May 14, 1916

"Mama. Mama, look,"

"I'm looking, darling," Rose says, kneeling down to the floor where Josephine sits playing, legs folded under her. "What is it?"

"Sam," She points with her tiny fingers at the brown blob that Rose supposes could pass for her daughter's stuffed bear. "Buver, and me," Two more shapes, almost resembling stick figures. One has longish yellow hair- which must be Josephine- and the other is drawn in a blue crayon with no true defining features, but looks to be vaguely person-shaped.

"How marvelous!" She smiles, holding her drawing up to the early afternoon light streaming in from their sitting room window, the Pacific ocean sparkling under a clear azure sky. Rose pats the bear's nose. "Sam and your brother like it very much. Miss Josephine, this is exquisite work. Shall I phone the Louvre and have them put it on display? They would be honored to accept such fine work."

Her little girl giggles, flashing her baby teeth. "Mama, that's silly," Josephine laughs, tugging on one of her shoes in a rather absentminded way. "What's 'loov'?"

"Hmm," Rose said, pretending to think hard with a finger pressed to her lips. "Maybe you're right," She nods, looking at her small, smiling daughter. She runs a finger down the slope of Josephine's nose- the same shape as Rose's, though smaller. "This deserves a finer critic. How about this afternoon we go to visit Daddy at the pier and you can show him your drawing?"

Josephine throws herself into her mother's arms, holding on as fiercely as any three year old can. "Oh, yes! Yes, Mama, that's… that's…" She frowns, trying to think of the right word. "That's mav-lous."

Rose smiles, combing her fingers through Josephine's silky golden curls."Yes, Darling," She says, "Mar-vel-ous. Can you say that?"

"Mav-lous,"

"Close enough," She grins. Just then, there's a sharp knocking at their door. Rose frowns at the noise, brow furrowing in. We aren't expecting anyone, She thinks to herself– Not that I know of, anyway. "Josephine, why don't you play with your crayons while I go see who's at the door? Does that sound good?" Rose asks, looking down at the little girl, who nods, even though it wasn't really a question. She slides Josephine off her lap.

Rose presses a hand to the cream wool of her skirts, over her swelling stomach, and heaves herself into a standing position with a huff, trying to ignore her daughter's giggling at how she struggles. Her son flutters around inside, although with how she's grown in the last few weeks, his movements are less like flutters and more of a deep, prodding motion. She was a little more than five months gone, and one day soon she would sit down on the floor with Josephine and not be able to get back up- not without help at least, from Jack or a well placed piece of furniture. So far, Thomas has been more difficult on her than her first baby. The symptoms were more pronounced all the way around, including morning sickness, which had only just begun to fade a few weeks ago.

The person knocks on the door again, this time more persistently, as if they think she didn't hear the first time. "Just a moment, please," Rose calls to whoever is on the other side of the door. "Who is it?"

It speaks volumes that fear doesn't even cross her mind at someone knocking at her door, these days. Four years have passed since the sinking, and she doesn't think she's seriously worried about being found by someone since Josephine turned one. They've gotten away with it for so long, that the notion of it doesn't even cross her mind, when even a few months after the sinking, a strange knock at their door would have sent Rose into a panic– Grace's appearance into their lives certainly hadn't done her any favors in that regard. She crosses her way to the doorway without batting an eyelash, without even a speck of fright in her heart.

But then, maybe she should have been.

Rose's heart drops into her stomach at the face that stares back at her. "Mother."

"How did you find us?" Rose asks her mother. Ruth's jaw visibly tightens at the word 'us'. Surely she must know. She must know that it's more than just me any longer. Her hand creeps up from her side to the pronounced curve of her belly– that alone should make it obvious. She thinks she feels the tiniest nudge of Thomas's kicks against her hand, although on the inside it's plenty strong. Rose wants to be excited, wants to immediately run back to Josephine so she can feel, and then go down to find Jack at the pier.

