She'd like black, and she does now, but she remembers how Charles was so impressed with her for liking it and not pink like other girls. He'd told her he'd like her dark edge, the shine of a blade in the night, cool and untouchable, and yet, desirable.

She liked pink too, but after he'd commented that, she hid that fact for a long time.

She looks at the two shirts, and then grabs the pink one. She walks down a few aisles before coming back and grabbing the black one too, because she liked both of them, and she deserves it.

There is a lock of Alice's hair still in her purse, and when she realizes that this is yet another thing she'd hidden from Charles, she hurts. She doesn't know which hurts more, the way she'd let herself be imprisoned to a so called love for so long, or the way that she still loved him now. She still felt that lingering desire when the night came.

Sometimes, she holds her children at night, but soon they will be too old to want to sleep next to her, and too young to understand why she needs the company.

Alice could have been a third child. But of course, Chucky had not liked that idea. He had made it clear from the very beginning. She had done her best to remain at a distance, to not open a motherly heart, but it happened, nonetheless, the way most things do. Naturally and yet so against the human will. Alice was a sweet girl, willing and compliant, and became such a comfort to her when nothing else seemed to help. And now she was gone. Another source of joy drained away from her in a desperate attempt to appease her true love.

Love took commitment, she knows, but she also knows that it was always her putting in the work. There was only half of the commitment occurring.

Glenda needs new shoes, even though she protested all week that she does not. Glenda loves those old things; she's scribbled on them and dirtied them with many of her own wild adventures. There is a hole where the toe rubs up against the inside of the left shoe, and they are stained beyond repair. Tiffany does not want to take those shoes from her, but she buys another pair, just in case Glenda changes her mind.

Glenda has been changing her mind about a lot of things. Glen has as well.

Chucky – Charles- wouldn't approve. He didn't approve of a lot of things their children thought or said, and the more they argued, the more frightened she became, although she hid it well. Charles had always called her his missing piece, the only one worthy of him – but he rarely ever showed it, the longer they were together. In fact, soon even his words left her feeling not worthy at all, let alone worthy of him. She stopped taking the risks to bring it up; he never listened, and she always felt as if she had overreacted, had over thought. Had been weak, like her mother.

He had never liked her mother, and she had never known why. She hadn't cried when he killed her, although, to be fair, she never really let her mother die. She wonders if that is why Charles had begun to hate her too – because he'd seen her mother in her.

She makes her way to the register, wondering what she will do today, the same way she does every day. She has an appointment later, but that is a couple of hours from now, and her children will not be home from school until later as well. The shopping trip is not long enough, and even though she left the house and got some fresh air, a part of her still feels like she has yet to take a breath today.

"Cash or card?" the cashier asks. For a moment, it feels as if she is finally breathing, and she's only speaking with a cashier, the same way any other person would, on any given day. And yet her heart pulses for the desire of something out of the ordinary to happen.

Chucky – Charles, Charles– had always given her excitement, but it was toxic. She knew this, she knows this. But she still wants anyways.

She's packing her car, just throwing the few bags into the seat next to her, and she's wondering if she should have gotten Glen something as well. But she certainly doesn't know what to get him. She still feels as new to motherhood as if the twins had just been bored. She hadn't had her mother to help her, she had no friends of any kind. She has no friends of any kind. She'd only had Charles, and she had pushed everyone away to be with him, and now she had to pay the price. Cash or card, Tiff? she asks herself, and she can hear his voice saying it, taunting her even now.

She wishes she did have someone to talk to though. It would be nice to have a friend her age, someone who understood. Particularly another mother, although she knows she shouldn't be all too greedy. Beggars cannot be choosers, and she is feeling her heart begin to beg.

"We're not having any of that freakish shit, Tiff," Charles had told her the first time she'd brought up Glen and what he had told her about himself. "I won't have a sissy for a son." She still cannot describe just how sick she'd felt that day. She had known then she'd made a mistake in picking Chucky – Charles – but then again, she had always known, hadn't she? Every one she had had in her life had tried to warn her. Her mother, her sister. Her neighbors.

