrong address from her…"

The woman lets out a snort. "I think your friend is trying to play a practical joke on you. This is most definitely not the house you're looking for."

"Why's that?" Sara asks, her voice hard to read.

Raising her brows, the woman looks like we just beamed in from Pluto.

"You don't know what house this is?" she asks incredulously.

"No."

"Wow, you must really be from out of town," she breathes out.

The woman's demeanor shifts almost instantly, her anger morphing into conspiratory excitement, obviously elated at the idea of getting to share some juicy gossip.

"This is the Sidle house," she tells us, her voice low as though there are people listening from the bushes.

"The family used to live here, seemed perfectly normal until one night the mom went crazy and stabbed her husband to death while he was sleeping. Right in his sleep, stabbed him over thirty times. Can you imagine that?"

She shakes her head.

"And, the worst part," she says in a whisper, "is that she did it right in front of her children. Two boys and a girl."

The woman crosses her arms over her chest.

"All this stuff came out after about the children having been abused for years in that house. All that time, and no one suspected a thing."

She fixes us with a look. "It's disgusting. I tell you, some people are just evil and should never even be allowed to have children let alone raise them."

Clenching her jaw, Sara glances back towards the house.

"What happened to them?" she asks. "The children?"

The woman's eyes light up at Sara's perceived interest. "Foster care. Well, for the younger ones."

She steps slightly closer to us, her head lowered as she continues in her secretive tone.

"I heard the boys ended up in jail for rape, beating their wives, things like that. Ended up just like their parents."

"And the girl?"

"No one knows," the woman says. "Some say she disappeared in the foster system. Some say she changed her name and is living under an alias. Some say she got married, only to kill her own husband on their honeymoon just like her mother killed her father. Some say she was murdered years ago by one of her own brothers."

The woman shrugs with a smile. "There are so many rumors, it's hard to keep track, you know?"

"Of course," Sara gets out, eyes dark.

Reaching over, I place my hand absently on the small of her back.

"One thing I do know for sure," the woman says. "It would have been better for those kids, for the whole world really, if they'd never been born. To live with that sort of evil? You can't expect anyone to be normal after that. I'm not saying it's their fault or anything, but it is what it is."

Clearing my throat, I step forward, gesturing to the house.

"What's happening with the house?" I ask, desperate to change the topic, to somehow erase the woman's last comment from the air.

"They condemned it. The whole town voted to tear it down. No one wants that horrible thing lurking back here." She shakes her head. "But apparently the house is historic, built back in the 1800s. We can't get permission to demolish it. So here it stands."

Gesturing between us, the woman grows frustrated yet again. "I live across the street and now I have to watch sick fucks like yourself trying to get a view of the infamous Sidle house. Sick, morbid people out there, I tell ya."

Sara shakes her head.

"Well, we're sorry to have bothered you," she forces out before turning and making her way back down the drive towards our car.

Glancing at me, the woman watches Sara retreat.

"You better keep an eye on her," she warns me. "If I catch her trying to climb that fence again I will call the police."

"Understood," I tell her distractedly, already stepping around her to follow after Sara.

"That's why you told the man at the bed and breakfast we were tourists," I say into the silence of the car. "And why you've been paying only with cash. You don't want anyone to know who you are."

Sara nods, her hands absently tapping the car keys against her fingers.

Eventually she shrugs, eyes glancing out the window. "The Sidle name isn't one you can use casually around here."

I take in a deep breath, not having even thought about this particular issue. It makes sense, and I'm surprised I hadn't anticipated it sooner. A small town. A horrific story that for all intents and purposes sounds like something written for some Hollywood horror movie. It would be unrealistic to expect people to have forgotten about what happened with Sara's family by now.

Stories like hers aren't ones you really ever forget.

"You okay?" I ask her quietly, watching her as she stares intently at the mailbox of her old house still visible from our new location further down the street, away from the sights of that retched woman.

There are no houses where we are, and we essentially have the road to ourselves.

"Yeah," she tells me quietly, voice carefully controlled.

"Sara, I –"

Before I can finish, Sara throws her door open, staggering to the edge of the road where she almost immediately begins to vomit.

"Shit," I curse, getting out of the car and quickly making my way to her side.

Holding her upper arm tightly for support with one hand, I use the other to gently rub her back as I watch her throw up the small amount of food she managed to force down at lunch.

"Alright, sweetheart," I tell her softly. "You're alright, I got you."

Coughing as she starts to dry heave, I wrap my arm around her waist to lend her shaking body some extra support.

"I got you, Sar."

Straightening slowly as she finishes, Sara drags in a couple shaky breathes.

"Sorry," she gets out, voice strained.

"Shh," I cut her off. "Stop. You have nothing to be sorry for."

Holding Sara tightly until her shaking starts to diminish, I slowly move my arm from her waist to her hip, resituating myself so I can still keep a hold of her while facing her at the same time.

"You alright?" I ask her seriously, eyes boring into her own.

"Yeah, I'm fi-"

"'Fine'," I finish for her. "Yeah, I know. You're 'fine'. Just like you're always 'fine.'"

Sara's eyes remain on mine, both of us in some sort of silent standoff that I'm not really sure how got started.

After more than a few moments of tense silence, I let out a sigh.

Shaking my head, I run my hand through my hair.

"Come on," I tell her quietly. "Let's head back."

Watching me a few moments more, Sara eventually nods and we get into the car without another word.

"What time do we leave again?" I ask, hesitating near Sara's doorway with my own key in hand.

"About two hours from now," she tells me, pushing her door open quietly.

"Okay, see you in a couple hours then."

Turning to head to my room, I almost make it to my door before Sara calls me back.

"Cath?"

"Yeah?"

Tapping her fingers against the doorframe, Sara takes a breath.

"You want to come in for awhile?"

Brows raising of their own accord, I try to hide my surprise at her offer.

"Oh," I eventually stammer out. "Sure."

I try to keep my tone neutral, try to not betray the true relief I am feeling right now.

Gesturing with her arm, Sara allows me to enter her room first, closing the door behind us.

"Make yourself comfortable," she offers, handing me a water from the minifridge.

"Thanks."

After a few awkward moments trying to figure out the logistics, Sara and I eventually find ourselves both sitting on the bed, leaning our backs against the headboard.

Sara is glancing over a journal that looks like anything but light reading, and I am trying to pretend like I am doing the crossword puzzle from the local paper.

The whole situation is tense, awkward. Simply put, it's not us.

Not our typical dynamic.

Letting out a breath, I look over when I realize I haven't heard Sara turn a page in quite awhile.

Journal resting in her lap, Sara's eyes are closed, her head angled awkwardly against the headboard.

Watching her silently for a few moments, following the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, I quietly take off my reading glasses and place them and the paper on the night stand.

Nervously glancing over, I see that Sara hasn't budged.

Deciding to tempt fate, I softly take hold of Sara's shoulder, pulling her slowly and gently towards me.

Sara lets out a soft moan of protest, and I still my motions until her breathing evens out again.

Then, carefully, I resume my actions until her head is resting against my chest. Wrapping my arm around her, I pull us both downward until we are laying against the pillows.

Watching her closely, Sara is still deep in sleep, her body nearly completely limp against my own.

Smiling slightly at the rare sight, I run my fingers softly through her hair, my own eyes closing as I try to hold onto this moment, this feeling.

Placing a kiss against her temple, I move my lips towards her ear.

"I love you," I whisper softly. "My God, Sara, how much I still love you."

AN: Thanks for reading.