Her mother's sudden appearance on her doorstep after more than four years keeps her rooted to the spot.

"You're married," Mother says, as if she hadn't heard Rose properly, eyeing the pearl wedding ring on her hand. "You're pregnant."

Rose sucks on her teeth. "Am I?" She bites back, sliding her hand down to the lowermost swell of her stomach. "That's funny, I hadn't noticed."

"Rose, I'll not take that tone, even from you. I'm your mother-"

"My Mother?" She questions, eyes wide. "Is that what you think? You haven't been my Mother for more than four years. Mothers don't do to their daughters what you did to me. How did you find us?"

"Mama?" A small voice comes from behind Rose. She turns, her mouth going dry. Josephine is there, holding the copy of Peter Rabbit that came from the house in Chippewa Falls, as many years ago as the sinking. Her pale gold curls gleam in the sunlight, and Sam the bear is clutched in her arms as well. "Will you read to me?"

Rose looks at her daughter, and then at her mother, and back, lips parted as she tries to decide what to do. She closes her mouth and approaches her daughter, forcing a light smile onto her features, even though she can feel Mother's hovering presence in the doorway like a chilly breeze. "Of course I will, Darling." She says. "Peter Rabbit again? You know this was one of my favorites when I was a little girl?"

"Yes, mama," Josephine says, a little lisp in her voice. Her big blue eyes turn upward, hopeful. "Up?"

Rose frowns, brushing her hand over Josephine's forehead. "I'm sorry, Darling," She says. "I don't think I can. Not until your brother is born." Her and Jack's daughter was small by most standards for a three year old, but it didn't change that Rose had nearly hurt herself the last time she tried to pick up their daughter- her back hadn't appreciated trying to do so even at just five months along.

"Mama, who is she?" Josephine asks, looking at Mother, eyes wide with curiosity.

She purses her lips. "This is Miss Ruth," Rose answers. "She's someone I knew before you were born."

"Hello, Miss Ruth!" She smiles, waving a little hand. She's bright and enthusiastic in her greeting in the way that only little children can be. "My name is Josephine," Mother turns white as a sheet. Rose isn't sure what her mother expected to find when she came to find her, but she doubts it was this. In any case, she's sure it stings that she doesn't introduce her as 'Grandmother'.

Rose takes her daughter down to her bedroom and reads her Peter rabbit- twice- at which point she falls into a light sleep beside her. Somehow, she manages to extract herself from Josephine's bed without waking her, and puts on a pot of tea.

The last time Rose had seen her mother, she'd been on a lifeboat getting off the Titanic, screaming after her to get in the lifeboat. Rose stands, waiting for water to boil, not truly saying much of anything, and Mother is seated at their kitchen table– in the place where Jack usually sits. It's been four years, but she still sits like a lady. She crosses her ankles, keeps her back straight and shoulders down. Time has left its mark on other aspects, though.

Her clothes are not quite so fine as the ones she wore when Rose knew her, and she wears only a tiny bit of face powder and rouge. She never did wear much, but it is still less. She looks older, more haggard, her face a bit more lined and her hair a bit more grey. She doesn't wear gloves anymore. In fact, Rose can see the faint remnants of calluses on her mother's hand. Her mother's hand, on which sits a gleaming diamond ring, in place of where the one from her father sat for so many years.

"You got married," She remarks, passing her mother a mug of mint tea.

Mother frowns. "You're one to talk," She says, eyes dancing down Rose's frame. She stops herself, closing her eyes with a sigh. "I apologize. His name is Luther Herdford. We met about two years ago. He's a kind man. I care for him very much."

"Rich, I presume," Rose responds, her voice cold.

Mother averts her eyes. "We have a comfortable life," She says. Rose takes that to mean– well, she's not sure what to take it as. They were comfortable. Not struggling, or in poverty by any means. That did not mean that things were the same as they were before Rose's father died. "I spent plenty of time as a seamstress." Ruth's hands clench at the porcelain mug, white knuckled. Her small frame seems to grow even smaller, but she finally is able to pull her eyes back up to her daughter's face. "Rose, how ever did you survive?"

