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I drive home on instinct, still in a daze from the list of the latest headlines for tomorrow's news. It had hit me like a tonne of bricks the press release from the Island Courts.

I didn't want to see his name there.

I didn't want to hear about appeals.

I could only imagine sadly that this wasn't the first time, and that it had been kept from me. Clearly, someone had to tell the witnesses. The victims that had endured him and that courtroom.

It was a kick to the stomach, it was a slap to the face to see it there so simply.

All I wanted was to cry, to cry in the shower crawl into bed with Ken and just forget everything around me. Until I remember he had mentioned he had friends coming over, game night, poker night? I didn't fully listen, but I didn't think they would still be around when I got home. So when I open the door, tired, head pounding to see them there all drinking at the table, rather more quiet than I thought they could be. I dump my stuff by the door and kick off her heels. I only nod my head to them stiffly before I throw my supper container in the sink. Instantly annoyed at the dishes that were already in there, and the things left on the counter. I can only assume that the living room that I had cleaned early was also a mess again.

I look in the fridge for a moment, shoving a handful of grapes in my mouth and some almond milk from the container as I was the only one who drank it anyway. I grab some Tylenol from the top shelf of the cupboard and swallow those hoping to knock this headache before bed.

There are quiet whispers and I hear Ken's footsteps before I hear his voice.

"What's wrong?" He asks quietly.

"Nothing, just a long day," I force a smile on my face.

"Yeah, I'm not buying that right now," Ken tells me with a furrowed brow. "You barely even said hello to me, or Xavier or Steve. People you know," he says his voice even.

"Forgive me, I just worked all evening and stood in heels for most of the night and I come home to a mess that I feel like I just cleaned up before I went to work," I say sarcastically. "Forgive me for having a bloody headache and just wanting a shower and to sleep." I hiss at him further.

"Jesus, I'll clean up," Ken says under his breath and steps away from me feeling his temper get the better of him.

I look at him darkly before I go over to the table and force a smile on my face.

"Hi, I don't mean to be rude, but it's been a long day of news for me. As much as I would love to stay and catch up, I would just like a shower and head to bed. Stay if you want but I'm exhausted." I tell them, and I look back over at Ken, who just shrugs at me awkwardly. I watch him grab another beer from the fridge before going back to his spot at the table. I guess that settles what he was planning to do.

I walk away, taking look at the living room, and I was correct, there were toys everywhere again and Jack wasn't in his bed which meant he was most likely with Owen. It's all too silent as I walk down the short hallway.

"Is everything all right?" I hear one of them ask Ken.

"Yeah, it's fine," I hear him say gruffly. "She's just…honestly, I don't know."

"Probably just on her period or something?" One of them says and I snort and roll my eyes. Of course, any emotion that a woman has is from her period.

I look in the mirror. Pencil skirt, nylons, blouse it was for today. I look older, but I don't feel older. I pull off my clothes and start the shower. I don't lock the door, because there is no lock after from what I am told was Owen locking herself inside multiples times last year.

I step into the steam, any resolves are breaking fast as I hit the shower walls as a sob erupts in my chest. I try not to cry, I try to garner control as my mind reels. I struggle to control myself, I struggle with all the feelings gurgling inside me that he brings up.

I feel my stomach heave, once, twice, until I finally let it out.

I feel everything and nothing at the same time and I ignore the quiet questions if I was all right.

I pretend to sleep when he finally does come to bed, I hear him sigh as he comes to bed at what the clock tells me is almost 2 am.


I wake up earlier than him, I fix Owen breakfast and make coffee for myself and I wave off breakfast for myself when Ken is making himself something.
"My stomach is in knots," I tell him quietly. "I'll eat in a little bit."

"Rilla, you can't just survive on coffee," Ken gently prods me.

"I'll eat when I'm hungry," I growl at him as I feel Owen tug on my leg. I reach down and pick her up. Felt her forehead, thinking of her summer cold, or something she had a few days before coming back once again. She felt normal, which means she was just clingy today.

"All right then, well, I have to go to the office," Ken tells me sighing, clearly not wanting to argue this morning. "I need to get some work done," his way of telling me that he wasn't taking Owen in a way. I doubt she would at the moment anyway at this point.

He dresses casually grabbing his laptop bag. He watches us on the couch he bends down to kiss Owen and me on the forehead. He looks like he wants to say something but he doesn't, he just sighs before heading out the door.

I lay on the couch, cuddling Owen who was watching tv, Owen being needy as she cuddles into me, or was it her letting me be needy?

