Chapter 15

Karma, noun [uncountable], the sum of someone's good and bad actions in one of their lives, believed to decide what will happen to them in the next life.

Patricia Frump supposed it was an inevitable part of getting old that one tended to spend a good chunk of one's time, or what was left of it, evaluating one's life. One's life was always a mixed bag, at best, she did not live through seven decades without learning at least that one simple truth - that it was all moments, blissful, heartbreaking, exhilarating, agonising moments and one had to make one's life out of them.

All there was to life was moments. Moments, Patricia Frump, so often wished, had never happened. Decisions, she so often prayed, had never been made. Mistakes. And oh, if she had only known then what she knew now, if only she had made different choices, if she cared more, if she cares less - if only… things would be different. If, if, if, how many times over the last twenty years did she go over what-ifs? Countless. Countless agonising, sleepless nights, only to discover that regrets and what-ifs were pathetically unproductive, an utter waste of time that didn't change a damn thing and that, more often than not, the only thing one could do was to salvage whatever was left and live through the consequences, no matter how shattering and heartbreaking.

But was there even anything left to salvage out of this mess or was the only option to stand by and watch this disaster unfold? No, she could not accept that, she couldn't just stand by and wait, it was unthinkable. So much was at stake, so so much but what could she do? What could she do in a situation where the person she held most dear to her heart was committing such a horrible deed, such a dreadful mistake and there seemed to be no reasoning with her?

She had, naively it seemed, expected that her opposition to this damnable affair would be enough, that Morticia would defer to her judgement the same way she usually would. Patricia knew very well that Morticia looked up to her, she trusted her judgement and respected her opinions and so it wasn't completely unreasonable to have expected that all it would take to fix this mess was to use her unique position and appeal to her reason, to make her see how grave the consequences of her actions were, to show her just how vehemently she opposed her actions out of pure love and concern for her - and yet, she couldn't get through to her.

She asked and begged and pleaded and yet all she could see was a steel resolve behind those dark eyes. All she could see was that Morticia really was determined to sacrifice everything - everything for that one man and there was not a damn thing anyone could do - nothing she could do. It was impossible to think that there were no solutions, that she had to passively wait and watch. There had to be something she could do. So much was at stake. Her family was at stake. There had to be something. But what? What the hell could she do?

How can she go against that steel resolve and dull acceptance in Morticia's eyes? What would make her change her mind? Morticia might be in love but she was far from stupid, she understood very well what a relationship with that man would cost her. She must have realized that it would all fall apart sooner or later, that there was no future for them and yet she was prepared to make the sacrifice… and why? Why for the love of God?

God… Patricia Frump had an eery feeling that this whole situation was just that - God laughing in their faces, mocking their choices, that this was history repeating itself in the most farcical of ways - the most agonising of ways that would snap the last threads that held her family together.

"Sleepless night?"

She turned her head towards the sound of her son's low baritone voice, she always marvelled at how identical his voice was to that of his father's and yet how different the two men were.

"It's definitely past your bedtime, dear," she replied, in a weak attempt at humour but it managed to elicit a small smile on James' face anyway.

But it was a weak attempt at best. It was late and she was tired and worried and her liver was already complaining about late-night alcohol consumption, but there was no point in going to bed because sleep would not come.

Sleep was an elusive thing when one's conscience was troubled.

"Mind if I joined you?" He asked, already pouring himself a generous measure of Gray Goose.

"Why not," she smiled a lopsided smile.

Misery loves company, after all.

She looked at her son, noticed the lines around his eyes that seemed to get deeper as of late but he was still a very handsome man. So much like his father and yet completely unlike him. Although, he seemed to have developed his father's unfortunate penchant for drowning his problems in alcoholic beverages.

"Something on your mind?" Patricia asked softly as she watched him sit next to her, resting his elbows on his knees.

Her son looked at her with a small, lopsided smile and shrugged gently, as if releasing the tension from his shoulders.

"I've been thinking lately," he remarked flatly, tracing the edge of the glass with his thumb.

She pursed her lips and shook her head in a teasing manner.

"Dangerous past time," she quipped softly, despite herself, before taking a dainty sip of her neat dry gin.

"Couldn't agree more," he replied, smiling a little as he leaned back against the sofa, but his smile evaporated almost instantly and he sighed jadedly before continuing, "I'm considering pulling out of the race."

Patricia raised her eyebrows in surprise, but stayed silent, allowing a few seconds to digest the information.

"A rather odd decision to make considering how good your ratings are," she remarked carefully.

"I just don't think it's the right time for me to enter politics," he replied tensely, rubbing his forehead tensely.

"Really? What makes you say that?" How she hated that, the way they were always skirting around issues with one another, how much easier the silence was, how tall the walls surrounding them were.

It was easier to trivialise, make sarcastic comments or even self-deprecate, all this was easier than talking through two decades of unresolved issues. All this was easier than admitting that she wished, so painfully, so desperately, that things could be different between them but then, they both were to blame for what they were.

"I just don't think politics is the right move for me right now," she heard him answer vaguely.

How absurdly tragic it was that they simply could not communicate, that the words perched on the tips of their tongues but refused to go any further, despite the fact that there were so many things she wanted to tell him - how much she loved him, and she knew how badly she hurt him and how profoundly sorry she was and how she wished there was a way to fix that but she never said any of it. Actions spoke louder than words and silence was easier.

And to tell him now about Morticia and Gomez was as pointless as it was unthinkable. What would he do? Nothing. Not when she knew how much guilt her son carried, that he's spent the better part of the last two decades seeking absolution, knowing he'd never get one because the very person he sought it from wasn't even aware there was an absolution to be given.

"Do you ever blame me?" She asked suddenly, her voice barely above the whisper.

He turned his head towards her, surprised at the question. And why wouldn't he be?

They never talked about it, after all, things went unsaid for years, such was the implicit agreement between them. Silence. Talking about it wouldn't change anything, anyway. It was too late for that.

She swallowed, and then cleared her throat.

"Do you ever blame me for what happened to her?" She repeated, firmly now.

He didn't reply, staring at her intently as if unsure what to say, how honest he could be, how brutal with the truth.

"I used to," he finally replied, his voice barely above the whisper.

She nodded, swallowing heavily, waiting for him to continue, unsure if he would.

"But there was only one person to blame," he went on, turning the glass in his hands." Ultimately, it was my choice to make… and I've made the wrong one," he whispered, briefly pressing his lips into a thin line."And I have to live with it."

"We've all done what we thought was best at the time," she said and almost winced at how banal and empty it sounded.

"You've done what you thought you had to, I understand that but… I was a coward," he remarked dully, tentatively but then suddenly it all spawn forth, all the guilt that was kept imprisoned in his heart for the past two decades, and he seemed to no longer possess the strength to contain it, "it was easier to make myself believe that I had no choice, that I couldn't possibly go against you and father, that I couldn't break my marriage… even though it was already broken…it still is. It was my fault… I've let her down, I've betrayed her," he breathed out."I betrayed both of them, and she's dead because of that - because of me."

"That's not true," Patricia whispered fervently." We've all made mistakes back then, terrible ones… but her death was not your fault, how can you even think that?"

He snorted derisively and downed the rest of his drink before turning back to her.

"Why are we even talking about it?" He asked, drawing his eyebrows together."Why now, after all these years?"

She shrugged, helplessly. Why indeed. Why not let the dead stay buried? Was it because it seemed as if history was repeating itself and she was faced with making the same wrong choices? Except, they were neither wrong nor right, they were impossible.

"We can't change what happened," she said, choosing her words carefully, "but you know that I love Morticia more than anything in the world, I tried - "

"But is it enough?" He interjected impatiently, his tone so sudden and sharp it made her flinch involuntarily. "Was it ever going to be enough? We both tried and so what? What did it change? Trying doesn't fix the past, trying doesn't change the fact that one day, if she…," he paused, swallowing heavily before locking his gaze with hers. "She will never forgive us."