Rose shakes her head. "No. You answer me, first. How did you find us?" It's the question she's wanted to know ever since Mother turned up on her doorstep, and the answer has been delayed, over and over again. No more. If Mother can find them, it's not so much of a stretch for others to find them as well.

Mother worries her hands together on the table, twisting her wedding ring the way Rose does when she's upset. "An associate of your father's told me that he swore he had seen you in a Cafe in Los Angeles, with Molly Brown. Paul Beecham. He said that you were also with a blond man and a baby. I didn't want to believe it… but then the same thing happened a few weeks ago. I got a letter from an old friend saying that she had seen you working in a hospital in Los Angeles. I surmised the rest… that you had somehow survived and gone off with that steerage boy-"

"That boy?" Rose demands, heart racing with– with– oh, she hasn't felt this furious at anyone in years. Not since she met and Jack ran away together. Of all the things to set her off, she's certain that her mother calling Jack a boy is one of the less worthy hills to die on, but a part of her just doesn't care anymore. Things worsened and worsened between mother and her, right up until the point that Rose turned away from her and that lifeboat rather than join her in it. The problems underlying what happened were never discussed, never fixed, she simply removed herself. And now, Mother is back in her life, however briefly, and they're picking up with exactly the same antagonism they'd held before. "Jack is my husband. We have children. If it weren't for him, I'd have died several times over on Titanic. You don't get to treat him like– like a child, or an insect to be squashed."

Mother purses her lips. "Very well," She says. "I… I knew that, after what Paul Beecham said, you had to be close to Los Angeles. I inquired with the post office. There were two listed for Jack and Rose Dawson. One here and one further in town, an apartment. Luther was very gracious about everything… he bought train tickets and even came with me when I told him what I suspected. We've a hotel across town. I left this morning to look for you. The apartment was being rented out by another family, and so I came here."

"We moved here last November," Rose explains with a weak smile at the memory. "Jack and I decided that the apartment would be a bit small if there were to be a fourth family member." They were right- Rose had adored their small apartment, but if it was possible she loved their house even more. It was on the outskirts of Santa Monica, with the ocean in eyeshot out their back door, but close enough to the Trolly station that Rose could make it to the hospital when she had to work and for Jack to make it to the studio and the pier.

Mother shakes her head. "Goodness, Rose. How did you survive? Why didn't you come find us?"

"Why do you think?" Rose laughs. "I didn't want to be found. Jack and I rode the Titanic into the water that night, and we waited for the lifeboats. But only one came. We were nearly dead when it got there. For a while we were in the infirmary, and then we hid in steerage. You only looked for Rose DeWitt Bukater on the survivor's list, didn't you, mother? You never looked for the name Jack Dawson. And you certainly never looked for Rose Dawson."

"You pretended to be married," Mother realizes, eyes wide, far away. In them, Rose can almost see the memory of what happened that night– the ship, breaking apart, screaming. The ship's hull crushing those in the water below as it came back down. The Carpathia in the light of dawn. "You took his name,"

"Of course I did," Rose answers. It was as natural as breathing. There had been no alternative, no other way for her to stay with Jack on that ship. In the end, it was the safest course. "Jack was all I had. I already loved him as a husband. We were properly married a week after the sinking, and we've been together ever since. Molly helped us find a place here. We knew no one would look for us so far away."

"You let me think you were dead," Mother says, despairing, eyes watering under the weight of grief, and regret. Under the weight of everything that went unsaid four years ago. "Molly let me think you were dead. For four years. I thought she was my friend."

Rose shakes her head– she shouldn't have expected mother to miss that part of her statement. "Molly is your friend," She insists. "She wasn't looking after you after the sinking because I asked her to– that's just who she is. It was all on her own. And she respected our wishes, which is more than you've ever done. I didn't want you to know. Can you even pretend that you wouldn't have made me marry Cal the moment you found out I was alive? Even though you knew I would be miserable?"