My eyes grow heavy as I take in her scent which sends me into a maternal bliss.

"I swear she's not pregnant Gilbert. Trust me I would know, we would know so it's not that. She's just tired all the time, constantly up and down, she got motion sick the other day. Last night she came home and I guess a daze or maybe in a mood. Anyway it wasn't exactly pretty, and you won't like this, but if I had to compare it to something. It's reminding me too much of Walter right now to be comfortable with and I'm getting really worried. There are a few other things, that I won't mention to you, but I'm worried, extremely worried after last night."

"Ken, is she taking her antidepressants?" I hear my father's voice in my haze. He wasn't here was he? I don't have the energy to deal with this right now, even as I feel eyes watching me on the couch.

"Sure I guess? It's not like I watch her take them though," Ken says simply.

"And therapy?" Dad asks him next.

"I?" Ken starts. "I think so? I mean she only goes once or twice a month? I'm pretty sure she has. It pops up in the shared calendar as it always does?"

"I ran into one of her Doctors and they asked me how she was doing Ken. Because they haven't seen her since May. It's July, and I can only assume at this point that if you go look at her medication bottle, it will be empty and have no refills on it."

When I do finally open my eyes all I see is Ken holding my empty container of pills that I finished about a week ago. It also said I had no refills.

I also see my Father looking none all too happy at me either. Ken takes Owen from the couch and walks away with her and I just look at my father, who isn't happy.

"Get your ass to Dr. Changs, and don't you dare argue. You want to be on your own Rilla, that's fine but being an adult means taking care of yourself. Ken has insurance, and you're still on mine as well because you're technically a student. So get yourself to his office and figure this out. If you want off of them, that's fine, there are proper ways to do it, you don't just go cold turkey Rilla. But if you just stopped because of either the cost of his visits or the prescription because you're too proud to ask for help, then maybe you should come back home."

You always knew when you were in trouble when Dad was the one scolding you.

"Do I need to check you over?" Dad continues. "Do I?"

"No," I say snapping finally and Dad stares at me. He holds up the empty pill bottle.

"These, these are not things to mess around with as you have. These are not something you can just stop taking cold turkey without withdrawal symptoms or relapsing in a much worse way than previous. What you did is completely irresponsible and foolish Rilla, you want to be treated like an adult then grow up and don't hide things and do things like this!"

"I'm sorry okay," I say quietly. "I didn't think, I didn't mean to. I just didn't know what to do or how to ask?"

"Never be ashamed of asking for help," Dad shakes his head.

"It's hard when the one time it mattered, no one helped or was home," I say bitterly. "When Mom didn't listen, I tried to complain to you, but you were always working on those days so it was pointless?"

"Was I gone that much?" Dad frowns.

"Yes and no? You were there for my recitals and school stuff but sometimes It felt like you weren't there when I came home with my artwork. I would leave it out for you but I never got to see you react to it." I tell him.

"I didn't realize," Dad says straightening up. "You know that I love you, I love all of you so much Rilla."

"But being a doctor, people depend on you," I finish for him. "I depended on you and mom and I know a lot of my anger is at Mom, but you let me down too."

"I know and I am sorry that you ever felt pushed aside, your mother and I tried harder after Walter, I tried harder."

"Yet I still didn't get my pony as a present from your guilt?" I tell him breaking a bit, a touch sarcastic but I can feel the ice break somewhat.

"Animals are not presents from guilty parents, and with six children living at home, a dog and a cat that we had at the time was enough," Dad tells me. "Also you do realize we took you to a farm on year and you were terrified of the horses and the ponies," Dad tells me with an amused smile.

"I don't remember that," I say frowning.

"Probably burned it from your memory. Now, call Dr. Changs and make an appointment and ask him for a two-week prescription to get you to your appointment."

"Can't you just call it in?" I say frowning.

"You're not my patient Rilla, it wouldn't be right," Dad shakes his head.

"You're going to tell mom aren't you?" I ask him.

"Well, she is your mother," Dad says simply. "Now call."

"I don't want her to know, isn't there some sort of patient confidentiality for this sort of thing," I complain as I search around for my phone.

"You are not a patient, you are my daughter and if I think she deserves to know something then she will know Rilla. We don't hide things from each other, we don't keep secrets like this from each other."

I sigh and dad gives me another pointed look and I hit the call button. He listens to me meekly explain my absences and that will further explain if he can fit me in. It takes a moment because apparently the call is transferred right to him. He tells me he has a cancellation the next morning and I sigh and tell him I would make it work as Dad was sitting right there.

