Boy, have I been busy lately. Anyway, I tried really hard and finally got this chapter done. Oh, thank you so much for all the reviews! I was really shocked when so many people reviewed; it made a huge difference! Thank you sooooo much!

This chapter is kind of different; it kinda starts the second part of the story. It might not be what you expected.

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Chapter 6: Returning Home

A year and a half later...

I walked along the streets of London and glanced into the windows of the shops. Beautiful dresses, shoes, and jewelry that I knew Father could easily buy for me. I sighed. Life had no meaning anymore. Gone were the days of happiness and childhood fantasy. I was alone in the cold reality of the world. All hope for a better life had gone with Christian.

I always thought about him. I wondered what he was doing in Paris, how he was managing, if he had written many books; if he had fallen in love. I used to check the local bookstore every day, just to check if he had published anything. But he never had.

Father, of course, had gone mad when he found out that Christian had gone. He drank a lot that night, and fortunately I stayed in my room, out of his way.

"It's all up to you, now," he told me harshly the next day. "Your husband will take over the company when I retire. It's probably better this way anyway. That foolish boy could never handle reality.

At first, I hoped and prayed that Christian was happy. I hoped that he had found love, inspiration, and maybe even some new friends. But as the weeks turned into months, I found myself thinking angry thoughts about him. I wished something bad would happen so that he would be forced to come home. I prayed that he hadn't found love, that he would eventually give up and come back.

But I knew it wasn't going to happen. He was probably the happiest man alive, deeply in love, living in a beautiful house in Paris, writing whenever he wanted. He'll never come back, I thought sadly. He's probably forgotten all about me.

I glanced into the window of one particular shop and saw a typewriter on display. It painfully reminded of my brother.

//"Christian, you must write to me at least once a week. Don't forget!"

"I won't forget. I promise."//

I wiped a tear from my cheek as I recalled his words from the day he had left. He promised...he promised! I screamed in my mind angrily. I sat down on a bench nearby and tried to calm myself. What would people think if they saw the daughter of Peter James crying like a child? I thought bitterly. In my anguish, I did not notice the man who sat beside me until he spoke.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" he said softly, but somewhat bitterly. I snapped my head up.

That voice...

I stared at him. He looked like a homeless man, wearing several layers of clothes. Some of his face was hidden by his dirty, worn coat. His dark hair was greasy and disheveled. He turned his head to look into my eyes.

"I'm back," he stated unemotionally.

I gasped. No, it couldn't be! His bloodshot, teary gray eyes sent chills up and down my spine. I continued to gape at him, shocked. He unbuttoned the top of his coat to reveal the rest of his unshaven face. And then I knew it was definitely him.

"C-Christian?"

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Hmmm... not quite sure what I think of it. Tell me what you think.