"He was a fine match-"

"He tried to kill me!" Rose cries, "And Jack! He'd rather have seen us dead than know that I chose someone else. Are you going to run off and tell Cal now?"

Mother was silent for a long time, considering. Her eyes fly around the room, to the floor, to Rose, down the hall to Josephine's room where she was sleeping still, and to her rounding stomach. "No," Mother finally answers. "If I told him, I'd never see you again," Rose nods. She's right– if Ruth told Cal, they would do everything they had to to keep her out of their lives. Even move again, if they had to. She doesn't doubt Jack's willingness on that part, not if it came down to protecting their family. "Besides, it's not as if it would serve any good other than upsetting him. You've been married for years and you have- will have- two children. He wouldn't marry you now even if he knew. The debt is gone, I've started a new life with Luther. It would be pointless. All I would accomplish is losing any chance of having you in my life. Of knowing my grandchildren. How old is she? Two?"

"She turned three in early January,"

"January," Mother echoes. Rose blushes faintly– it's the same, has been every time anyone who knew when Josephine was born were told that she and Jack only met a scant nine months before. She can see the cogs turning in Mother's head, as she counts back, and… "You and Mister Dawson certainly didn't waste any time, did you?"

"I carried her off the Titanic with me without even knowing it," Rose admits, something she's never dared to say to anyone other than Jack. "At least, we suspect. Even if you had found us on the Carpathia, there's a good chance I would have had Josephine anyway."

Mother frowns. "Why did you never write me? Did you never even think of it? If truly you fell pregnant that early, and married Mister Dawson, there was little anyone could do to separate you."

Rose purses her lips, worrying her hands. She twists her wedding ring around her finger. Even now, she doesn't dare give weight to that thought by telling Mother that their marriage wasn't exactly performed under honest circumstances. Rose, wanting the ceremony to be legal, had only used Rose DeWitt instead of her full name in the hopes of concealing her survival. And the Judge had only agreed to marry them so quickly because he fully believed that they were already married, and that the license had simply been destroyed in the sinking– a blatant lie, as they hadn't even known one another before the ship set sail.

"I did think about it," She finally says. "When I was pregnant with Josephine. It was hard for me that you weren't here. I even wrote a letter once, but I didn't send it. It's been… a sore spot, between Jack and I. You see… his parents died when he was young. You're the only grandparent that our children will ever have. With Jack's parents, there were pieces of their life we could take with us, things to remember them by even though they were gone. But when I left you… I had nothing. No ties to my childhood. Only the clothes on my back when I went into the water. Jack thought it would be good if you knew. He's always known how you feel about him, but he thought maybe you could change. That Josephine shouldn't be deprived of a grandmother just because you didn't like him.

"You have to understand…" Rose says, tugging on the red cuffs of her soft blouse. "When I decided to leave, it wasn't out of spite, and it wasn't about how I felt about Jack, really. It was about wanting, just once, to be as young as I was. To be free. Jack could give me that. And I didn't just want it for me, I wanted it for Josephine, even though she didn't exist yet… I wanted it for any daughter of mine. How could I possibly let my children go through what I did? I was so afraid that if you knew, you'd… pull me back there– the both of us, and have Jack arrested. Or worse, that you'd take Josephine from me, too. That was why I decided not to tell you, even after."

Mother purses her lips. "Is there any chance that your stance has changed?" Are you still afraid of that? She asks. And the answer– No, but also, yes. She doesn't fear losing her husband and children as she once did. But she still worries that if Mother becomes a permanent fixture in her life, she'll return to old habits. Trying to tell her and Josephine how to live and who to be. Treating Jack like dirt.