"What happened?" Dad asks and I don't want to talk about it just yet so I just shrug. It helps as Owen thinks that he is here for her and pulls him into doing some sort of puzzle. He stays the hour before finally leaving. Telling me that they were still expecting us for brunch on Saturday. I sigh, but it was to celebrate my 20th birthday


"Why didn't you say something?" Ken asks as we sit on his bed later that night. I had my arms wrapped around my legs not looking at him.

"I don't know I was embarrassed?" I say sighing. "I was embarrassed to say something, to you, my parents. Sometimes, while I know it helped it felt like it didn't have to be there all the time anymore. I know what the cost is, I know Beth is a fraction of what Dr. Chang charges and both of them together…it was overwhelming. I thought if I ignored it, that maybe it would be okay. Clearly, I was wrong."

"Never be embarrassed," Ken says shaking his head. "Never make yourself suffer, there are always ways and maybe I should have noticed more. I should have realized that you were struggling before your hit rock bottom. We're partners, and we need to be honest about things. Please don't hide from me, we can always figure things out. There is insurance, there is a way to get what you need without it feeling like it's overwhelming."

"Don't blame yourself, as bad as it sounds. I'm good at hiding it, like if I don't think about it's not real. I compartmentalize myself so much just to ensure that I'm the best version of myself for Owen. I don't know if that is good or not, but I rather not have her see me struggle. I don't want her to grow up thinking wow, mom is a real mental case."

"She won't think that, I would never let her think that because you aren't," Ken says shaking his head.

We talk for a little bit longer before Ken gets on his knees and grabs my legs.

"What are you doing!" I shriek.

"Making sure you haven't hurt yourself," Ken says simply. He hand rubs the insides of my thighs as if he is looking for what everyone thinks I might have done.

"Seriously Ken? I think you might have noticed being down there as you are." I swat at him and kick my legs slightly, but he holds him still.

"You said before that Fred didn't, I'm just saying that sometimes it's dark, and sometimes I don't pay enough attention," Ken says shaking his head.

"Fred was sixteen, and he did notice. He just chose not to ask about them," I say quietly.

"He chose not to ask about fresh and or healing cuts?" Ken frowns.

"We were teenagers Ken, if it means anything he did apologize for a lot of things," I tell him.

"He did?"

"Yeah, he saw me in a cafe at lunch, Owen was about seven-eight months? He apologized for a bunch of things and for noticing a lot of things but never asked if I was all right or not," I tell him simply. "It felt sincere? He will still say hello if he sees him in a store or something, which is rare but it has happened."

Ken nods his head and lets go of my legs.

"Can I request one thing?" Ken asks after a moment and I nod my head. "Clearly you use sex as an outlet at times, and trust I'm not complaining as long as it's with me...and I'm not complaining about the sex either."

"Then what are you requesting?" I look at him.

"That you just tell me, and that we don't I don't know? Lose that sort of fun time alone?" Ken says with his ears turning pink. A laugh gurgles into my stomach until I pull him into a kiss.

"Does this mean you'll let me handcuff you to the bed one day?" I tease him.

"I really do need to keep you and Olivia from talking," Ken groans falling back onto the bed, though I grin because he didn't necessarily so no to the idea either.


When I awkwardly sit down in Dr. Chang's office after missing two appointments. I feel guilty, I feel seventeen all over again. Not days away from my 20th birthday, because nothing says happy 20th birthday like therapy. He's disappointed but keeps what I assume is most of his real opinions to himself. He assures me that there are always ways to work this out for me if I didn't want to rely on my parents. He doesn't beat around the bush either which I am thankful for.

"Do you want to try to wean yourself off of them?" He asks me bluntly.

"I don't know?" I say frowning. "I clearly they help me after this whole thing?"

"Well, going cold turkey is never the answer and you were reacting to the drastic shift more which is why everything felt worse than what it might have been off of them." Dr. Change tells me. "Did you hurt yourself?"

I shake my head. I cried a lot, I screamed and shouted at Ken as I lashed out occasionally. I used sex as an outlet to vent out frustration, which Ken didn't complain about, but after the second or third time, he realized what I was doing.

But I hadn't hurt myself, not in that way anyway.

"I may have skipped a few meals, but I didn't—," I say quietly.

"Well, small victories for that. You know when you first came into this office Rilla, Barely coping, trying to survive, and over the months and year, you have gradually learned better habits and what your stressors are. Dr. Miller is in some agreement that medication has helped you and I would worry that given what you have told me of the changes in your life that I would suggest continuing for a while longer to ensure there is no relapse. Leaving your parent's house will not be a cure-all, and while independence is what you might crave. It might be beneficial to continue, of course, the choice is yours."

