A/N: Again, there will be questions. I swear I'll answer them in the Grace/Luke fic which I'm actually in the process of plotting.

"I agree with Dad."

Silence descended over the Polonski dining room. Rabbi Polonski's mouth dropped open. He was certain he hadn't heard correctly. The last time Grace had agreed with him about anything was before she'd changed her surname.

When she'd been a little girl, Grace had looked up to him. She'd come into his study and stand beside him, her elbows propped on his desk. She'd read over his shoulder, making little humming noises when she didn't quite get something. He'd pretend she wasn't there, waiting to see how long it would take her to announce her presence. Even as a child, Grace was impatient. She never lasted more than three minutes. "Daddy?"

"Yes, Grace," he'd say without looking up. She'd see his smile if he did.

"Whatcha doing?"

He'd tell her.

"So what does this mean?" She'd point to the passage in question.

"Were you reading over my shoulder again, Gracie?"

She'd nod, then shrug her shoulders. "I was curious."

His smile would grow full-blown and he'd pick her up, settle her in his lap, and explain whatever he was doing. Grace would invariably recline against him like he was reading her a bedtime story. Once he was done, she'd ponder the information for a moment, then surprise him some viewpoint he usually hadn't considered. His Gracie was an uncommonly bright child.

But those moments in his study had become few and far between as their family began to fall apart. The rabbi knew Grace blamed him for it. She'd told him as much. "Do something?" she demanded once when she was ten. "Why are you letting this happen?"

"There's only so much I can do, Gracie," he'd answered and tried to hug her.

She'd shrugged him off. "Don't call me that. You can't call me that anymore."

"Gracie."

"No." She'd run for the stairs. Halfway up she'd turned back to him, her eyes bright. "Make it stop, Daddy."

But he hadn't been able to. Grace had never forgiven him. There were no more moments in the study.

Now she sat at the dining table, arms crossed over her stomach, her gaze fixed on the dining table.

His wife gaped at her youngest daughter. "You can't be serious."

Grace glanced up at her mother. "I'm serious."

"But Aaron's family," his wife protested. "You're there for your family."

"We're only family when he needs something," Grace stated, her voice hard and flat. "He's never been there for us," she added softly.

Rabbi Polonski heard what she didn't say. He was never there for me.

Mrs. Polonski turned to her husband, her eyes pleading with him to yield. "He's our son."

He took her hand and squeezed it, but stood firm. "I'm sorry, Sarah, but I can't do this again."

"He's our son," she whispered again.

"He turned his back on us," Grace said. Her voice rose and the flint in her voice had reached her eyes. "Aaron didn't care about us or if he'd need us or if we'd need him when he left. He wanted to be on his own. Now he is."

Sighing inwardly, the rabbi watched Grace stalk up the stairs to her room. He got up, intent on following her when he heard his wife sniffle.

"I don't think I can tell him no."

He laid a hand on her shoulder. "He'll never learn to stand on his own if we don't."

Sarah nodded and covered his hand with hers. "How did we lose them?"

"I don't know."

She took a shuddery breath and released his hand. "Go to her."

Slowly, he went upstairs and knocked on her door.

"Come in," she'd replied wearily.

He found her sitting at her desk, her feet pulled into the chair. He stood at her elbow and watched her doodle. Now that he was here he didn't know what to say to her.

"It wasn't your fault, wasn't it?" she asked suddenly.

"No."

Grace nodded. "He wanted to leave us."

Again, he heard what she didn't say. He left me. "He wanted to leave me."

"Right."

"Grace," he said more sharply than he'd intended. She looked up at him as startled by his tone as he was. "He didn't want to leave you."

"He hated it when I followed him around."

"Perhaps," the rabbi granted, "but he loved you."

She shrugged and turned back to her doodle. "Not enough to stay in my life."

"Maybe it hurt too much."

"Or maybe it didn't hurt enough," she whispered.

The rabbi felt his heart break at the dejection in Grace's voice. He'd always been angriest at Aaron for what his departure did to Grace. Her metamorphosis had started then and he'd lost his Gracie. "I'm sorry," he apologized. He'd failed her.

She shook her head and tilted it back so she could see him. "But you tried."

"I did."

"You can only do so much, right?" she'd said, a tentative smile on her lips.

He caught a glimpse of the little girl she'd once been and he returned her smile. Maybe he hadn't completely lost his Gracie after all. "Right."