"Answer me this, mother," Rose says, heart racing, pounding all the way into her fingertips. Even if she could forgive mother for everything else, there were other events that night that weren't so easily forgotten. Like how close she and Jack came to death in the water– how easily the both of them could have died if that lifeboat had come any later. "When the ship sank, fifteen hundred of us were in the water. Only one boat came back. Did you even try? Even though you knew that I could've been in the water, did you try to go back for me at all? I know Molly did. Did you? Or did you just try to shut out the sounds of us drowning and freezing? Did you just tell yourself that we weren't worth saving because we weren't first class?"

Mother's blue eyes well up with tears, and her jaw clenches, hands trembling on the coffee mug. Rose knows the answer. She's known it all along. Of course she didn't, Rose thinks. I don't know what else I expected from her, "That's not fair," She protests, her voice shaking, "It was four years ago, Rose. You act like it was my fault the ship sank," Mother cries, standing up. "I couldn't have done anything! We were all terrified that if we went back, you'd swamp the boat!"

"You could have tried!" She exclaims, "But you didn't even do that! You certainly weren't more afraid than everybody who was stuck in the water was. How many more people could have been saved if you had tried? If any of you had tried?"

"Well, we can't do anything about it now, can we?"

Rose purses her lips, remembering the chill of the water on an already cold night. Jack's still hand in hers, the rocking of the door on the water, the blackness of the water and the sky. "You should have. When the ship was going down, you didn't even care that half the people were going to die. All you cared about was status. Until I was left on the ship. Were you even sorry?"

"Of course I was!" Ruth says. She swallows, steeling her features. She rises from her chair, and rounds the table to where Rose is sitting. Her eyes burn upwards into Mother's face. Ruth's bony, cold hands reach up to cup Rose's cheek, brushing a lock of red hair over her forehead. "I'm your mother, Rose. I'll always be your mother. I'll always want to protect you. I'll always want what's best for you. Do you really think that I didn't feel sorry the moment the boat started to take me away from you? Do you really think I didn't regret it, that I haven't spent all this time thinking that if maybe I'd done something differently, you'd still be here? Rose, I love you more than anything in this world. And for years, you let me think you were dead!"

"You made me want to die!"

Mother's face turns whiter than a sheet, and she goes perfectly still. Her hands slide from Rose's face. "What?" She chokes out. Her voice is weak, she doesn't understand, even though she'd heard her well enough. "Rose-"

Rose looks away, pursing her lips. I shouldn't have said that. I shouldn't have said it. She closed her eyes for a long moment. When she looks back, her mother appears terribly frightened. Rose cups a palm to the underside of her belly, and braces her hand on the arm of the chair, rising to her feet. "I promised Jospehine that I would take her to the pier to see Jack this afternoon. I need to talk to him. I think it's best that you go, for now."

"Rose! Rose, wait-"

"We'll speak again tomorrow. I… I should talk to Jack about all this. He's part of my life- an important part. And if you want to be in that life, you need to accept him, too."

"Daddy!" A little voice behind him exclaims. Jack spins on his heel, heart filled with love.

"Josephine!" He grins, kneeling down to embrace his small daughter at Rose's feet. "I missed you so much,"

"I missed you too, Daddy," She says softly, burying her head in her neck. She has a little lisp on her s's still, but it's deeply sweet. "I made a drawing,"

"What did you draw?" He smiles, coming to a stand with her still in his arms. Rose comes up close to his side, and Jack turns his head so he can kiss her hello. His wife is a vision in the late spring daylight, in a soft crimson blouse with smocking around the collar, and a creamy wool skirt with black buttons down the front, almost to her ankles. She tastes like mint tea, and the swell of her stomach is warm against his side. He keeps waiting for when he'll be able to feel Thomas moving- he knows it must be soon, but at the moment it doesn't seem to be happening.

"Sam," Josephine answers brightly, "and Buver,"

"Well, they must have liked it," He nods, "Did you bring it with you, or is it still at home?"

"At home," she nods. "Mama said… Mama said… Daddy, what's 'loov'?"

"Loov?" He asks, brow furrowed, He looks at Rose, who wears a sheepish, amused smile, her coppery hair lit up by the sun. And then he realizes, "Oh. The Louvre, Sweetheart. It's an art museum in Paris."