Patricia didn't bother averting her eyes, even though she could barely stand the heat and the sheer pain reflected in those familiar dark pools. She didn't have an answer to any of it. She wasn't even sure there was an answer. It was all moments. That's all it took. Moments of best intentions, moments of bad decisions.

Moments.

Karma.

Karma, noun [uncountable], the sum of someone's good and bad actions in one of their lives, believed to decide what will happen to them in the next life.

Karma , the raven-haired girl who both bounded and divided them for the last twenty-two years.


Gomez Addams could never claim he handled emotional pain well - or at all but, in moments like this, he wished desperately, he could say something meaningful, he wished he knew what to do, how to take all the pain away from her. Her tears, her pain, her heartbreak were to him unbearable and he wished, hopelessly, that there was anything he could do besides holding her in his arms and waiting for her quiet sobs to subside but he barely knew what to do with himself.

He hated it, hated the fact that she was hurting, that he was partly responsible for her pain and he should do something - say something but all he could think of was to stand her and hold her in his arms.

"I'm sorry," he heard her whisper as she gently pulled away from him before wiping the remaining tears away with her fingertips."I don't usually do that in front of other people."

"Do what? Cry?"

"Cry," she shrugged, sitting on the sofa and resting her elbows on her knees before brushing her hair off her face."Fall apart. I must look like a mess."

He watched helplessly as she covered her face with the palms of her hands and let out a small choked sob, followed by an exasperated sigh.

He slid his hand over his pomaded hair and reached for his cigar but then immediately put it back in his pocket.

"What can I do?" He asked eagerly as he sat next to her so close their knees were touching. "How can I help you?"

She shook her head, finally looking at him and slid her palm into his, linking their fingers together.

"Nothing," she said, and then bit her lips. "I really just need a minute."

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" He prompted, rubbing his thumb gently along the smooth skin on her hand.

She shook her head, staring at their linked hands.

He resisted the urge to sigh. God, he longed to make it better, he wished there was anything he could do, anything at all to stop her looking so dejected but what could he do? What could he do except be there for her?

He slid his other palm under the heavy curtain of her raven hair, resting it gently at the back of her neck before leaning forward and pressing his lips to the side of her head. He almost exhaled in relief when she leaned into him.

"My grandmother came over to my apartment," she finally whispered, her voice annoyingly on the verge of breaking." She knows…she wants me to… she begged me to end this - us," she breathed out heavily, lifting her head to look at him, "I have never seen her so heartbroken, Gomez, she was so disappointed…"

She exhaled heavily, wiping her tears away again.

"I'm so sorry, cara," he whispered hoarsely." I'm sorry it has to be this way."

She shook her head, then lifted it off her shoulder to look at him.

"I knew… I expected this but..," she said quietly, squeezing his hand, before admitting, more to herself than to him," it's hard… it's - I know we've talked about it and… I knew, I knew she would be heartbroken and…," she paused, biting her lips into a thin line. "It was still really hard to take."

He nodded mutely, unsure what to say, wishing there was a way for him to stop feeling so damn useless.

"She wants me to end things with you," she repeated, looking at him pointedly."Before Ophelia finds out about the affair."

He winced inadvertently.

"That's no longer even an option," he said, exasperated, more with himself than with the situation.

She frowned and then, almost immediately, the realisation of what he meant dawned on her.

"You've already told her," she concluded and watched him nodd.

"I'm a fool," he told her, pinching the space in between his eyes." We've argued again and I just blurted it out like an idiot. I should have waited until after - " he paused and exhaled shakily, locking his gaze with hers. "I'm sorry. I messed up."

She shook her head, covering his hand with hers.

"We were just delaying the inevitable," she told him dully."There was never a 'good' time for such things."

"No, I suppose not," he agreed.

"How…," she whispered and then swallowed heavily. "How is she?"

He shrugged. Hurt? Betrayed? Angry? Humiliated? All of the above.

"As expected," he answered huskily, rubbing his jaw tensely." She's furious… but doesn't want a divorce."

She looked at him as if he has just spoken in another language.

"She doesn't want a divorce?" She echoed in slow disbelief."Did you tell her?" She motioned between the two of them and raised her eyebrows, incredulous when he nodded.

"I told her everything," he confirmed and almost inadvertently stood up and started to pace, the anxious energy in his was almost overwhelming.

He couldn't sit still, he needed to do something, anything.

"She's very angry - furious but… she doesn't want us to separate," he told her pointedly." She doesn't want…," he swallowed heavily and looked away briefly."It's humiliating for her - our affair, I think… that was the hardest part to see… how humiliated she was."

"I wish -," she started to say but then paused, shaking her head.

Wished what? Wished she never slept with her sister's husband? Wished she didn't fall in love with him? Wished what, when every action she had taken to be with him led exactly to the moment when Ophelia would find out, of course she was humiliated, who wouldn't be? She was betrayed in the worst, most humiliating way anyone could be.

"It's a horrible thing," she whispered, briefly covering her face with her hands."What we've done to her - it's abominable."

"Tish- "

"But what was the alternative?" She asked, looking up towards him."What was I supposed to do? Tell her that I fell madly in love with her husband? Would she mind divorcing him, so the two of us could engage in a love affair with her blessing?"

He couldn't help a small smirk forming on his lips, even though there was really nothing amusing about the whole thing.

"Somehow, I don't think that would go any better."

"But what now, Gomez?" She breathed out, what he was telling her complicated things even more, and the situation was complicated enough as it was. "She doesn't want to divorce you, she doesn't want you to leave her. My grandmother wants me to break up with you - and even if I were to do that, what do they expect is going to happen? Things go back to what they were before we met? Is that what they're expecting? That we'll both choose the noble way and cling to what's false and miserable but at least it will be the right thing to do?"

"That's not an option," he told her firmly, kneeling in front of her and wrapping both hands around hers. "I've already told you, I won't stay married to her either way. I love you - there's no going back from that. You're the only woman I want to share my life with," he said softly, placing a warm kiss on her knuckles."I can't even imagine holding another woman in my arms."

She offered him a small smile, framing his face with her hands and pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss.

"I just want us to be together, I don't need to be married to you," she said quietly. "As long as we're together, that's all that matters," she assured but then her lips curled in a mirthless ghost of a smile, "but I don't want you to stay married to her either."

She didn't care about a piece of paper, she didn't need their love and commitment to each other to be witnessed and stamped, marriage was never on her list of priorities anyway, but that didn't mean she wanted him to be married to another woman, let alone her sister, no matter what the circumstances.

"I won't stay married to her," he said firmly but then his voice softened," that option is not even on the table. Refusing divorce is not going to change anything, she knows that."

Morticia nodded mutely. God, she felt exhausted, all she wished for was a few hours of oblivious sleep but she doubted that was going to happen. She felt too anxious to get any rest.

"Maybe we should leave," he said, quietly, tentatively, rubbing his palms gently against her knees.

She looked at him, letting out a small mirthless chuckle, despite herself.

"Drop the bombshell and run away?" She quipped.

"It's not running away," he insisted.

"No?" She smiled mirthlessly." What is it, then? A strategic retreat?"

He smiled at the military expression.

"Allowing the dust to settle," he offered gently.

"Semantics."

"Maybe," he admitted but then shrugged." But what good would it do to stay here and rub salt into the wounds?"

She stayed silent, considering his words. Maybe he was right, although running away wouldn't solve anything… but then, neither would staying here. They were in an impossible situation and every decision also seemed just that - impossible.

"I don't know," she replied jadedly. "There's isn't exactly an etiquette to follow here, is there?"

No, there wasn't. There was no way to plan anything here. There was no other way but to go with the flow. Except, how one survived going with the flow in a tsunami was another matter.

"You look exhausted," he said softly."How about an early night?"

She couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at him in amusement.

"This… wasn't a line," he assured, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Wasn't it?" She smiled at him - a small, fleeting smile with just a touch of amusement but he felt a relief wash over him anyway."Because it sounded like one."

