Disclaimer: This is an original story based upon the characters of Gilmore Girls. No profit will be made from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Note: Happy September 13th everyone! I enjoyed the premiere tonight, although I am sad that the Gilmore family is torn apart. I hope things resolve between all of them. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this next installment!

I sped down the road, not particularly caring how fast I was going. It was like I was taking my anger out on the gas pedal—my anger at Gran, my anger at Pennilyn, my anger at Mom for not telling anyone, and most of all, my anger at myself. Like a CD with a skip, the image of my meeting Pennilyn for the first time repeatedly played in my mind.

"You're my almost mommy" I had said and Pennilyn had smiled and said, "I guess you could call me that"

Inside was Pennilyn gloating over her victory? Was she secretly delighting in the pain I had undoubtedly caused Mom?

Mommy I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! If only I would have known!"

I turned up their street and began scanning the large houses for number 232. I pulled in front of an enormous house, screeching very loudly, got out and hurried to the door. As I rang the doorbell I felt inside my pocket. It was still there. Just fifteen minutes ago, my father had torn to shred the letters in my hand, but I had kept one—slipped it in my pocket. As soon as I read the first letter, I knew what I had to do and to do it I needed proof, and so I had quietly stuck one letter in my pocket while Dad had ripped the others apart.

The door opened and a Spanish maid opened the door.

"I need to speak to Mrs. Garrity please," I said as she opened.

"I am sorry, Mrs. Garrity is in a meeting," she replied in broken English.

"That's perfect," I said and forced my way past her into the room. I hurried down the hall towards the voices I heard. The hall was huge and it echoed my footsteps as I walked and the protests of the maid behind me as I made my way further down the hall. I stepped into a large room with plants everywhere. Twelve or thirteen ladies were gathered around Pennilyn with notebooks and were obviously planning some affair. They all turned and looked at me as I walked in.

"I am so sorry Mrs. Garrity," the maid stammered with her head down as though she was addressesing someone that was about to send her to the guillotine.

"It's alright Fransesca," Pennilyn said slowly. "Come in…Lorelai isn't it?" she asked smiling.

"Yes, yes it is Lorelai," I replied, matching her niceness act. I stepped in closer, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything too important," I went on.

Pennilyn stood and gestured to me to sit down at one of the chairs. "We were all so saddened by the loss of your mother. She was such a great lady."

I need to throw up.

She asked me to sit down again and I shook my head.

"No thanks, I don't plan on being here very long." I reached in my pocket and pulled out the letter. I showed it to Pennilyn, "I just wanted to show you something I found in my mother's things and I thought you'd like to see it." Her eyes opened wide, and she stammered. "…Lorelai, what is that?"

"You don't know?" I asked in mock surprise. "Wow, let's see if anybody else here knows." I held the letter and turned around so everybody could see it."

"Still don't know Pennilyn?" I asked, "Well, let me help you. This is a letter, one of many letters that you wrote to my mother—after she had married my father. This is one letter that I saved, the rest are gone because my father tore them up just a little while ago. He tore them up after reading them," my eyes were glued on Pennilyn's face. "All of them,"

Pennilyn's face was white, she reached towards the letter, wanting to take it out of my hands. I just continued to stare at her.

"You see, Mrs. Garrity is a very sore looser. She couldn't accept the fact that my dad loved my mom and chose her. She began writing my mother letters, vicious and mean letters telling her she was an embarrassment, telling her lies about my father still being in love her. They were hurtful, terrible letters." I stepped closer to Pennilyn and thrust the letter in her face.

"Do you have any concept of what you did?" I asked. She seemed to be shaking. There was a choir of disapproving sighs coming from her friends.

"What's going on here?" came a male voice at the top of the stairs. A man who I assumed was Mr. Garrity came down the stairs.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Steven, its fine. Go back upstairs." Pennilyn whispered.

"What is it Pennilyn?" he asked again.

She turned to me and shook her head slightly. Her eyes were pleading with me, begging me not to show him the letter. I fingered the edges of it and then, very slowly, I tore it into pieces and let it fall to the floor. I could see the relief in her eyes.