She had fought with her sister so much, she remembered. And then her sister had left her, and they haven't spoken since. She doesn't know if she will ever find her again, and wonders if she is doing alright, or if she is in an equally as terrible of a situation as she is. A single mother with loneliness wearing her down more and more each day, its own quiet rheumatism.

She parks behind her boutique, and leaves the things in the car. No point in carrying extra baggage unless it's necessary.

She plays music over her speakers in the boutique and finds something to do, finds anything to do. Charles would have never approved of her music choice. Charles, she is learning as she stays so far away from her, does not approve of a lot of things that she does.

He would not approve of her calling him Charles, but that is her small crude gesture to him. Her mental reminder that he does not own her, and that she never should have let him. She hopes that Andy Barclay remains doing the same, and somewhere inside her, she knows that he does. Charles could never handle someone able to resist his demands, and that, from she has been told, is Andy's profession.

"I know who you are," he'd told her on the phone, and he'd sounded harsher then. Not at all as docile and gentle as he had in his letter he'd written her later on. There was a bite to him. She hopes he keeps his teeth sharp; Charles has thick skin, but he can still bleed, with the right incision. She hopes that he is bleeding now.

He has not called her in several days, and while part of her is relieved, a part of her hurts. It is all real now. They are over.

She is not going to cry about it. She is going to enjoy her music, and she is going to give her children what they deserve, and she's going to put glitter on her nails and wear a pink shirt. She sprays her counter and wipes it down furiously, despite the fact that it is already as clean as it will ever get.

He killed Mom, and he's going to kill you, if you don't watch your mouth, bitch, she'd told her sister. She had been so horrible to her, and she is appalled at the monster she had become, all to please a man she knew little to nothing about. She deserves all this now - all this loneliness, this disparity. Her own personal purgatory.

She supposes she can't complain. Who has ever said Purgatory was an independently run shop that makes good business, and two children who love them with all their fierce little hearts?

She goes back to the car and changes into her new shirt.

Her appointment comes in, a woman just a bit younger than her – or so it seems – locking her car just before opening the door, the bell ringing behind her. She has ridiculously long hair; it is gorgeous, and Tiffany does not quite understand why she would want to be rid of it. Although, she herself cuts her hair quite consistently. Perhaps she should let it grow out. Perhaps people would stare after her, the way she does after this woman. Perhaps they would find her beautiful.

There is something about this woman's eyes though. Tiffany thinks she has known her before. They had had conversations before. Her heart skips a bit, racing to remember, hopeful for a desired outcome. The woman walks up to her counter, fiddling with a wedding band on her hand.

"Hello, Tiffany?" asks the woman. Her voice is familiar too, and when they meet eyes and make small talk, Tiffany swears that the woman feels the same. As if they had met somewhere before.

"Yes, I've got you here for three-fifteen," Tiffany says, and then she puts the name with the face.

"Jade Hillinger, right?" she asks, and her heart is flipping more than ever, but now it is an anxious beating. She thinks that she should have gotten a quick smoke before, but there was no way of knowing. There never is.

She waits for the accusation, the blame, the tears. But they never come. She walks Jade to her seat, talks to her about styling options, lets her flip through a magazine, and begins to gather her required materials. She is not a bride anymore. She is not a doll anymore. But her heart still beats as if she is on a stand, and Jade is her judge, waiting for a reason to pardon her for anything.

Were they in such a situation, she would not blame Jade, should she bang her gavel and send her out, shame trailing behind her. Innocent lives she could ruined, Jade and her significant other.

She wonders if it is Jesse that Jade married. She wants to ask, but then it would give herself away.

"So, why the cut?" she asks instead, returning to her initial question. Jade's hair had been shorter when they had first met; she had been pretty then, and she is pretty now. Tiffany decides it is her personal mission to make it her magnum opus, Jade's hair. It is the least she can do, after everything.

Jade was the first woman who made her begin to think about her relationship with Chucky. Charles.

"I can't take care of it, it's a lot of work," Jade responds, and Tiffany is listening, she really is. Jade is moving into a new house, she is three months pregnant – and looking good for it – and her husband transitioning into a new job. But in the back of her mind, she is remembering about how Charles had almost hit her when she'd called him that.

