Author's Note: I bet you weren't expecting to see an update for this anytime soon. Certainly not given the unexpected hiatus.
I apparently did not want this particular adventure to end. Because even though we'd watched the finale a long time ago, I faced a strangely intense writer's block ever since.
But enough of that. I'm rambling when I could be letting us get on with the story. All I will say is angst + liberties taken = this chapter.
And finally, thank you for tagging along on one of the sweetest writing adventures I've taken on. This has meant more to me than I can possibly say.
Enjoy!
Spoilers for Series 6, Episode 9.
It wasn't all that cold, not in September. She still felt chills travel up and down her spine.
The cause should have been confusing, should have being the emphasis. But she knew why. It would have been nice to blame such a feeling on the weather. Unfortunately, the woman knew better.
"And this is the future?"
Much like her chills, that conversation should have been harmless. A quip between colleagues, loved ones even. As it was, this particular discussion revolved around her mind without fail, always accompanied by the image of his trembling hands.
What was her man hiding from her?
She could no longer dismiss the facts. There was something. Something to worry over, something that prompted him to withdraw from her whenever he could.
Elsie Carson sighed, wondering just what their future would be.
"Mrs. Hughes?" She looked up at the visitor. She should have known. "Is everything all right?"
Elsie took in a breath, straightening up and managing a smile, "Of course it is." And when Thomas Barrow didn't let go of his concern, she continued: "Now, I don't suppose you had a purpose in stepping out?"
"Well," Something shifted in the man's countenance. The housekeeper opened her mouth. Only, she paused. She was being as bad as her husband. Pretending everything was all right when even the truth was out of her grasp.
But to confide in Thomas of all people?
No. She couldn't do that. "Well now, I don't suppose we ought to get on with it,"
Only, he was lingering. "If you're sure,"
She wasn't. But that wasn't the point.
Then again, what was the point of it all? Was there a point to be found?
She honestly didn't know.
_._
He should have been filled with wonderment and gratitude as he overheard this particular conversation. As it was, the only thing he felt was… a queer sense of dread.
"You know I wouldn't leave by choice, but it's time to draw a curtain over the past few months."
So, Thomas would be leaving them after all.
Anna persisted in conversing with the man, "Will you be working nearby?"
"Not far, the other side of York." Well, then. If everything fell apart as Charles anticipated, at least Mr. Barrow would be nearby to pick up the pieces. Not that that was particularly kind. Nor was it accurate. No doubt, Thomas was finished with Downton. Given their shoddy treatment of the man, the butler wouldn't blame him.
"So, we'll still see you?"
Right. There was no point in keeping quiet now, "What's this?"
It was Anna who spoke on the man's behalf, "Mr. Barrow's found a job."
"Has he?" Charles failed to keep his gaze off his own hands. But it was only a glance, nothing more. Still, he needed to get back to it. "Has he indeed?" He made sure to focus on the man in question. Might as well respect him by giving his full attention. "Well, I'm glad your efforts have paid off, Mr. Barrow. You deserve it."
"Thank you, Mr. Carson."
But before the butler could make his escape, it seemed Mr. Moseley had an interruption to make, "Ah, Mr. Carson. I thought I might walk down to the village after breakfast is cleared, if you have no objections."
"No, no, no, no." Why not? It wasn't as though he needed the support of a full staff to run things effectively. "Oh, you could pick up some silver polish at Bakewell's."
He left Mr. Moseley on that note, determined to have some time to himself.
Lord only knows he wasn't likely to get much of that in the days to come.
_._
She had been hoping to catch her breath today. As it happened, she had far too much to do.
Approaching her dearest friend, Elsie was quick with her request: "Nanny wants to take the children out for a picnic in the park, so could she have sandwiches instead of a sit-down lunch, please?"
"Very well. Can I give you a cup?"
"Oh, I don't mind if I do." And then she was catching sight of her man, feeling a breath of fresh air finally greet her. Funnily enough, for someone she saw every day, Charlie proved to be a sight for sore eyes. "Oh, just in time. Could you pour him one, too, please?"
He smiled off his approval, giving her a chance to ask, "What brings you in here?"