"We had a vis-tor," Josephine chirps. He looks back at her. "She was old, and she has red hair like Mama. Mama said her name was Miss Ruth, and you know her from… from before me."

Ruth? Jack looks back at his wife. Your mother? He mouths at her. Rose nods, her lips turned down in a small frown. "That's nice," He answers their daughter. He's been suggesting periodically that Rose reach out to her mother ever since the last few months of her pregnancy with Josephine- Ruth was the only grandmother that Jo had, her next closest living relative after Rose and himself. I want Mother, his wife had wailed three years ago, laboring with Josephine, sweaty and in pain, and distraught. The memories from that day are among some of his most vivid. Despite how Rose and her mother had parted, that memory is proof that she still misses her. And it wasn't the only moment in the years since the sinking, either, that he's seen her secretly wishing for her mother's presence or words of advice. But she scarcely lets herself want it, and he knows she wishes she didn't want it at all.

In truth, he hadn't ever thought that Rose would reach out to her mother, despite his insistences, and certainly hadn't thought Rose would do so without telling him. He knows that's not what happened, though. If Rose had known her mother was coming, she would have said something. No, he's sure that Ruth had dropped in on them entirely unannounced.

"How did she find us?" Jack asks his wife in a hushed voice. Josephine appears occupied enough- she's playing with his hair– that he doesn't think they have to worry about her parroting it back at some vastly inconvenient point.

Rose shrugs, hands elegantly folded over her stomach. "Someone she knows saw me at the hospital a few weeks ago and sent a letter. And before that, a friend of my Father's saw the three of us in a cafe with Molly. She talked to the post office and came out here."

Jack nods, chewing on his lip a little. He reaches for Rose's hand with the one that's not holding Josephine. "How is she?" He asks with words. Are you alright? Is what he thinks.

Rose swallows and squeezes his hand, trying to make herself smile. "I'm fine, Jack," She says with a small nod, though he doesn't believe her. "She got married again."

Jack nods. That's not very surprising. The engagement with Hockley had been arranged first and foremost to cover Rose's father's debts. Once Rose was gone, the best way for Ruth to secure her position in society was by marrying again.

"I think you should talk to her, Jack," Rose presses, her thumb brushing over the back of his hand as they walk along. "You're important to me. She needs to understand that if she wants to be in our life. And I don't think I can talk to her again so soon after…" Rose shakes her head to herself in thought, pink lips pursed. "I got upset with her and I said too much. About how she made me feel…" Rose glances furtively to Josephine, still tucked securely in Jack's arms. "The night we met."

He nods mutely. After four years, they've spoken precious little of that night, even in the privacy of their own bedroom. Josephine was too young to know about that- maybe she always would be. It's near impossible for him to imagine their daughter as a young woman, though one day she would be. Even then, how could they possibly tell her- and their son- how he and Rose met? How close they came to not existing at all? It will be years yet before their children are old enough to talk to about the sinking, without getting into the hairier details of their relationship, like how she was engaged to someone else at the time, and suicidal, how they met and fell in love in three days. They went from total strangers to man and wife in ten days, made a child in those ten days. How she had asked him to draw her nude after so little time. Jack couldn't deny how they got to where they are, but it's not the example they should set for Josephine and Thomas and any other children that come around.

The three of them return home a little later in the evening for dinner, and later still, put Josephine to bed. When it's quiet, and they have the house to themselves, they talk. They ready themselves for bed– that's where all their best conversations take place, in bed. Where it's just him and her, and there's nothing between them. They talk: about her mother, and about the sinking, and about running away together four years ago, and above all else, their children, born and unborn.

And eventually they decide that, tomorrow, they'll call Rose's mother.

