"It's her Cal. It's Gillian"

She doesn't wait for a response. Doesn't wait for me to indicate that i've heard her words. I have, and i'll probably never forget them, but she doesn't need to know that. Doesn't need to know the million different things that are running round my brain. So I remain silent, and let her turn on her heal and exit Gillians office.

Once i'm alone, once i'm not under Wallowski's watchful gaze, which reminds me more and more of Gill every time I feel her staring, I collapse onto the couch that still just about holds the scent of her perfume. The couch that more times that i'd care to admit has held me while the memories of the life I lost, the memories of the the life we shared made lines down my cheeks, invisibly marking me as hers. My immediate reaction to hearing the words 'it's her' had me wanting to tare open the paper and find whatever secrets lay inside. Discover whatever secrets Gill entrusted to the box and to Wallowski, until such a time came when I was so overcome with grief and pain that it was clear even to the untrained eye that I was losing her all over again. But with the package finally in my hands I hesitate. Something holds me back. As far as i'm aware, one of the last things Gillian did was wrap this box and give it to Wallowski with very specific instructions on when it should reach its intended recipient. This wasn't some spur of the moment decision, but part of a wider, well thought out plan that I knew nothing about. A plan that I feel I am only just beginning to scratch the surface of. So she will have spent time carefully choosing the paper. Spent time delicately writing my name on the label, which she then securely fastened to the top. The wrapping of the package may not be as important as what awaits inside, but I know her well enough, knew her well enough, to know that she will have taken her time over this. Made sure that the way in which she presented me with her gift, would mean something to me and only me. Would have given nothing away to Wallowski, while she held onto it. She would have considered the wrapping, knowing the white would bring me to the memory of her explaining her favourite colour to me all those years ago. I close my eyes, and run my fingers over the paper. Imagine her doing the same, until I feel her fingers brushing against mine as we are connected once more through her actions.

My fingers smooth the paper, catching upon the label with my name in her beautiful script until they reach the corners that have been folded and cellotaped with such precision, such accuracy that they are almost invisible to the naked eye. My mind jolts to the memory of Em's 9th birthday. The first birthday she celebrated after Zoe and I divorced. I'd always been hands on with picking presents, ensuring Em got what her little heart desired, but the wrapping had always been left to Zoe, so usually it was her assistant who ending up ensuring the presents were actually surrounded by paper. Which meant that come the first year when wrapping presents also fell to me, I was ill equiped. I went through three rolls, wrapping and re-wrapping, with each present looking worse than the one that came before. I was at my wits end, preparing myself for the horrified look on Em's face when she returned from Zoe's the following morning and was faced with a car-crash of birthday wrapping, when my phone rang. Gill, calling with the details of a case we'd been waiting on. But not ten seconds into the call she stopped. Worry filled her voice as "What's wrong Cal?" came through the receiver. Even from early on she was able to pick up my every emotion even when I barely said a word. With hesitation, I explained my situation and braced myself for her laughter to fill my ears. But instead she replied, "Give me 15 minutes" before hanging up the phone. And true to her word, 15 minutes later she was at my door armed with bags of paper and ribbons. Half an hour after arriving, in the middle of my living room stood a pile of the most beautifully wrapped gifts. So professional looking in their precision that I joked she must have a secret job as a christmas elf. Her laughter made my heart beat faster in my chest, the joy that spread across her face warming a new house that, until now, had never felt like a home. Watching her come alive at my stupid humour, I knew I would stop at nothing to see her animated like that as often as possible. And so started the jokes, that even when she was at her angriest with me, could always bring a smile to her face.

She had been saving me from the moment she met me, even if i didn't know it. But that night, as she saved me from being embarrassed by my daughter, signified the start of me asking for her help. Started the beginning of me wanting her help. She saved me more times that I can count, both professionally and personally over the years, and as I run my fingers over the package I hold, I can't help but wonder whether she's about to save me again. Can't help but wonder if this package is the rescue she knew i'd need. The rescue I didn't see coming.