"Oh, I was looking for Mr. Moseley." So much for a kind and candid air. He was fumbling for his words, smiling and avoiding her gaze all the while. It didn't feel quite the same as it had a moment ago.
And then his hand shook.
Right in front of her.
That would have been bad enough, only he was doing his best to dismiss the matter, stilling the saucer. It would have been one thing if he'd been surprised or confused. But much like every other incident, he avoided the matter. Yet their eyes lingered on one another, just for a moment. He glanced at her and she stared at him, and the silence grew.
And then he was gone.
This had happened far too often to be a coincidence now. But he didn't dare to open up to her. After everything they'd been through, all the secrets they'd endured, he could not share this with her.
Should she pry? Or should she let him come to her in his own time?
His door loomed in the distance, opened and all too ready for her.
Only a short while later, she was marching into his room and praying he didn't keep shutting her out. When he looked up in confusion, she held up a hand. Silence. Shutting the door and drawing all the possible strength she could, she finally asked, "When were you going to tell me?"
"What about?"
Really, now! As though this were a joke or, worst still, a trivial part of their job, "The shaking."
He refused to get on with it, going so far as to hide his hands, "What 'shaking?'"
You ridicu–– this was not funny. This was not wise. What was it going to take for him to realise it was all right to confess the truth? "I am your wife. I love you. Your secrets are safe with me."
Yet again, he couldn't look at her, not really.
Still, perhaps this time the message would take and things would finally change.
"What 'shaking?'"
So much for change.
Naturally, that was that blasted door was being opened and they were faced with another interruption. One that he took on far too readily, "Ah, how can I help?"
It was Mr. Moseley who ruined her interrogation, "I ran into Mr. Dawes in the village,"
"And he wants you to take more lessons."
"I think so. And he's offered me a cottage." This conversation did not officially require her presence. She no longer had any official business here. She refused to leave. "It'll be empty soon, and he doesn't want the estate to have the excuse to take it back."
"So, you're handing in your notice."
"I don't know what I'm doing, really," Well, at least he was forthcoming with his dilemma. Unlike someone else! Mr. Moseley continued, perfectly ignorant to her thoughts, "Except asking for advice."
"You'll check with Mr. Branson that taking this cottage will suit the family?"
"Oh, yes," Elsie nearly rolled her eyes at that stupid remark. "Heaven forfend he should have a bit of good luck without checking with the Holy Family." If the family was the only reason her man was hiding this idiotic secret of his away, she might very well scream.
"I just wanted to put you in the picture." Well, that was kind, all things considered.
"Which I appreciate. Thank you, Mr. Moseley." Well, that wasn't anything else to be said, now was there? Certainly not with Mr. Moseley shutting the door. "So, now Mr. Barrow's going, Mr. Moseley is going, and only Andrew stands between me and Armageddon."
She took a breath, but she didn't sigh. She looked at him, but she knew better than to think she could make him understand. Any endeavour to reach him today would prove impossible, that much was clear. "Well, I suppose I better get on."
"Indeed." He was already back to perusing his papers.
Her heart grew heavy at the sight, her keys jangling in defeat as she stepped away.
But she couldn't leave it alone. Not really.
Looking back at her man, Elsie kept a hand on the door as she spoke, "You're not alone, Charles. Not if you don't want to be." She turned the knob, coming back to face him with one last truth, "You might not believe me, but I am on your side."
She cracked the door open before he could dismiss the memory.
_._
As much as he wanted to dismiss his condition, he couldn't. Not now.
Thankfully, no one had to walk down the stairs after that fiasco of a dinner. Honestly, to have––
But it didn't matter now. Not now when he had been dismissed from the dinner service and sent downstairs with Andrew as his escort. Chaos was upon them, and all because he couldn't control himself.
"Mrs. Hughes?" Andrew stepped ahead of the butler, poking his head into the housekeeper's sitting room, "Do you have a moment?"
"Of course I––Mr. Carson?" She'd spotted him loitering in the shadows. It was just as well. At least, this way there would be less of an atmosphere. Hopefully.
Charles stepped into the room with the full expectation of a chiding. All he got was a quiet understanding. As she puttered about, sending Andrew on his way, there was no reprimand or rebuke. No cheeky jest or jibe. Nothing of the sort.
He didn't deserve her.
