For the prompt: "You know, it's okay to cry."
"We always knew this was a possibility."
"I know," Elizabeth said faintly. She was still too shell-shocked to really process it.
"You even said... you said you thought she would do it. One day."
"Yeah." She just hadn't realized it would be so soon, or... well truthfully, she hadn't thought about it in any real context at all. Her hands were shaking. Her whole body was shaking, a little. When Henry pressed a hand to her back, she was sure he could feel it too.
"...You know, it's okay to cry," he said gently. He rubbed her back in soothing circles. "Before anything else, she was your friend."
Elizabeth shook her head. "I can't," she whispered. "If I start crying now, I don't think I'll be able to stop. And... and I just don't have time for that right now."
"Baby," he said. He sounded worried.
"Henry, I promise I'll—" She sucked in a sharp breath. "Just not right now. I can't right now."
He seemed to accept that. Or, he accepted that it was the best she was going to be able to give him right now. "Do you want to call Isabelle? She probably hasn't heard yet... She'd want to know. She'd want to hear it from you."
She nodded. "And one of us should reach out to the family," she said. And then she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Oh God, her kids..." The thought made her queasy; all of it made her queasy. She wondered, imagined, how they had reacted when told. If she'd been there, she might have vomited right there on the floor. She didn't want to think about it.
There but for the grace of God go I, she thought. And then amended, There but for the grace of God goes Henry.
Henry clasped her hand. "One thing at a time." He passed her secure phone over from the night stand. She dialed Isabelle's number and took a few shaky breaths. She clung to Henry's hand as she listened to the line ring through.
Isabelle answered on the third ring. "Hey, Bess."
"Hi… Hi."
"Long time no talk. What's up?"
"Isabelle..." She swallowed. Henry squeezed her hand.
Isabelle's voice sharpened then. "Bess, what's wrong?"
Her words came out in a rush, trying to out-compete the choke of tears that lurked right under the surface, that threatened to subsume them. "Juliet committed suicide last night," she said. Her eyes burned, and she blinked hard.
There was a hard stretch of silence from the other end of the line. And then, "Wh-what?" Isabelle rasped.
"The guard found her hanging in her cell this morning."