AN: Okay, yet another chapter. I like this one. I'd like to dedciate this chapter to anyone that has anything at all to do with the creation of Spoungebob. It's the only this that keeps my brothers out of my hair long enough for me to write anything.

Sara was sitting on one of the swings in the park near her house. It was almost sunset, and the park was otherwise empty. She was hardly swinging, just moving slightly. She was staring at a piece of paper and an envelope. The return address on the envelope was the state prison.

"Sara," Greg called her name softly.

Sara looked up, hurriedly stuffing the letter into her pocket. She attempted to smile at Greg, but it came out forced. Greg sat down in the swing next to her and looked at her curiously.

"What's up," Greg asked.

"Nothing," Sara said, a little to quickly to be convincing.

"Okay," Greg said simply. Sara was pleased that he wasn't pressing her for any information.

"Are you done packing," Greg asked her. Sara shook her head.

"You remember that we're leaving tomorrow right," Greg asked her, eyes wide. Sara nodded.

"I don't have that much left to pack," Sara protested.

Of course, Sara hadn't even started packing. Like maybe this whole thing was a dream. Having friends, a boyfriend, going to the beach for a week. Like the last several moths have all been an elaborate dream, and maybe if she went along with it, it would all collapse around her ears. Maybe it was the letter from her mother that made her think like that. Maybe not.

"Okay," Greg said. He seemed to know that Sara was in a particularly fragile state right now. He leaned over and kissed her forehead.

"Want me to walk you home," He asked her softly. Sara shook her head. "Want me to leave," he asked. Sara considered and then nodded her head. She just wanted to be alone right now. It almost bothered her that Greg had asked that question, like he knew her, could read her enough to know what questions to ask. It almost bothered her that he could read her like that. It made her fell...a little vulnerable.

"Okay," Greg said again. He kissed her forehead again before getting off the swing and walking out of the park. Sara watched him. He was probably going back to her house, to wait for her, to talk to Kiley. Greg was the only one that came over to her house. Because he knew. Sara didn't want anyone else to see, to know. She wanted to keep that secret.

She sat there, moving only slightly. She took the letter out of her pocket again and re-read it, though that was unnecessary. Even as it became to dark to read, she continued to stare at the paper. She knew every word written on that paper, and no need to actually see them. When the moon was high in the sky, she got off the swing and walked home, slowly, dragging her feet.

As she predicated, when she got home, Greg was there waiting for her. He was talking happily to Kiley and sitting on her bed. Sara noticed two, obviously packed suitcases, sitting on her bed next to Greg.

"We packed for you," Kiley stated proudly when she walked into the room.

Sara smiled, because what else could she do. They had packed for her and they knew her well enough to know exactly what to pack. And then there was that nervous, vulnerable feeling again, because they knew her, they understood her. And she couldn't say exactly why, but it made her nervous that someone, anyone, could know her like that.

"Thanks," She said softly, sitting next to Greg. He immediately wrapped his arms around her, and Sara leaned into him. She felt nice, comfortable and safe right now, regardless of the letter, on maybe because of it. Maybe she wanted to defy her mother, knowing it would make her mad. Because she couldn't very well just ignore it. Those words were practically burned into her skull.

Dear Sara,

I am sorry that I have not written to you as often as I should. Or as often as you hope.

In reality, Sara wished she could just forget her mother, that her mother would just fall off the earth. Her mother was one of the little dark spots on Sara's heart and she wished it was never there, or would just disappear.

And I am sorry for missing your birthdays. I have had no opportunity to go shopping.

Sara used to admire her mother's sense of humor, but now she hated it. Just like she hated everything about her mother.

But when I get out, I hope to make it up to you. My lawyer (a public defender no less) says that they'll let me out after 15 years if my behavior is good. 15 years in total. That's only 10 more years, sweetie.

Sara wished they would keep her mother in prison forever. 15 years was insane. They should keep her in that iron cage for the rest of her life. They should let her mother rot in there.

Maybe you could write to me. I would like that. There is very little to do here, and I get very bored. I hope your foster family is treating you well. I want to know what's going on. You are still my child after all, and I love you very much Sara. I hope you're keeping you grade up and doing well in school. I would love to hear about everything that's going on. Please write Sara, I miss you so much.

Much Love,

Mom

Sara knew she would never, ever write to her mother. She would never let her mother know what was going on in her life. She would shut her mother out. And when she got to collage, and after that. She would erase all the bread crumbs. She would disappear and never let her mother find her. Especially if her mother ever got out.

The letter, as with all the letters that came before this one, sounded dry and empty to Sara. They lacked actual feeling, real emotion. Maybe it was just Sara, but maybe it wasn't. Either way, she knew she would throw this letter away, like she did with all the other letters. But not just throw it away, she would burn it. She would erase any trace of the letter's existence, like she could pretend it had never come, had never been written.

Like maybe if it was turned to ashes, Sara could pretend she never read it, never got it, never touched that evil letter. Like she could pretend her mother was only that little dark spot on her heart, nothing else.

But there was Greg, who still hugged her tightly. Who knew nothing of this letter, nothing of that darkness. He knew about her past, about her mother, and loved her anyway. He still hugged her like he could fix all the cracks and breaks in her heart. He was there like he could mend all that was wrong with her. Maybe he was stupid, or naive or overly confident in himself. Ignored all that was wrong with her. Or maybe he just didn't care, loved her to much to care.

She had Greg, who did love her, and she knew she could show him the letter and he would still comfort her. Would tell her she could make her own choices, and wasn't bound by anything as a teenager. She could show Greg, and he would desert her. She could trust Greg completely and fully. She could trust him with her life, and there was the problem.

It made her nervous because she never trusted anyone as much as Greg. No one had ever come along like that. Sara never felt she could trust anyone with her life, not even herself. But she could trust Greg. She could. And that made her nervous, like she was giving a part of herself away with that trust. And maybe she was. Maybe it was a good thing, but Sara couldn't tell.

And all this was spiraling around in her head. All her nervousness and insecurities. All her thoughts about her mother, and about Greg. Such different thoughts too. And Greg still held her, hugged her tightly to him. Like maybe he knew what was going on in her head, knew the general outline anyway. And Sara felt totally safe in his arms. Because she knew she could trust him, knew he wouldn't let anything happen to her. And this made her feel totally completely safe.

For the moment anyway.