"Drink this," She eventually offered, "It'll calm you down."
Charles knew better than to deny the offer. "I suppose you think I'm a drunk, or trembling with fear at the onset of old age."
"I do not," Somehow, he believed her. "But I would like to know what it is."
Great. As though he wasn't painfully aware of these details. As though he hadn't spent a good part of his life clinging to the possibility that this condition would skip over him. He'd been foolish to believe that maintaining good standards would stave it off, but that is what had kept him going.
His wife carried on, "I'll make an appointment."
"There's no need."
"I don't believe ignorance is bliss." Of course she didn't. "At any rate, it isn't bliss to me."
His thoughts were thrown back to 1920. I am on your side. In 1920, she managed to be kind in spite of his stupidity. Now, today, she was much the same. His wife wasn't blustering about the pudding glasses or whatever nonsense he'd been on about.
Truth be told, she always handled everything much better than he ever could.
Right. Although the butler wanted to keep this a secret, he knew that was a luxury he no longer could indulge. "There's no need because I know what it is."
She froze.
This atmosphere of theirs stumbled into something else.
Charles really wished for her not to look as though she'd been slapped in the face.
Right. He could not look at her. Not when his family's shame was to finally come into light. "My father had it, and my grandfather," It was getting difficult to breathe, to keep an even tone. He refused to stop. "And it finished the careers of both of them."
He tried to look at her, really. But no one outside the family had ever heard this tale. He never imagined he would be the one to reveal it. "It's not really a proper condition. It doesn't even have a name. Grandad called it 'the palsy,' but these days I just have shaky hands."
Hands that failed him tonight, and would continue to fail him for the rest of his days. "The plain truth is, I'm done for."
The plain truth is, I'm done for. Elsie nearly missed the sound of someone knocking at the door. His words continued to spin around her, making this next interruption almost a blessing.
But the truth was that there wasn't a blessing in sight.
"Is everything all right?"
Elsie looked at Beryl, not realising she'd left the pantry far behind. When had she'd done that? Did it matter?
"Mrs. Hughes?" The cook continued to question. The housekeeper shook her head and trudged toward the door outside, unable to speak. She couldn't even bring herself to cry.
_._
She wouldn't be able to bounce back for quite some time. Even when enough time had passed, it wasn't like she'd bounced back so much as it was she'd become deeply determined to fix things. To change something for the better.
Which meant she needed as many of the facts as possible.
_._
She'd finally been able to get the story from him. She'd finally been able to pluck more details out of this cryptic affair.
She remained at a loss for a solution.
"But is that all there is to it?" Elsie sighed, leaning back in her chair, "Surely something's changed in the world? I mean, what if there's some sort of invention or––or perhaps some sort of medicine that could help?"
His resounding smile was grim, the man letting go of her hands. But he wasn't retreating from her. More like, he'd simply given up on the matter and was content to show her why it was hopeless.
"Look at that," this was a surprisingly gentle request, all things considered. She almost couldn't bring herself to respect it. This was not as discomfiting as Mr. Bates's wretched limp-corrector. But there was something heartwrenching about the sight of Charlie's hand twitching away. "I always hoped it'd pass me by, but no such luck. That's all there is to it."
Elsie hadn't realised she'd taken a hold of his hand, barely registering the trembles. But she couldn't deny the facts. Not when they were so painfully obvious.
"Oh, you're busy." For once, Mr. Moseley's presence brought true frustration with it.
But it wasn't as though they could turn the man out, "No, no. What is it?"
Mr. Moseley wasted no time getting to it, "I'm going to accept the offer from Mr. Dawes, of the cottage."
"I see." Oh, dear. "So, now I'm down to one footman and me."
"I thought about that." Oh? Elsie studied Mr. Moseley, curious to hear the man out. "I wondered if for a house party, or on special occasions, I could come back. I––I've got my livery and I just have to walk up from the village."
"Your livery stays here,"
Charles! Before anything else could go wrong, she interjected, "That's kind, Mr. Moseley. Mr. Carson will be extremely grateful, when he's in his right mind." And, yes, she did ignore her man's indignant stare. He could grouse all he wanted; she wasn't wrong!
Concentrating on Mr. Moseley, Elsie put forth, "Do you know when you'll be going?"