I end up leaving her office, and the comfort it provides. Decide that while I am often able to find some tiny degree of restbite from the continuing ache by enclosing myself within her space, this is not the right place to open the package. Not surrounded by glass walls, and a staff that are capable of reading things that I don't want them to see. A staff who are also broken, and in need of gluing back together. A staff who are searching for answers, relentless in their quest for information that may bring some sort of closure. Not that I blame them. She meant alot to them, even if they didn't show it as they should have. They're alot like me that way. Although none of them carry the same level of regret as I. None of them wish more than I that there was a way to

turn back the clock. A way to go back and reveal to her the true magnitude of my feelings for her. But that doesn't take away from what they feel. So here is not the place. Not when, at any minute, one of them could stumble across me and try and take away whatever piece of herself she is giving me.

I drive the streets, as I find myself doing more and more as time moves forward without her. I consider going home. But Em's there, and this isn't something I want her to see. I don't know what i'm going to find beneath this wrapping and so I want to be alone. Want to be able to discover whatever it is Gill wanted to share in private, giving myself time to process it, before deciding whether to share it. Em's haunted enough as it is. Her screams threatening to cut through the silence of the house at any given moment. And while I seem incapable of doing anything to provided her any relief from her nightmares, I am capable of preventing further damage. So not home.

I end up at the cemetery. I haven't been here since her funeral. Haven't been able to bring myself to come back to the place where she rests. I know if she were here she'd tell me to stop being so cowardly. Tell me get it over with. She'd probably go as far as giving me some nonsense of it being like ripping off a bandaid. Not visiting doesn't make it any less real Cal, she would whisper as she wrapped an arm around my wasit. The thought of how she used to tease, how she used to ground me with contact bringing a smile my face. And she'd be right. Not visiting doesn't make is less real. Doesn't mean it didn't happen. But by not visiting, i've been saving myself from the heartbreak of seeing her name on a headstone. Saving myself from the ache of having to look at the stupid lump of stone that is the only permanent indication that she ever lived. And while I know it's going to hurt like hell being here, as I pull my car into the parking lot, I know i've made the right decision. Know that this is where I need to be for this.

It doesn't take me long to find her. The position we chose for her ingrained in my mind forever. A corner plot, with views that she would have loved. Views that make you forget the busy city that she loved to escape. I hated every second, but I made sure we were leaving her somewhere she would be happy. I place the bunch of White Calla Lillies I brought with me alongside the other flowers the line her grave. Her favourite as an apology for my absence. I may not have been here, but the number of floral arrangements indicating she has been anything but alone. But through all of the colours, it's the pink daisies catch my eyes. There's only one person who would bring those. And I hadn't even known she'd been here. Em.

She'd had her appendix out when she was 8, not long after we'd started the business. They'd only met a handful of times at that point, but Gill had shown up to the hospital anyway, her affection for my daughter evident even from so early on. She'd arrived armed with the biggest bunch of pink daisies i'd ever seen, and as Gill handed them to her, Em's face had lit up and she declared that they were her absolute most definite favourite flower ever. I consider teading the card, wanting to have at least some insight into my daughters thoughts. But I stop myself. Remembering all the times she confided in Gill in the past. All the times she turned to Gill for support and guidance. All the times Gill cared for her as only a mother could. The wind blows, and i'm almost certain it carries Gills voice with it. Almost certain I hear her words reminding me to have faith in Em. She's a smart girl Cal, she used to say. Trust her. She'll come to you when she's ready. I nod my head, and step away from the flowers and the card they hold.

I settle myself on the ground, and place the package infront of me. It feels right, opening it here. As close to her as I can physically get. It's what she would want. I'm sure of it. She may not have been able to give it to me herself, but whatever is inside this package, she went to a hell of a lot of effort to make sure I got it. She might not have been able to give it to me herself, but that doesn't mean she didn't want too. I don't know what took her from me. Still don't have the answers to why she decided it had to be this way. I don't know what i'm going to find when I unwrap the package, or how it will make me feel. But she had a plan. And while there is alot I am unclear on, of one thing I am absolutely certain; I trust her.

So with a lump in my throat, and my hands shaking almost uncontrollably, I gently rip the paper. With my heart hammering within my chest, I remove the lid to the box and come face to face with the first piece of her puzzle.

Thanks so much for reading! This chapter went off in a different direction that i'd planned again, but i've learnt to just go wherever my brains takes me when writing. The number of chapters we have before the last one seems to keep growing, but while you're all happy for me to continue (?) then I will! Likewise, if you're sick of my ramblings on this fic, then let me know and i'll cut it short!