"Do you think—," I start before pausing rather ashamed of myself.

"Go on," He says to me, urging me to continue my frame of thought.

"If I didn't miss the last two appointments if I didn't go cold turkey. Would I have behaved differently to the news?"

"Honestly, Rilla I don't know. The medication doesn't make you not react, it doesn't make you not feel things. It just helps you keep an even state of emotions. Would you have reacted slightly better and possibly not spiralled as much is always a possibility, but given the news itself. How you found out and what it means to you personally, you would have reacted because you are human. We just will never know the extent of it, or how much," he tells me.

We spend the next hour going over things and how I want to proceed with this and what I wanted from these sessions. In the end, I come out with another prescription, three months' worth. After three months we can discuss them again and if I wanted to be weaned off of them correctly we could begin the process. If not he would give me six months' worth. He's not Beth in the end, but I still had to call her. I wasn't sure entirely what I was going to do, but she didn't deserve to be ghosted and if I had to choose between them. The one who could write prescriptions would win out.

Afterwards, I walk down to the dance studio, I know at this point my phone was probably blowing up from the news, I know that Mom tried to message but I hadn't replied back yet as I change into my leotard and pull on my dead pointe shoes.

I plug in my phone and do my warm-ups. Working through my headspace and what Dr. Chang and I talked about today.

I fall into my routine at the barre, running through the age-old rotation I always did. I change as the music changes.

From the scrapes and bruises, To the familiar abuses
I'll kick and scream but it never changes anything I could spill my guts out
Wearing my best little girl pout, and I almost missed it
But nobody said that this was gonna be easy

I stretch my extensions, working on what is essentially demi-pointe at this point. Which is more of me just working through my exercises in dead pointe shows.

I can never forget what it feels like to be in that headspace, those months and years of pain and anguish where I tortured myself. Where I made choices that were not the best, though one of them gave me the one little person who I live each day for, the one whom I try to be my best every day for

This is not the man I hoped to be
And I'm just trying to stop the bleeding
I don't know how to word it
I just started to deserve it
And all my, all my faces are alibis
And me, I'm half the man I wanted to be

I'm sure if you asked little nine-year-old me, who and what I wanted to be I would have given you some adventurous answers. A dancer that had never changed, but maybe I would have my life together at twenty years old. I would have everything and be everything I needed to be. I would have an alibi and different faces of myself to lie to the world.

I had grown so used to feeling lost and alone that I thought this was just my life. That the only way to feel things, the only way to be more was to cause me more pain because that was all I was good far?

Most times it all comes out wrong
I don't know the words but I'll hum along
There's nothing familiar here anymore
To anyone or anything left to feel alive

And I still taste that sickness
And it makes me crazy without it at best
But I'm in the same place I used to be
But I'm trying harder not to be

I move away from the barre, and with each step of my foot I fall into the music, I fall in the lyrics that scream at me. I can still taste everything like a bitter pill that gets stuck in your throat. The change of addresses, feeling so out of place in my old room to learning how to live truly with someone. Pain radiates down to my toenails which are shrieking at the bottom of my pointe show box.

I did try, that first session I had after moving out. I sat in the parking lot unsure of what to do, would dad cover it? Did I have to ask? But wasn't this the point of growing up, not relying on other people?

So what am I? What am I? So What Am I?
And all my, all my faces are alibis
This is not the man I hoped to be
And I'm just trying to stop the bleeding
I don't know how the words go
I just started not to say no

I spin, I spin until I am dizzy, and my side is hurting as I race to catch my next breath. I feel weak. Not that I would have called it weak back then as I try to remember the last full meal I had. There was no scale at kens place, and Tessa didn't have them around here either, but there was one out in the shop. You know for when you're buying tights and suddenly don't know how much your child weighs.

I can only imagine that I had lost a few pounds.

Don't want it, Don't get it
I know you won't regret it
Don't surface, Don't surface
And I feel so damned worthless
Another day is gone and all my faces are alibis
All my faces are alibis
And me, I'm half the man I wanted to be

Small victories, Dr. Chang called it. Yet it didn't feel like small victories. It took every ounce in me to not think in such ways when they did surface.