I stood there for a minute, looking down at the pieces of paper on the floor. Suddenly I felt like I had lost fifty pounds. A weight was gone. I looked up at Pennilyn. She still was pale and shaking.

"You thought you could destroy her. You thought you could destroy their marriage," I began slowly, and smiled slightly. "You were wrong. You can't touch Emily Gilmore. You can't touch the love that Richard and Emily Gilmore have for each other. She died a better woman than you will ever, ever live to be." I stepped in closer, and Steven made a move to step in between us as if he thought I was going to hit her. Quite honestly, I had wanted to hit her. I wanted to cause her so much pain. Now, the answer was clear. Whether Mom had believed Pennilyn and Gran's letters or not, at the end of the day, Dad had always come home to Mom. Suddenly Pennilyn seemed to be a helpless child.

"I was going to show your husband this letter. But I'm not going to anymore. Do you want to know why? Because I was raised to better, my mother taught me better. I'm going to leave now, and if your friends choose to believe me or not—I don't care. If your husband chooses to believe me or not—I don't care. But I want you to know, that I know exactly what you are and I want you to live with the knowledge for the rest of your life that my father knows exactly what you are." I looked down at the pile shreds and smiled. "Have a nice day Pennilyn," I said and then headed out the door.

Luke and I stayed over that night with Dad. I didn't tell him anything about my encounter with Pennilyn, though I knew he probably had a good idea where I had gone. I lay with my arms wrapped around Luke and he ran his fingers through my hair.

"Lorelai?" he whispered after we had laid there in silence for awhile.

"Yeah?"

"It wasn't your fault," he said softly, turning his lips into kiss my hair. I reached up and put my hand on his cheek.

"I'm her daughter. I'm the only child she ever had. I should have been there for her."

"You weren't the problem." Luke said, "You can't blame yourself. Your mother chose to believe what was written in those letters. She chose to change. It wasn't your fault she was the way she was."

"But Honey," I countered. "I added to the problem. I was mean, and hateful. All I can think about is how many times I added to her pain."

He kissed my hair again and whispered gently, "It will be alright."

I snuggled into his embrace and slowly felt my eyes getting droopier and droopier.

It was snowing. At first it took me a minute to orient myself. I had been here before. Why was I here again? I started walking in the snow but this time I wasn't afraid. This time I kept walking towards the light. There was my house and there was my mother in the doorway, with a blanket and hot chocolate. She told me how worried she had been and she brought me in from the cold. Everything happened as it had before. I spilled my hot chocolate and she was down on the floor, scrubbing it up, berating herself for letting it happen. This time however, I got down beside her, took another brush and started scrubbing. She looked over at me and smiled. There we were, mother and daughter scrubbing away at whatever mess the hot chocolate stain represented in our lives. Finally the stain disappeared. She looked up and me and then she turned to the wall where there were two pictures. One was the one of us playing in the snow together. The other was one of her dressed in her stately suit and pearls.

"I don't know which one of those Emily's I am," she said sadly. I reached over and took her hands.

"I don't know who I am," she said with more passion.

"Yes you do Mom," I replied. "You're Emily Gilmore. You're Patricia Haines daughter. You're Hope Dupont's sister. You're Richard Gilmore's wife. You're Lorelai Gilmore's mother. You're Rory Gilmore's grandmother. You're Luke Danes' mother-in-law. That's who you are." She reached up and caressed my cheek. Suddenly she looked past me and I turned to see what she was looking at. There was a rocking chair there and it snagged my memory. I knew that chair—knew the smell of it's wood, knew the smell of my mother's perfume as she rocked me in it. She got up and walked over to it. She sat down and held out her arms for me. I put my hand to my mouth and started to cry. I walked over towards her, and sat down on her lap. I rested my head on her shoulder and just cried. She smoothed the hair away from my forehead and just rocked back and forth singing,

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are gray. You'll never know Dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away."

"I love you Lorelai, I always will."

"I love you too Mom," I whispered back.

And there I stayed, rocking in my mother's arms until I woke up.

To Be Continued