"It wasn't," he echoed, raising to his feet and pulling her gently with him, sneaking his arm around her waist."Unless… you want it to be."

She smiled and shook her head in a mock exasperation before wrapping her arms around his neck. She locked her gaze with his and, gods, how he loved the way she looked at him, he was sure one of those days his heart would just shatter with the pure emotions reflected in those dark pools.

"Gomez," she whispered softly. "Have you ever been to Glasgow? I've heard it's quite miserable this time of the year?"

He smiled and leaned to place a soft kiss on her forehead.

"Anywhere you want, Tish," he promised.

"Bed," she breathed out, capturing his lips into a loving kiss." Let's go to bed."


One of the perks of having people work for her family for years and years was that they knew perfectly well when to keep quiet and just get out of her way. Mr Evans, their family butler, was one of those people and he merely took a precautionary step back when Ophelia stormed into the mansion and then, after regrettably informing her that her mother was not in the house, made himself scarce.

Typical, this one time when Ophelia really needed her help, she was out - bridge night. Tonight, of all nights. Where the hell was everyone, anyway? The whole house seemed deserted.

"Fuck," she muttered out loud, heading for the parlour. "Fuck, fuck, fuck him and fuck that little whore."

She went over to the liquor cabinet and poured herself a hefty glass of whiskey, downing it all almost in one go.

"Slut."

She just couldn't believe it. Of all women, he chose to fuck that malnourished slut.

Just days before she was telling her friend that maybe marriage wasn't for her but she never expected… this. Humiliation, wave after wave of red-hot, burning humiliation. She truly couldn't recall the time when she felt this enraged.

Stupid whore.

Leave her. He wanted to leave her. For whom? For that fucking, over-opinionated bag of bones?

Oh, God, she could already imagine the self-satisfied smirk on Leaticia Hornby's lip, she could see the pity, she could practically hear all gossip spewing forth - her husband, cheating on her - leaving her for her sister. After her dead body.

What the hell did he see in her? Morticia wasn't even his type, she looked like the last thing on earth a man like Gomez Addams would be interested in fucking. She never understood what men have seen in her, how could anyone find her attractive? She looked fucking emaciated.

Or was he really such a bastard that he would fuck anyone who spread his legs for him? Even her sister.

All that time he acted like he couldn't stand the sight of Morticia and now he was telling her he was in love with her? Was he fucking insane? What love? He barely knew her, what love was he talking about, was he really that stupid to believe anything Morticia told him?

She couldn't help but snort ungainly. Of course, he was, he was a man. How difficult was to seduce him with sweet nothings - not difficult at all. He was like her mother's puppy, almost pathetically begging for affection. Moron. Granted, he was hardly a monk before they got married - she knew that, he would never refuse what was so freely offered, no matter who offered.

That whore. How could she do this to her? What was she trying to achieve here? To show her that she could steal her husband from under her nose? Was she really such a jealous, petty bitch to seduce Gomez just to spite her?

Maybe this whole family was just cursed and fucked up to the core, even more than the Addamses could ever be.

What was she doing here, anyway? What was the point of telling her mother about this? What was she going to do? What advice could she give her when she spent her life with a man who treated her like dirt?

In fact, Ophelia decided, nobody needed to know about it. She would take care of this fuckery herself.

She went over to the small table, populated with their family photos and picked up the frame. She didn't know why mother decided to keep this photo, she and Morticia, a lifetime ago when Ophelia still thought of her as her sister.

She remembered how bizarre she found it when she was told that she had a sister, out of a sudden, because she didn't even remember anyone mentioning her mother was expecting a baby but she was excited to have a sister and she fell in love with the little dark-haired baby almost instantly. She even insisted that they'd shared a bedroom. She wanted to be the best big sister ever. They would be inseparable. She would teach her to play the violin. They would play together with her doll house. She would make her a daisy crown. Morticia would cheer on her karate competitions. They would be best friends. Sisters.

Except, as it turned out, she wasn't really her sister.

How old was she then? Eight or nine, maybe younger, she couldn't remember exactly and it didn't matter now anyway, when they both walked in on one of her parents' many arguments, Morticia's little hand in hers, Ophelia just finished decapitating another doll for her - she was still her sister for those last few minutes.

"Take her away," she heard her mother whisper, drink in her hand, her voice raspy, "take her away, I can't bear to look at her."

If her father responded, she didn't remember what he said.

"If this marriage means anything to you anymore, take her away. "

Obviously, the marriage didn't mean a flying fuck to him.

"She's my daughter," her father retorted sharply.

"No," her mother responded firmly. " She's a mistake - she's a mistake and a heartbreak, and she can never be anything else, do you understand? She can never be a daughter to me. I was wrong… so wrong, she's going to be miserable here. She will make everyone miserable."

They were talking about Morticia. Her sister. Except, she wasn't her sister. Not anymore.

She was a mistake. She was the reason behind her mother's heartbreak and tears and misery.

She remembered turning towards Morticia, who was clutching her hand tightly into hers and pressing the decapitated doll to her chest. Her eyes wide with guilt, as if she knew - as if she understood that they were talking about her, that they were arguing because of her.

Her sister.

No.

She wasn't her sister.

She was a bastard child of some shameless harlot who destroyed her parent's marriage. And her father had the audacity to bring her home, and flaunt his betrayal in front of her mother.

She remembered yanking her hand away from Morticia's so aggressively the little girl stumbled on her feet but all Ophelia felt was anger, white-hot anger and she pushed her away, shoved her so firmly that Morticia's eyes widen in a brief panic and she dropped the doll before landing on the polished floor with a sound thud.

And that was the last time she was her sister.

Her mother's words turned out to be prophetic. She wasn't her sister, she was a mistake, a heartbreak and she made everyone miserable.

A mistake. That's what she was.

A mistake that destroyed her parents' marriage and now was inclined to destroy hers.

Except this time, Morticia chose the wrong person to mess up with.

She will make her regret the very minute she decided to come back, the second she even looked at Gomez.

She didn't care who he fucked, she was Mrs Addams, and she wasn't going to hide at her parent's house.

She wasn't going to cry or any of that nonsense.

She was not going to be humiliated.

Her husband might have fucked half of the Northern Hemisphere prior to his marriage but he proposed to her, he chose her as his wife.

She was his wife.

She was Mrs Addams and no emaciated, bastard slut was going to change that.


The anxiety settled back in her stomach the moment her eyelids fluttered as she slowly woke up to the scent of freshly brewed coffee and a feeling of being watched. She opened her eyes and couldn't help but smile at the sight of him, sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but his silk boxer shorts, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watched her. The nervous tugging at her insides subdued ever so slightly.

"Good morning," he said, sneaking his hand under the covers and curling his fingers around her slender calf as he placed a soft kiss on the side of her knee.

It was still dark outside, she reckoned she didn't sleep long but in all honesty, she was surprised she managed to fall asleep at all. But he made it easy to forget, it was all too easy to get distracted by him, to ignore the outside world when she was in his arms. He made it easy not to think.

And that's what she longed for, not to think. A distraction.

She smiled and beckoned him towards her, watched him smile back and crawl over her and she wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him down for a slow, languid kiss.

"This is a good morning," she whispered, scratching his jaw lightly with her long nails.

She couldn't help but marvel at how easy it was to get lost in him, simply disappear in those dark, half-lidded eyes, the way he looked at her. The way he loved her. It was all too easy to get lost in the feeling of his lips pressing against hers, allowing reality to dissolve under his touch.

She let out a quiet gasp when he slipped into her, covering her body with his and she pressed her lips to the pulsing vein on his neck. It felt so good, his body pressed against hers, the delightful pressure of him filling her, his hands clasped over hers as he moved torturously slowly inside her. She heard his breath quicken and took his hand, pushing it down in between the mattress and her hot body until he reached her wet, swollen core and she could feel her muscled flutter around him before she came hard and deep and it was just the two of them and nothing else mattered but the fact that she was in his arms.