When I finally look up from my spot on the floor, through my tears and hearting heart I see my mom and I frown. I move to shut off the music.
"You know, I've seen every one of your recitals, I don't think I ever saw you dance like that before?" Mom says with a good amount of shock in her voice. "Maybe after the trial, but I never realized, but that song Rilla, it only makes it more heartbreaking." She quietly as she bites her lip.

"It's just a song," I say with a shrug.

"You said more through that song in three minutes, than you have in the past four years to me," Mom says shaking her head.

"Well, it's already written?" I say weakly. "I connect to music, I always have, it just hits a part of me that just makes everything all right and if I can dance to it. Well, it just completes my need to decompress. I still can't fully explain myself to Beth at times, sometimes I just play her a song and she just goes from there.

"What are you doing here?"

"Kenneth told me that you were here," Mom answered the real question I was going to ask. "But mostly I wanted to make sure you were okay. That I called the lawyer and talked to uncle Fred. There is little chance for him to win an appeal., he just has the right to appeal. Honestly, he's tried before, I just don't think it ever made the news, which is discerning at best but he sadly it's within his rights to try." Mom says quietly.

Sometimes I forget she has just as much emotional baggage over this case as I do.

"I thought maybe we could go to cows or something? Get some ice cream or lunch?" Mom says hopefully. "Your father said you were having a tough time lately. We don't have to discuss it of course, but it's been a while since we had a chance to have an afternoon to ourselves?"

She always did try to make time for one on one time with us, small drives for ice cream
or hot chocolate. Sometimes she drove around pointing out old places she and dad lived in. Except for the past years, I avoided it like the plague but I still remember the car rides, I still remember her singing to the radio and her laughing.

"Do you ever go to your mom's grave?" I ask her as it pops into my head.

She looks at me queerly for a moment. "I visit when I can, I used to take your kids when you were babies, introduce you to her once, though Joy was almost 9 when I first brought her. It took a long while before I could manage to go there. I never knew my father, but he was beside her. She would always tell me these ridiculous stories about him, she would always laugh at the memories. She made him feel alive somehow for me, Walter is named after him. Though I am sure you know that?"

I only nod my head. I try to think, I try to imagine raising Owen on my own, as my grandmother would have done if something happened to Ken. Mom was barely older than Owen now when the car accident happened.

"Do you want to go? Marilla isn't far off from mom," Mom says cautiously.

"Let me change?" I say looking down at my sweat-soaked leotard.

I find mom looking at the hall of photos from old recitals exam days. There are photos of me going back almost seventeen years at this point, and there are a few of Owen this year. Pink tutus and slicked-back buns, to black leotards and pointe shoes.

I lock up the studio door and give the keys to the girl working.

I get into the passenger side of mom's car as she gets into the driver's side. She drives first to a grocery store as she picks up some flowers for us. Before driving down the road that leads us out to the cemetery. I feel in a way I should have Owen with me but, maybe another time?

I don't know how Mom knows where to go, but she navigates the trees, and rows of graves until we are in front of a double grave.

Bertha 'Nadine' Shirley
1946-1980
Wife and loving Mother
'Sorrow Passed, and Plucked a Golden Blossom'

Walter Hugh Shirley
1942-1970
Music, when soft voices die, vibrates in the memory
Beloved Husband, Father and Teacher

"Emily Dickinson," Mom says explains. "She loved poetry and would set and read it until she couldn't. Dad was a music teacher and loved music, in case you ever wondered about Shirley's passion. The piano was his, and Marilla managed to keep it as a promise to my mother. I have photos of him playing with me on his lap somewhere."

"What was she like?" I ask trying to imagine these people who I never meet.

"She was light, she was a ray of light always smiling. She worked in an office as a secretary, but she was always dancing. In a way, you take after her in that way, but she would always have the radio on, always moving as she vacuumed. Even when she lost her hair when she could barely walk or get up. She still smiled, even when I was angry at her." Mom says with a voice full of regret.

We walk down another row and up until I see the familiar headstone of Aunt Marilla.

Marilla Elizabeth Cuthbert
1937-2020
Loved by many is
A life Well Stitched

"I still can't believe she made you put that on her headstone," I say shaking my head.

"She loved quilting and sewing," Mom says shaking her head. "It suits her personality though. Loving, with a dry sense of humour."

"Do you still miss her?"

"Every day Rilla, every day," Mom murmurs, going through her purse and digging out a tissue.


Look...I am rather proud of myself for Anne and Rilla having a true moment where they are just sorta happy and talking freely. It's not an easy thing for me to write. I hope every enjoyed this one, and if you have a moment to spare I always enjoy any comment that you might give me.

Tina.