"So, did you find your daughter?" Luther asks upon her return to the hotel. He's sitting at a chair on the terrace of their rooms, a letter from one of his daughters in hand– he has three, each lovelier than the last. His suit jacket is has been left rather carelessly to drape over the side of the bed– she quickly gathers it and puts it on a hanger in the closet, hands still shaking.

"I did," Ruth nods blankly. You made me want to die, Rose had said. It didn't make sense. Rose had survived the Titanic, even if she had been willing to stay on board. All but saying that she would rather die than get into the lifeboat with her. But it had been four years.

"And?" Luther presses.

"And she wants little and nothing to do with me, and the worst of it is that she's right not to," Ruth sighs. She can feel her entire body sag with the weight of it all. You made me want to die. She swallows, clutching the cool handle of the closet door. Her husband steps in from outside– she hasn't properly looked at him once since stepping in. He hadn't come with her to find Rose today for obvious reasons. He's particularly fetching today– he always is. His waistcoat is a pale blue color made from China Silk, smooth salt and pepper hair gleaming under the sun. All of a sudden, she feels very old. Older than she's ever been, and more foolish than she's ever been. Ruth gasps, tears welling in her eyes. "Oh, Luther, I fear I was terrible to her. I still don't understand everything that happened four years ago, and I don't know how I can possibly make it up to her."

Luther clenches his jaw, walking up to her. His hands find her shoulders, and fall to her elbows, and down, until her hands are in his. He pulls her away from the closet, towards a coral couch at the back of the room. They sit. "Ruth," He says, hands still in hers, warm and solid. "Please, help me to understand." She can't meet his eyes. "You never talk about the sinking, and I've never pressed you. It was never my business. But you brought us here, and you made it my business. I know that you thought Rose died, and now you know she's not. I know that Molly helped you, and there was that mess with Caledon Hockley after the sinking. What happened during the sinking?"

Ruth closes her eyes. "I'm ashamed to tell you," She admits with a shake of her head. "Luther, I was a different sort of woman four years ago. And I'm not proud of what happened."

He kisses her knuckles, hands still bearing calluses from working in a dress shop and sewing blisters into her hands. She won't let them fade– she worked so hard for them. So now that she doesn't have to work, she still makes dresses and donates them to women's shelters. "I married the woman you are now," He says, "And there is nothing you could say that would make me regret it. Now tell me."

Ruth shakes her head. "It all started when my first husband died," She says. "After that, we discovered his debts. The most practical solution was for Rose to marry well. We arranged it. She was going to marry Caledon Hockley a few weeks after the Titanic docked. But she must not have been happy. No, she was miserable," Ruth recounts, holding tight to her husband's hands, letting the feel of his thumbs against her fingers calm her. "I know that now," She sniffs, blinking away tears. "-While on board, she met a young man from steerage, and they fell in love. I was… less than supportive. I wanted what was best for her, and I was so sure of what that was. When the iceberg struck… the last I saw of her was when she disappeared into the chaos on deck as my lifeboat was lowered into the water. She wouldn't go with me. I later discovered through Mister Hockley that she had briefly been in a lifeboat after I departed, and jumped back onto Titanic to be with Jack, her steerage boy. Mister Hockley was the last person we know of that saw them alive. I watched the ship sink not knowing if she was still on board. And I didn't do anything. I was too frightened, I was so scared–" She babbles. "But I didn't even try to help, and I… I deserve her ire," She says, voice thick with tears.

Ruth looks down, and pulls a white handkerchief from her pocket, a blue rose embroidered on the corner. She wipes at her eyes. She sees her daughter, answering the door this afternoon, hair pinned back behind her ears, in a vibrant red blouse and pale skirt, stomach round– truly a sight Ruth never thought she'd see– and beautiful beyond all words. Healthy and vibrant, a new, faint spattering of freckles across her nose, a light and ferocity in her eyes that Ruth hadn't seen in her daughter in years, even before the sinking. "Rose has since married Jack Dawson and they have a beautiful daughter together, and another child due this summer. She doesn't need me. I don't even know why I came here, I–"

"We came here," Luther interjects, coffee colored eyes sincere and focusing entirely on her. And in them, despite what she's just told him, there's no love that's vanished from them. "Because you love her. She's your daughter. There's not a corner of this earth that I wouldn't go to to find my daughters if I was in your place."