"I love you," she whispered, her voice soft, sated.

"Mhmm, I bet you do," he grinned at her, earning himself a playful slap to his shoulder but he could feel her smile against his cheek and could not help but feel grateful to have those short moments of respite, of forgetting about what's still ahead of them. "Breakfast?"

He could feel a gentle shake of her head.

"Pass," she replied, pulling him for another kiss."I'm not hungry, a cup of tea will do."

"It will absolutely not do," he stated firmly."I can't be the only one eating, it's bad manners."

"I really don't think I can stomach anything other than tea," she admitted tentatively.

He felt his heart sink at the admission, it worried him that she was so anxious but he tried to keep his tone light.

"Ah, but you never tried Gomez Addams' famous french toasts," he declared, forcing a jovial tone to his voice, smiling at her encouragingly.

"Hmmmm, I believe that's because you've burned them to coal," she reminded, smiling at him.

"Hey, third time's a charm," he grinned before urging her gently," come on, one toast, humour me."

She chewed on her bottom lips, briefly considering his request.

"Fine," she insisted, profoundly doubting she would manage even a half.

She felt relatively better after a shower, determined to get some food into her, even if it was one measly toast. She poured herself a cup of tea, smiling softly at the fact that Gomez insisted, quite feverously, to learn how to brew her tea exactly the way she liked it despite her telling him that she preferred to brew her own tea. He was terribly endearing.

"So, what's the grand plan for tonight?" Morticia asked, tearing off a tiny piece of toast that Gomez managed not to burn and dutifully popping it in her mouth, chewing slowly.

Her stomach was in absolute knots and she could barely swallow anything but then again, she knew she could not go on living indefinitely on endless cups of tea.

"I want to speak to my parents before we leave for the auction," he said tensely. "Hopefully without shouting matches or anyone throwing anything at anyone."

"A sound plan," she smiled at him sympathetically, resting her chin on the pillow of her hand." And then… we all go to the charity auction, you play the dutiful husband for the public and then after midnight, the spell will be broken and you return to your mistress?" She supplied ruefully.

She couldn't help but let out a gentle laugh when he glared at her over his cup of coffee.

"I really dislike when you call yourself that," he told her.

She narrowed her eyes, pretending to muse.

"A concubine?" She quipped.

He winced as if the word physically pained him.

"Even worse," he growled.

"Your…paramour?" She proposed.

"You're developing a terrible sense of humour, cara," he deadpanned, still trying to glare at her.

"I told you, it's a defence mechanism," she replied drily, taking a sip of her tea, before continuing, "we don't discuss feelings in my family, we simply keep all the emotions locked up inside until we develop colorectal cancer."

"It's obvious to me that none of you is of Castillian heritage," he quipped.

"Hmmm, no, not that I'm aware," she concurred and then narrowed her eye. "How about… your inamorata?"

He shook his head in exasperation, setting his coffee cup on the table and reaching for her hand, pulling her gently to sit on his lap and kissing her firmly.

"My love," he said instead, looking at the lovingly." My life. My everything."


Ophelia sighed, taking a critical look at her reflection in the mirror.

She looked like shit.

Unsurprisingly, since she barely slept. She was too pissed to sleep.

She looked worn out, her usually flawless skin looked stretched over her facial bones. She looked like shit but for the first time in her life, it was a good thing. She pinched her cheeks and made her way downstairs, throwing her robe on her beforehand.

She could hear the hushed voices of her in-laws as she stopped on top of the stairs to the kitchen and couldn't help but smile morosely. They knew. She wondered how long they were keeping their son's infidelity from her, assholes - covering for that son of a bitch, but no matter, she could work it to her advantage.

"Ophelia, darling, are you alright?" Harald asked, his voice washed with concern as she made her way downstairs where the two of them were sharing their breakfast. "You look terribly pale."

"I'm fine," she assured, giving them a watered-down smile as she took the seat opposite Eudora and turned towards Lurch." Just coffee, please, I'm not hungry."

"Are you ill, dear? You really do look pale," Eudora supplied, worry attached to her features.

Was she ill? Oh, fuck off, you pretentious old hag.

"I just couldn't sleep, that's all. You know, charity auction and…," she made herself pause deliberately and gave her father-in-law a fleeting look before directing her gaze to her coffee.

She could practically feel the pair exchange troubled looks with each other and had to almost physically restrain herself not to roll her eyes. A bit too late for the concerned in-laws act. Bastards. She sighed and bit her lips into a thin line, looking at both of them in despair before covering her face with the palms of her hands.

"Oh, I don't know how to tell you…," she muttered, letting out a quiet sob." It's so awful. He told me…," she allowed her voice to break before bursting into silent tears.

"Oh, you poor girl," Eudora whispered, taking her into her arms."I'm so sorry."

Well, at least they didn't pretend they didn't know what her tears were about. Ophelia looked at her.

"You knew?" She asked, allowing an accusatory note in her tone.

They both had a good grace to look ashamed.

"We … suspected," Harald admitted, letting out an angry, frustrated breath," I'm so so sorry, my dear. I can't even tell you how ashamed we are of his actions - what an idiot - "

"Oh, Harald, it's more than that," Ophelia whispered, wrapping her hand around Eduora's forearm, even though she could barely restrain herself not to flinch away from her touch." I don't know how to tell you this, you both have been so good to me, I hate to cause you such grief -," she paused and closed her eyes, burying her faces in Eudora's shoulder and felt the older woman comforting hand on her back."I'm so so embarrassed to tell you."

"Ophelia… don't… you don't need to feel embarrassed," Eudora assured, drawing her closer. "None of it is your fault."

"It's Morticia," she whispered so quietly, she wasn't even sure they could hear her, if it wasn't for Harald's sharp intake of breath. She lifted her head from Eudora's shoulder." She…," she let her voice break and hid her face in her hands." This is so humiliating I can barely say it."

Well, it was true, she simply overplayed it a bit, a little dramatic effect couldn't hurt.

"No," her father-in-law seethed."I don't believe it - this couldn't be…"

"It's true," Eudora confirmed, looking away briefly.

"I can't believe it," Harald fumed." This is impossible, it's - are you absolutely sure?"

"He told me," Ophelia whimpered, wiping her tears away with the tips of her fingers."Gomez said he's in love with her and wants a divorce."

She slumped her shoulders and burst into another fit of tears.

"Oh, sweetheart, I can't even imagine how you must feel," Eudora let out a frustrated breath," I'm so so sorry, I can't even tell you how sorry I am that you have to go through this."

She wished the old hag would stop touching her. She could barely stand her touch, her pretence at sympathy - when they both knew, they probably knew all along and had done absolutely fucking nothing to stop it. Liars.

"Oh, Eudora, you can't even imagine, this -," she sighed, shaking her head in frustration," This is what I've been dealing with all my life, ever since we were little children. She just can't stand my happiness, she's so … jealous. Morticia doesn't care about Gomez, just like she doesn't care about Vlad or anyone else. She wants attention."

"That's quite a length to go to to get the attention," Harald interjected angrily, pacing the length of the kitchen.

"She doesn't care, she never did," Ophelia insisted despairingly. "You've seen how she is… oh, if you only knew the things she's done, things she put out family through - I love Gomez, so much, he doesn't understand he's simply being used."

"Oh, don't excuse him, my dear," Eudora exclaimed firmly. "He's hardly a saint in this."

"I realize that, I do, I really do," she assured, clasping her hands around Eudora's."But he's a good person, and he would never do such a malicious thing, I know that. I know that with all my heart. It's a mistake - she's a mistake, that's all she is, and he's about to destroy everything that's important for that mistake."

"Of course, she is," Harald spoke softly, gathering her in his arms."You poor, darling girl, I'm so sorry you have to go through this… he's… he's such a fool, an idiot!" He whispered angrily."But he will come back to his senses. He will come back to you crawling, begging for forgiveness - I promise you that."