Don't ever call me that again, he'd said. And she hadn't. Until now.

"I didn't know Jesse was interested in being a paralegal," is what she says aloud, because she is listening. But Jade gives her a look.

"You know him?" she asks. There is that look again, and Tiffany cannot meet her eyes. She focuses on cutting her hair instead. A good length of a ponytail, a good length to just jump out of bed with. She knows a style. She knows a good fit for any look.

"Oh, no," she says, keeping her voice even. The scissors snip away, continuing her rhythm, and she thanks herself for the practice it takes to not waver, not for anything. "You mentioned it."

"Did I?" Jade asks, but her tone already suggests that she believes it, and the tension seems to ease again, even as Tiffany can feel her pulse lost in itself. "I forget so much lately."

"You're a busy woman," Tiffany says.

"I understand that," she says.

But what she doesn't say is that she wishes she could forget more. She remembers everything, and it keeps her up at night. She always has too much to remember; it keeps her from sleep.

Jade does not seem to notice her lost in her thoughts, and she continues on, explaining how excited she is for this change. She loves Jesse, Tiffany can tell and this only causes a larger ache in her heart. She remembers Jesse. She wishes she had been with a man like Jesse. He was everything a girl could want; polite, hard-working, loyal. She had begun to nurse a small crush on him. She couldn't help it. He was a nice looking neighbor, and he had always wanted to offer her things, his service and assistance.

But her heart had been imprisoned to another, and Jade had moved in. It just was not meant to be. She wonders if anything good will ever be meant for her.

"I have children," Tiffany tells her, although she doesn't know why. "They're twins."

I could have had a third, she thinks, if I hadn't been so blinded by a toxic love.

Jade seems beyond interested to hear, and Tiffany hears herself in the naivety and excitement in Jade's voice. Children are a blessing, Tiffany believes, but they are also so much work, and it is so despairing to raise them alone. It did not matter where she and Charles were in their relationship, she had always raised them alone. He did not care for them. As far as she can tell, he still does not care for them.

"If you have any questions, I would love to give you advice," she says, and there is a pause. She thinks to herself that Jade must know who she is. Her eyes gave it away. Or her voice. Either way, it is all over now. The game of farce is lost.

But Jade glances at her thoughtfully, and then looks back into the mirror, tossing her hair and studying it closely. "I'd like that," is what Jade says, despite what Tiffany believes should have occurred. "I really would."

She sounds as if there is more she would like to say, but the words hang in the air. Tiffany walks her to the counter and rings her up. Jade pays her in cash. They exchange numbers, and even make each other laugh. There is more small talk. Perhaps-plans are arranged. Nothing is concrete.

But Jade begins to walk to the door, and then, holding it open, she looks at Tiffany once again. The wind is blowing in gently, and Tiffany feels as if she is in some old classic film, and she wonders where the flower petals are, despite the fact that it is early winter.

"I meant to say earlier, but, I really love that color on you," Jade says, and that is concrete. "Pink is the happiest color I know. It seems to have such gentle life to it, don't you think?"

Tiffany stares after her. "I do," she says softly, and it means much more to her than she could explain to even herself, much less Jade. It would be too early to explain such a thing anyways. "Don't forget I'm always here if you need someone to call."

Jade nods, and then she is gone, and everything feels surreal. The loss of the sudden and temporary excitement leaves her in a harsh state of longing. Jade's car is out in the traffic. Tiffany watches through the window.

She probably will not call. Most likely, she will put the number in a desk drawer and forget about it, only to find it later and think it is too late to call. Her other option is that one day, Jade will discover the truth, and this moment will only be another painful memory. But Tiffany had given her number anyways, just in case.

She looks down at her hands, and rolls and unrolls the paper where Jade had left her own number, in neat handwriting and i's that are dotted with little hearts, and she realizes that her hands are trembling so much. She almost feels tears, but they never come, and she does not feel sad. It is a different feeling entirely.

She pulls out a cigarette and lights it, and looks out her large glass window, waiting for the school bus to come around.