She remembers when Paul Beecham approached her on Valentine's day, talking of seeing her daughter and Jack with a baby. Coming here, she'd known, it was possible they would have a child together. But still, a part of her hadn't believed it, hadn't even dared to hope. But it was the truth. They have a daughter, a lovely little girl who knows nothing of her mother's life. And, if Rose has a say, will never have anything to do with her grandmother. She didn't even say that I was her mother, Ruth thinks, which sets a pang in her heart. I'm just some woman that Rose knew before her daughter was born.

"I haven't been much of a mother to her." She says. "She… she said that I made her want to die, and I don't even know what she meant by it. A good mother should know. Oh, Luther it was terrible that night. You don't even know,"

But he doesn't need to know. He doesn't need to have been there to understand how it still affects her to this day. And he does more than her first husband would have ever done before him in this position– he asks, "Will you tell me about it?"

They've been married, and she still hasn't told him about it. The notion almost makes her want to laugh– how she could have kept such monumental secrets from her husband for so long. But it's not funny, because the words have been burning in her throat for more than four years now, and somehow, even though she knows she should, that this is far from appropriate, Ruth doesn't have the strength to stop, and bottle up the secrets, and bury the pain for even a second longer.

Ruth slides closer to him on the couch, and pulls him into a fierce embrace, burying her face in his shoulder. His waistcoat grows damp with her tears. "If you could've seen it," She shakes her head, turning her face to the side so that she can speak. Luther's arms are warm around her waist. He touches a kiss to her hair. "I was awful. That night was awful. I'll never be able to forget it. My– my own daughter turned away from the lifeboats rather than escape with me, and I was powerless to even go after her. And then, I– we were just sitting on the open ocean, listening to people screaming as the ship tipped higher and higher. And then… and then the lights went out, and Titanic cracked down the middle– oh, the sound it made– it was this terrible screaming the ship made when it broke, and the– the crash that the stern made, when it hit the water, crushing people that had jumped in the hopes of survival– it was ear splitting. Then what's left of it was pulled vertical. And I had no way to know that she wasn't still on it, if she was safe or already dead. Then the ship finally sank, and all there is is screaming. It was just… this utter blackness, and the cold, and the sounds of fifteen hundred people drowning and freezing to death, and Rose was among them. And I did nothing. I couldn't do anything, I was paralyzed with fear, and… regret. All I did was to try to pretend I couldn't hear the screams, and that I knew she was safe. And then her name wasn't on the survivor's list… anywhere." She sobs. "And we couldn't find her on the Carpathia. And what makes it worse is that now I know that the reason we couldn't find her wasn't because she wasn't there, but because she didn't want to be found."

Ruth picks her head up and looks her husband in the eye. "The last time I saw her, she was running away from me, because she would rather die with her steerage boy than be safe with someone like me. I still have nightmares about it– her pink coat and red hair vanishing in the crowd, like a leaf in the wind. She let that be my last image of her, for four years, let me believe she was dead. She barely thought of reaching out, and in the end she decided not to because she thought her daughter would be better off not knowing me."

And sometimes, Ruth keeps to herself. I think she's right not to. Sometimes, I believe it myself.

Hi! Long time no see! I know this chapter is a tiny bit shorter than usual, but that's because the second half of it is still being edited/written, and it would have been MONSTROUS once it was all together, so I decided to split it in half.

Lots of emotion in this chapter- dealing with some relatively new characters, like little Josephine, and Ruth's husband Luther. Ruth and Rose are finally being forced to sit down and address some things that were going on. There's gonna be lots of emotion in the next chapter, too. We only got half the story here. Hopefully, the rest of it will follow soon! Until then, I wish all of you the best of luck, and a very happy holiday season!