Ever since Debbie remembered, the most important person in the glorious life of Debbie Jellinsky was Debbie Jellinsky - her own happiness and well-being were always her priority, so arguably, no one understood one's plight for personal happiness better than Debbie herself. Therefore, she did not understand, for the life of her, why her best friend - her only best friend she ever had, a friend whom, until recently, she had considered one of the smartest people she ever met, besides herself, was trying so so hard to shoot herself in the feet over a guy. No matter how rich or how hot he was.

"Why do you even have to go to this thing?" She asked as she watched Morticia's last touch-ups on her make-up. She looked like she didn't sleep for days and didn't eat for a week.

Debbie was pretty sure if things continued as they were, she would be able to learn the human bone anatomy on Morticia - the woman would wither away completely. Damn Gomez Addams. This whole thing was really trying to piss her off.

"It's for charity," Morticia replied."And mother would skin me alive if I didn't show up."

"Never bothered you before."

"Well, considering the fact that I'm about to ruin her Christmas and her husband's political career, the least I can do is show my face at the charity auction," Morticia supplied drily.

"Maybe I should go with you," Debbie offered with a reluctance that was entirely unfamiliar.

"Don't worry, I don't think Ophelia will even acknowledge me tonight, no need to rescue me," Morticia replied. "Besides, you said you'd rather be dragged through a hot coal and broken glass than go to the charity auction organised by Ophelia."

"I changed my mind," Debbie decided." We should go together… as a lesbian couple. Imagine your mother's reaction."

"Oh, please, it would go utterly unacknowledged," Morticia replied, closing her mascara before turning towards her friend with a mildly amused look on her face." May I remind you that my mother still refers to her cousin's partner as " Teddy's friend " despite the blatant fact that cousin Teddy and his friend Wilhelm have been living together for the last thirty years?"

Debbie made a face.

"Oh, yeah, good point."

"And you have a date tonight with the future Mr Debbie number four, have you forgotten?" Morticia pointed out.

"I will sacrifice this one husband for you," Debbie announced gallantly.

"Bless your heart," Morticia smiled, pulling her black silk robe more tightly around her, "but I would never wish to stand between you and your financial bliss."

Debbie watched Morticia make her way to her walk-in wardrobe, which was convenient because it was somehow easier to broach the subject when they were not facing each other.

"Have you spoken to Patricia?" She finally asked.

There was a brief silence before Morticia re-emerged and leaned against the door frame.

"You mean since yesterday?" She asked and watched Debbie nodd mutely."No. I really can't imagine what else is there to be said."

"You can't just stop talking to her, she's your grandmother."

"If the conversation is going to be centred around her insistence that I end my relationship with Gomez then we might as well save ourselves the time and effort."

"You can't blame her for trying," Debbie pointed out.

"I'm not blaming her," Morticia assured, crossing her arms around her middle."I understand her point, I really do. Maybe, if our roles were reversed, I'd do the same, but I can't do what she wants me to. I'm not going to change my mind about Gomez and it's highly doubtful she's going to give us her blessing. What's there to talk about, then? Nothing. And I don't want to argue with her."

"Have you considered that she might have a point and you really might have had brain damage from all the sex?" She asked.

"She never said that," Morticia rolled her eyes.

"I'm paraphrasing - "

"That's hardly a definition of paraphrasing," Morticia smiled and this time it was Debbie who rolled her eyes.

"Can you please explain to me what's the plan, then?" Debbie insisted.

Morticia tilted her head to the side.

"The plan is… for me to get through this charity ball and that's as far as I have it planned at the moment. "

"Wonderful, best plan ever," Debbie sighed."You get through the night and then what? You do understand that the first person who'd be blamed for this affair is you, don't you? Ophelia will rip you into shreds. You two really need a better plan than that!"

"Debbie, I know… I know it all, I really don't have the necessary energy to discuss any of it anymore," Morticia replied jadedly. "Let me get through this evening. Please."

"Look," Debbie sighed again, it occurred to her that all she's been doing these past few weeks was sighing at her friend's dumb life choices. "I just… worry about you, okay? This is going to get really, really ugly, and you already look like you're barely holding it together."

"I don't think I'm holding it together at all," Morticia smiled ruefully." I appreciate your concern but this isn't really something I can plan from a to b to c, all I can do -"

They frowned at the loud knocking on the front door and Morticia closed her eyes, letting out a defeated groan despite herself.

"Your grandma?" Debbie guessed.

Morticia opened her eyes and took a deep breath. Patricia Frump was nothing if not persistent, and Morticia expected nothing else but for God's sake, couldn't she space the attacks apart a little? She'd really prefer to save her energy on surviving this evening instead of having a conversation that would go in circles and, probably end up in an argument.

"Do you mind letting her in?" Morticia asked, bracing herself for what was to come."I need to get dressed."

"Sure."


Morticia was sure it didn't take her longer than five minutes to get dressed in her evening dress but by the time she entered the kitchen, holding her stilettos by the stripes, she found Debbie Jellinsky annoyed as the devil himself, arms crossed against her middle, glaring murder at the person who was definitely not her Grandmother.

"Mr Addams," Morticia greeted, surprised, slowly making her way barefoot into the kitchen.

To say that he was absolutely the last person in the world she expected to see in her apartment would be an understatement. She could just imagine how furious Gomez was going to be about his father's impromptu visitation. She briefly wondered if she should mention it to him at all.

"May I come in?" Harald asked politely but it was obvious that Debbie already managed to infuriate the hell out of him."Your friend does not seem to trust me enough to let me in."

"You know this jerk?" Debbie asked, nodding her head at Harald as if he were some pesky nuisance.

"I do, actually," Morticia replied, smiling despite herself as she deposited her stilettos on the kitchen counter." He's Gomez's father."

Debbie spared one lazy look at the tall man before turning back towards Morticia.

"I'm guessing Gomez did not inherit his charm from this sour lemon," Debbie shot off-handedly, pointing her thumb at the older Addams.

"May we speak…in private?" Harald requested, his voice tense as he tried his best to ignore the blond woman before him.

"Debbie, can you give us a minute?" Morticia requested, allowing Harald to come inside and closing the door behind him.

Debbie rolled her eyes before shooting one last glare at the unwelcome guest.

"I'll be in my room," she announced, before adding on the most blase tone," if he annoys you, I will stab him in the eye with one of your stilettos."

"Thank you," Morticia deadpanned, before turning to Harald Addams who seemed to be radiating with barely concealed anger." But let's hope that won't be necessary. Would you like to sit down?"

"I won't waste your time - or mine for that matter. You do know why I'm here and you might think it's very forward of me," he stated firmly."But I want to cut you a deal."

Morticia raised her eyebrows in surprise. Well, he certainly didn't waste time on pleasantries.

"A deal?" She echoed, deciding immediately she'd never understood how this man's mind worked.

The older Addams cleared his throat before fixing his hard look on her Morticia wasn't sure if he was trying to intimidate her but he obviously had never seen her mother raging if he thought for a second that his glare would intimidate her.

"I know my son very well, he's always chasing constant thrills and I can understand why he's so… besotted with you," he said in a matter-of-fact tone." You're a very attractive woman and men have their… appetites, some more voracious than others -"

"Is this absurd monologue going somewhere?" Morticia interjected smoothly, crossing her arms against her middle, trying very hard not to get irritated.

"There's a line," Harald continued."And that line has been crossed…by both of you."

"Yes, I'm aware of that," she remarked.

"Then what do you want? He asked firmly.

She frowned.

"Pardon?"

"What do you want?" He repeated, throwing his hands in despair." What's your price? What will it take for you to leave my son alone?"

Morticia set her jaw, forcing herself to remain calm but the man was just beyond infuriating. If she didn't know for a fact that he and Gomez were related, she'd never believe it.

"I'm afraid I will have to politely ask you to leave," she remarked calmly, pointing at the door.

"This affair is going nowhere," he told her firmly, ignoring her words."You have to stop this nonsense immediately."

Morticia glared at him.

"I have no plans to discuss it with you, Mr Addams," she said. "So, as you said, let's not waste each other's time."

"What is it, then?" He went on, his eyes ablaze."Money? Is this what you're after? Tell me what's your price and it's yours as long as you disappear from Gomez's life."

"This conversation really ends here, Mr Addams," she replied coldly, holding his heated gaze with her own.

"Is Ophelia correct then?" He asked in disbelief."You really can't stand her happiness? Don't you think this sibling rivalry got a bit too far?"

"Which part of "I'm not going to discuss it with you", was not clear enough?" Morticia replied sardonically. "I will try to be more specific."

He glared at her, apparently insulted by her bluntness but then, she wasn't exactly sure what he was trying to achieve with this obnoxious behaviour. If this was the way of arguing with this man, then no wonder Gomez mentioned things being thrown because she was very tempted to throw something herself.

"You can't just dismiss me as if nothing happened," he shot back."Don't you have an ounce of remorse?"

"You've obviously made up your mind about me so I really don't see a point of continuing this conversation any further, she remarked." The doors are behind you, I trust you can see yourself out."

He didn't make a move, glaring at her intently but then his shoulders slumped and his gaze softened. And she didn't know what to make of the sudden change.

"Look, I just want my son to be happy," he told her, his tone suddenly much calmer."That's all I ever wanted."

She briefly wondered what his plan for this encounter was - hopping between insulting her and pleading?

"Then let him be happy," she said.

He laughed derisively, shaking his head in disbelief.

"With you?"

"Yes."

"One does not build happiness on the misery of others," he pointed out."She's your sister for God's sake. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"I know who she is," Morticia replied calmly." But thank you for this reminder. If that's all you wanted to tell me…," she paused, pointing again at the door but again, he didn't even budge.

"They were perfectly happy before you came around," he shoot suddenly."You've ruined your sister's marriage and for what?"

"I don't think a perfectly happy marriage would not fall apart because of me," she replied, getting progressively tired with this conversation.

"You've seduced your sister's husband - "

"I'm really not going to discuss any of this with you any further, Mr Addams," she interjected frostily. "And I see no reason to explain myself to you when you obviously already know all the answers."

She could feel the anger radiating from him but she matched his glare with her own.

"I don't know what you've done," Harald remarked coldly, half a step from invading her personal space."I don't know how you managed to bewitch him so completely but you have no right to destroy my family."

Morticia swallowed heavily but held his gaze.

"I really need to ask you to leave," she replied in an equal tone."Now ."

"This cannot continue, you can't possibly mean for this to continue -" he thundered.

"I really don't appreciate your tone, Mr Addams," she retorted. "I'm not sure what you're trying to achieve here but shouting at me will not get you there."

Her words seemed to irritate him even more.

"Why?" He hissed angrily." For the love of God, why do you want to destroy his marriage? What will you gain from this?"

"I want no such thing," she replied, with as much forced calm as she was able to summon."Despite what you might think of me, I do love your son."

Harald snorted contemptuously.

"Love," he growled." You both talk about love as if it is be-all and end-all but what you're doing is selfish beyond words, beyond any stretch of the imagination."

"And allowing your son to be miserable in a loveless marriage is a much better option?" She challenged.

"Surely you can see that it will be better for everyone involved if they stayed together," he replied. "His marriage is not what's making him miserable, you're making him chase after illusions, you're making him think there's something better out there when the fact is that he was perfectly content before you showed up in his life. If there's anything that's making him miserable it's you."

She blinked, swallowing heavily.

"That's for Gomez to decide not you," she said, wishing the words sounded firmer but she was beyond tired of this exchange at this point.

"The hell it is," he hissed, taking a step closer to her so abruptly it made her flinch." I apologise," he said, as if suddenly aware of how close he was to her, letting out a frustrated breath and taking a step back."I didn't come here to argue. I merely want you to understand - "

"I'm not about to argue with you," Morticia interjected with a note of finality."I'm about to, once again, ask you to leave."

He sighed, running his hands through his greying hair, frustrated - with her, or himself, Morticia couldn't tell at this point.

"Please," he pleaded, his manner suddenly so strikingly vulnerable, Morticia hardly knew what to make of it." I have already lost one son, his mother's heart was broken once already, don't make her go through this again. Please," he grabbed her arms gently, his gaze firm and pleading."If you really love him, then leave. Let them rebuild what you've destroyed, let them be happy. Leave, I will give you all the money you want, anything you want, you can go anywhere in the world, anywhere you choose, just leave… "

"I'm not destroying anything," Morticia whispered, looking straight at him."And the last thing I want is for your wife to suffer in any way but your insults will not change anything. I don't want anything from you. Now, get your hands off me."

She could feel his grip on her loosen but before he could take his hands away they heard a flowery curse behind them.

"Get your hands off her before I return you do your family in pieces," Debbie growled and Harald immediately let go of Morticia, fixing a hard look on Debbie. "And now get the hell out of here."

The older Addams looked between the two women, finally letting out a frustrated sigh, running his palm along the side of his face before fixing his look back on Morticia.

"I want you to know one thing," Harald declared morosely."If he leaves Ophelia to be with you, I will never forgive him. He will no longer be my son and make no mistake - you will be to blame for it. I will never accept you, nor will anyone else in this family, what you're doing to your sister… it's disgusting, you should be ashamed of yourself. "

"Okay, that's enough," Debbie interjected sharply."Get your pompous, rich ass fuck out of here while I'm still polite."

"Debbie, it's fine," Morticia assured, placing her palm on her shoulder, but her voice was tense, barely above the whisper. "Mr Addams was just leaving."

"Think about what I said," Harald said, pointing his finger at Morticia."Once you burn that bridge, there will be no going back. Do you really want to ruin his life? Because make no mistake, that's what you're doing -"

"Shut the fuck up," Debbie growled, opening the door and pushing him outside, shutting the door behind him with a loud bang."What a jerk - "

She turned back towards Morticia and her whole posture suddenly slumped at the sight of her. Her first instinct was to hug her but Morticia's whole body looked so rigid, Debbie thought she might snap if she so much as touched her.

"You're okay?"

Morticia rubbed her forehead, her eyes glassy with barely contained tears as she gnawed at her bottom lip. She swallowed heavily, willing to get herself back together.

"Tish," Debbie whispered."You're okay?"

Morticia blinked, as if she just realised Debbie was talking to her and wrapped her arms around herself, digging her nails into the skin of her arms.

"No," she replied curtly.

Debbie stared helplessly at her friend and not for the first time, she wished Morticia have never met Gomez Addams.


He felt like an utter coward, taking a deep breath before stepping through the front door to his own house but, well, it was hard not to feel apprehensive at the prospect of facing his parents, or Ophelia for that matter.

There was little chance his parents would be even willing to hear his side of the story, not that he blamed them, he understood - it was difficult to see two sides of the story in such an emotional situation, especially one where he was in the wrong and it was all too easy to pick sides. Which is why he really thought going away for a while was the best course of action.

Except, they still had to go through this evening before they even started planning an away trip and he hoped to God, Morticia wouldn't change her mind about it. He could not imagine staying here, he wanted to take Morticia as far away from this situation and its consequences as possible because he didn't think he could bear to see her in such distress. He couldn't stand seeing her in pain.

"Well, I must say I haven't expected you to show up," his mother's voice greeted him somberly before he so much as took a step upstairs. She was already dressed for the evening.

"Mother - "

"Join me for a drink," she said, turning her back to him and returning towards the parlour, without a doubt that he would follow. "I really expected better from you."

He couldn't help but flinch at the blatant hurt and disapproval in her tone and his chest was suddenly constricted with guilt.

"Have you nothing to say?" His mother continued, turning towards him, her gaze broken and accusatory."How could you do this to her? And Morticia? Really? Of all the women in this city, it had to be her? Gomez… how could you?"

"I love her," he whispered, his tone stark and honest, he didn't know what else he could say.

"Oh, you love her," Eudora remarked quietly, swirling the drink in her glass."And that justifies cheating on your wife? Breaking her heart?"

"No," he shook his head." But I didn't plan to break her heart, I didn't plan to fall in love with Morticia," he tried to explain but even to his own ears, it sounded pathetic.

"You can't just destroy your marriage because you fell in love, Gomez," his mother retorted." You've made a commitment to Ophelia."

"What do you want me to do?" He asked, exhaling jadedly.

"I want you to do the right thing," she replied intently. "Honour those commitments, Gomez, for better and for worse, remember?"

"To stay married to a woman I cheated on?" He asked incredulously. "And what would that achieve?"

"It would save your wife the humiliation, isn't that enough?" Eudora retorted sharply."You want to put her on display for everyone to see that her husband didn't have an ounce of respect for her?"

"No, but -"

"Then do the right thing, damn it, and forget about that woman!" His mother hissed, slamming the crystal glass against the smooth top of his father's mahogany desk.

"I want Ophelia to be happy - I truly do," he said, his voice trembling with fervour." But she will never be happy with me, why can't you all see it?"

"Why can't you see that you're destroying her?" Eudora replied in equal measure." You're having an affair with her sister, for God's sake! How can she ever move on from that?"

"This marriage is over, Mama - "

"Stop it," she hissed," don't you dare say that. The only thing that's over here is your affair."

"It's over," he repeated firmly. "I won't shackle myself nor Ophelia in this farce of a marriage. It's over."

"It's not a farce," his mother retorted sharply."You've made a commitment to her, and you made good on that commitment until Morticia showed up, can't you see what's happening here? You're bored with the mundane, you've been working too hard and you're tired and then she showed up and you allowed yourself to be seduced by the excitement of forbidden fruit - it's the same old pattern, Gomez, only this time there's more at stake. You're about to destroy your marriage, your father-in-law's political career and people's lives all in one go. Can't you see that she's a distraction? You're chasing a fleeting pleasure - "

"You're wrong," he replied, his voice softer now." She's not a distraction, she was never a distraction. I love her."

Eudora slammed her palms against the desk.

"It's like talking to the wall with you," she exhaled in an exasperated manner."How can you be so selfish? What will it take for you to realize you're making a huge mistake?"

"Why on earth, do you want me to stay married to a woman I can never love? The woman I cheated on?" He asked, his voice incredulous and desperate." Why do you want her to be miserable with me for the rest of her life?"

"Because you're not thinking clearly, that's why," Eudora hissed."You've made a mistake and you're about to make one even worse - "

"I've made many mistakes, and I will live with their consequences for the rest of my life," he breasted out desperately." But Morticia is not one of them, she's the most wonderful thing than ever happened to me, I love her… I love her more than I could put into words."

"There's more to life than love… than her - "

"Is there more?" He whispered, fixing his gaze on hers."What is it then?"

She blinked, taken aback.

"Because I have lived all my life with every opportunity the privilege could buy," he continued fervently, " I have more money than I could ever spend, I can go anywhere I want, do anything I want… and I have never felt more lonely - until I've met her and now, for the first time in my life I feel… loved for whom I am not for what I have. You think I'm acting on impulse, I understand that, this is what I've done all my life, but Morticia is not a distraction - she's not," he added insistently when he saw his mother's lips open to say something."For the first time in my life, someone's happiness matters to me more than anything, not because it's the right thing to do but because it feels like the most natural thing in the world. Because I love her and her happiness means everything to me. I want to share my life with her."

"If that's true," Eudora whispered."If what you're saying is the truth, if her happiness means everything to you… then let her go. If her happiness is what matters to you most, then end this affair and forget about her."

Gomez sighed, his body sagging visibly under the impact of her words. This was going nowhere.

"What I've done to Ophelia is horrible, and I'm truly sorry, but…," he said, his voice hoarse with emotions and bit his lips into a thin line, he closed his eyes briefly before continuing in a firm, painful whisper," I will not martyr myself for the rest of my life because of it, because that will only make things worse, for everyone. Despite what you all seem so inclined to think, there's no virtue in clinging to the miserable, I can't make anyone happy out of guilt - believe me, I've tried."

He turned to leave but immediately felt her hand clasp around his wrist.

"Gomez… please," his mother pleaded, her eyes filled with angry tears. "I beg you... don't do this."

He looked down at her hand, placing his own on top of it and clasping her fingers around it before pressing a warm his to the back of her hand, before whispering, what seemed like countless times, "I'm sorry."


"Excuse me, ma'am, but we are closing in half an hour."

"Thank you," Morticia replied, forcing a smile at the young girl."I just need a few minutes."

"Of course, enjoy," the attendant smiled politely.

Morticia moistened her lips and turned back to the large painting, taking a deep, calming breath.

She always loved art, even as a child.

Art gave her direction. It gave her focus. It was a slow but serene process - to follow the line of the brushstrokes, focus on light and shadows, the art of it, the science of it, and imagine the story behind it. She supposed it was just another version of escapism but it helped her to see the focal point among the chaos, it often pulled her through the impossible. It was where she was able to harness the heartbreak and turn it into art. Once it took its form on the canvas it was no longer buried in her heart, it was released and was no longer part of her. She could be a passive observer, a silent judge. The feelings inside her were no longer chaotic, they had form and could be harnessed and subdued.

She needed that now desperately, more than ever, but there was no serenity to be found tonight. Her mind kept jumping between the two encounters, one with her Grandmother and the other with Harald Addams. The man annoyed her beyond belief but his pain, his desperation was genuine, even if his way of expressing it was quite antagonizing, to say the least.

And his accusations hurt, even though she tried to deny it.

She would have preferred anger. Their anger she could deal with. Anything but that desperate pleading, their obvious heartbreak that seemed to rip through her soul and she could barely stand it and not being choked by guilt. But what they wanted from her was impossible. What they asked of her wouldn't fix anything, couldn't they see it?

Did Harald really think that her departure from Gomez's life would magically fix Gomez's marriage or the already broken relationship between father and son?

On the other hand, Harald made clear that staying in Gomez's life would cause their relationship to be fractured beyond any hopes of repair because Harald would never accept her in his son's life. She would forever be a wedge between them.

She knew Gomez loved his father, no matter how strained their relationship was, she could relate to that with almost painful clarity. Except, she's learned to accept her relationship with her mother for what it was - which wasn't much, but whether Gomez was aware of it or not, he longed for his father's approval, he wanted a better relationship with Harald and the last thing she wanted was to be the final nail in that coffin.

Gomez loved her, she had no doubts about that. He knew what was at stake, they both did, she wasn't deceiving him and she wasn't bewitching him. She loved him. She loved him more than she could ever imagine loving any man and was committed to him, to everything that was going to be their life together, the risks and potential regrets included.

But was that enough for him? Or would he come to resent the decision to sacrifice everything to be with her? Resent her? Regret her? Oh God, she would rather never have him than become his regret, his mistake and how thin the line was between love and hate, after all?

"Incredible work, isn't it?" The soft, French-accented voice reverberated next to her." Horticulture was his deep passion, it's magically tranquil - his paintings, don't you think?"

"Stunning," she agreed curtly, offering the stranger a polite smile but didn't say anything further. She was in no mood for conversations.

"However, I must admit it's Expressionism that captures my soul," the man continued.

"Munch?" Morticia asked, just for the sake of politeness.

"Always," he smiled."But for me? It's Kokoschka."

"Kokoschka?" Morticia echoed with a small smile." Well, arguably, that's a league on its own."

"Indeed," the man nodded and she was sure that was the end of their brief encounter when he turned his head towards her again, clasping his hands behind his back.

"I think I saw you here before," he told her, regarding her curiously." You come here often, no?"

"Not as often as I used to," she admitted.

"Life tends to keep us busy with mundane," he nodded." To tell you the truth, I have been coming here every day for three weeks, hoping to see you."

Her eyes widened at the impromptu admission. The man was very nearly the age of her own father.

"Well, I would love to stay and continue this fascinating conversation," she replied with an air of finality."But I'm afraid I have somewhere to be and I'm already quite late."

He nodded his head eagerly.

"Oh yes, of course, your sister's charity ball, of course - it's tonight," he mumbled, slapping his palm against his forehead.

Morticia frowned at him.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your sister is married to Gomez Addams, yes?" He said, rushing his words in an anxious manner." The charity ball is tonight, I saw it in the newspaper - there was a big photo of your family… your father is running for the office, no?"

"Excuse me, I'm afraid I really need to go," she replied cautiously and turned to leave.

"Please wait…I'm sorry, you must forgive me, you must think I'm a madman," he spoke rapidly, almost to himself, but exhaled in relief when she stopped and turned towards him again, "this isn't how it's supposed to go… I'm sorry. I asked him, I asked your father. I wanted to see you, to meet you… but he refused, and I had no choice but to -," he paused and shook his head, irritated with himself before letting out an exasperated breath and he spoke to her again in a measured tone, "my name is Robert Barthe," he introduced himself and waited as if the name should ring some familiarity, she could see his crestfallen expression when he realised she had no idea who he was and then his voice broke to a painful whisper as he stared at her intently. "My God… you really do look just like her."

She should have made her way straight to that blasted charity ball, she decided, she only wanted a couple of minutes of solitude, just a moment or two to collect herself, to be surrounded by one thing that always brought calm and order into her life but alas. Apparently, she was now tasked with slithering her way out of the conversation with a madman.

She really did not have an ounce of energy for any of it.

"That's all very interesting, Mr Barthe, but I'm already quite late, so if you excuse me…"

"I saw your photo in the newspaper," he continued promptly, his words jumbled together," but… I have never expected you… to look so much like her. Except for the eyes, her eyes were blue - "

Oh, this was getting beyond ridiculous.

"Sir," Morticia interjected sharply, more sharply that it was perhaps warranted but she had no time nor desire to continue this encounter any further," on any other occasion, I would find an encounter with a madman an inviting prospect - thrilling even, I assure you," she said, looking the strange man straight in the eyes." But this is not one of those occasions, now please excuse me," she turned again to leave when his voice rooted her firmly on her place.

"Morticia, wait."

She turned towards him abruptly, a wary frown now attached to her features.

"I don't recall us being on a first-name basis," she remarked warily, glaring at him.

"Let me explain," he requested softly. "Please."

She didn't reply, didn't so much as make a move but stayed rooted in her place, watching him cautiously and he seemed to have taken it as her permission to continue and he reached into his breast pocket, removing his wallet, he opened it slowly and took out an old photograph, folded in half, with jagged edges, before slowly handing it to her.

She hesitated but ultimately reached for it and took the photograph from his hand, unfolded it slowly and her gaze rested on the yellowed picture, her eyes widening with surprise.

The photo was of her. She and Ophelia were sitting at the riverbank, their bare feet dipped in the water, smiling wildly at the camera, Ophelia with her daisy crown and her arm was around her, hugging Morticia closely. They looked no older than sixteen, which didn't make sense but it was clearly them. Except, she hadn't recognised the place either, nor could she recall such a situation ever happening.

"What's this?" She asked, her frown deeper now as she looked at the man before her.

He looked nervous, small beads of sweat attached themselves to his hairline and above his eyebrows.

"I took this photograph," the man explained, his words stumbling against each other," the camera was a gift from my father - it was a 1941 Kodak Retina … I still have it - it was s gift, for my eighteenth birthday and it was one of the first photographs I took with it. This was at our family's summer residence near Toulouse. They were seventeen at the time. Best friends, inseparable. It was an insanely hot summer that year - "

His words seem to dissolve and she looked at the photograph again. It wasn't Ophelia. The jawline was softer and the cheeks a bit fuller. It wasn't Ophelia.

It was her mother.

And so the woman next to her couldn't possibly be her.

"The resemblance is striking, isn't it?" The man continued, smiling softly."Her eyes were blue, though, most strikingly blue - almost violet. You have your father's eyes but you look just like her… I just can't believe how much you look like her - there's so much… so much I want to tell you - "

She lifted her gaze to look at him, her eyes widening. The woman looked just like her, as if someone transported Morticia back in time and placed her in this sepia-coloured photograph and it suddenly felt like her whole world started to crumble at her feet.

She felt a bubble of laughter - incredulous, absurd, cynical laughter blister in her chest because the insanity of what this man was clearly telling her was so incomprehensible she was sure it couldn't be happening.

Perhaps she was dreaming.

Maybe he wasn't here at all. Maybe she wasn't here at all.

Maybe she was still in her bed, maybe she was dreaming this whole thing up and all she needed to do was open her eyes and we would see Gomez, staring at her with those gorgeous half-lidded eyes and he would kiss her and they would make love and she would get lost in him and none this would ever happen.

She pressed her fingers into the photograph, feeling its ragged edges against the tip of her thumb. She looked at the two women - so happy and so beautiful, their brilliant smiles stretching vividly on their faces, their heads pressed together in an intimate familiarity - staring back at her.

She swallowed heavily and lifted her gaze back to the man before her and suddenly realised how unearthly pale his skin was. Just like hers - no, exactly like hers. And she couldn't help but swallow heavily, momentarily light-headed. She was glad she didn't have much to eat today because she felt so nauseous, she could barely keep it down.

"Who are you?" She managed to ask, for a second ridiculously pleased that her voice sounded so firm and confident because she felt so stunned and vulnerable that she was surprised any sound came out of her throat at all.

"My name is - "

"No," she interrupted him sharply. "I don't care what your name is, who are you? Why are you showing me this?"

He looked startled at the question, as if her reaction was not what he expected.

"I am… I was your mother's cousin… we grew up together," he started to explain and looked at the photo in her hands as if struggling for something to say and she followed the line of his sight back to the two women on the photograph." I'm sorry, I wanted to… this - I asked your father but he refused, and I don't blame him, I understand why you'd choose to have nothing to do with me, with us - our family, you have every right, I understand but…," he exhaled, a deep shaky breath before whispering," I just wanted to see you, and… -"

He paused, so abruptly, that Morticia couldn't help but direct her gaze towards his and saw the realization form on his face.

"Oh my God," he whispered, staring at her even more intently."You don't...you don't know what I'm talking about, do you?" He asked in a dull tone or realisation and then closed his eyes briefly before looking at her desperately. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry... I didn't know - I would never have... I thought you knew... I was sure - God, I'm so sorry -"

She didn't reply, closing her eyes and forcing the exhausted tears back. She could barely form a thought, let alone verbalise it, her hands prickled with apprehension, and her chest felt so constricted she felt dizzy, it took a herculean effort to draw another breath but she forced herself to focus on the task of breathing, of simply existing.

This couldn't be happening, not on top of everything else. These things just didn't happen in real life, it was so impossible it felt almost comical and this man was a madman and what he was telling her was too bizarre to be true and too absurd to be a lie but she didn't have the slightest idea what to do with any of it. She couldn't deal with this man, with what he was telling her, whatever it was, whatever it meant, she had not an ounce of strength left in her to deal with this right now.

She felt nauseous, her heart was beating so fast she felt lightheaded, and her whole body seemed to tingle with panic, with some impending doom and she forced herself to draw another breath, and then another and forced herself to compartmentalise, to focus solely on, somehow, getting through this blasted evening and nothing else. Focused herself on surviving, another breath, another moment, another second and somehow - somehow, she would get through this.

When she opened her eyes the man was still staring at her, his gaze somewhere between pleading and worried and oh God, she was sick of people looking at her like that.

She heard a quiet sob, hers or his, she couldn't tell and it didn't matter.

She swallowed heavily, taking one last look at the photograph and then, slowly, folded it back in half and pressed it firmly to his chest.