He didn't shrug, but it was a near thing, "Depends if you'd like me to work out my notice."
"No need for that, I might as well get used to it." And there's no need for that sort of tone. Honestly, did he want to meet his precious standards or not?
"Then I'll move my things gradually, and move out in a week or so. I'll tell you when." At Mr. Moseley's assurance, Elsie nodded. As it happened, it was the man's concern that coaxed the smallest of smiles from her: "Mr. Carson, are you all right?"
"Never better."
That irritated Elsie. She didn't roll her eyes at it. But once the door was shut, "Why say you're 'never better?'"
Oh, now she'd done it. Indignation was a quaint term for the look he was shooting her, "I see. I'm to tell my private business to the whole world now?" He didn't need to do that, not exactly. "And when was I ever not in my right mind?"
I cannot believe–– "Well, really! 'Your livery stays here,' I ask you."
"The fact remains that we're down to Andrew and me, and I am worse than useless."
That stung more than anything. She knew what it was like to feel that. To wonder why you were stuck in such a burdening position, to feel like your life'd become so pointless.
But surely there was something that could be done?
This was a question that trailed after Elsie throughout the rest of the evening. She managed to make it through dinner well enough, but she couldn't deny the facts: the circumstances bothered her a great deal.
Which was putting it nicely, obviously. But that was the only way she could put it.
"Oh, hello, what can we do for you?"
The housekeeper had been moving out of habit, needing a moment. Luckily, a moment for her was only a second for the rest of the world. That being said, she recovered smoothly enough to shoot off a lie in the direction of the cook, "I just looked in to say goodnight. We're going now."
"Oh," Mrs. Patmore nodded at the thought, "Back to the carefree love nest."
Well, now. I wouldn't call it that. And though she knew the best thing for it was to laugh and nod at Mrs. Patmore's comment, she couldn't quite manage that either.
Beryl gave her another look, "I hope?"
Elsie almost hadn't heard her friend. By the time she had heard the woman, she knew she only had a few seconds before an interrogation would start up, "Oh, it's a love nest all right, but no life is carefree."
Thank heaven her voice hadn't cracked at that admission. She mentally swatted her thoughts away, needing to get away from these faces dripping with concern, "Goodnight!"
Surely there was something that could fix this mess? Right?
_._
Right. More torturous time into this ordeal, and his secret was finally out. His Lordship and Lady Mary now grasped all the unfortunate facts. "I should have been more honest with you, milady,"
This wasn't to be the end of the awkwardness, that was for sure. Not with Elsie stumbling in on them. He heard rather than saw his wife let out a quiet exclamation at the sight of their employers as she opened the door, "I didn't know you were in here."
Charles doubted that. But that was neither here nor there.
"Please, come in, Mrs. Hughes, and talk some sense into your husband."
The door shut. "So, he's told you, milord?"
Indeed, I have. "When the wedding is over, I will place an advertisement and I will do the preliminary interviews myself." He should have prepared them for this long before now. "I could not give this house or this family into hands that I do not trust."
"This is very drastic."
In the butler's opinion, it was long overdue. What if his ineptitude were to do him in before the house was prepared? How could he have been so foolish as to let it carry on for this long?
"But you'll stay in our lives, Carson." The urge to close his eyes nearly claimed him at the sound of Lady Mary's words. All he could bring himself to do was listen. "You'll stay on the estate, keep a seeing eye on things, help manage grand events, and so on."
"I would like to say yes to that, milady," It would have been an honour to say the least. "But I doubt that the new butler would accept the job under such terms. I know that I wouldn't."
Thankfully, they didn't try to keep protesting the matter. Instead, his employers soon took their leave with a sympathetic air. He registered kind words, words he felt he didn't deserve. But in the end, it was only Elsie and him in the room.
She pulled him into an embrace. He accepted it without question.
_._
There was no question of it: there truly was a way out of this mess. It'd taken her a lot longer than she would have liked, but Elsie Carson had pieced together a plan. More than that, she was determined to see it through.
"And where are you headed off to?"
The housekeeper kept a light air as she turned on her heel, decades of discretion giving nothing away. "Oh, I thought I'd go down into the village and see to a few errands I'd forgotten about."
Her man nodded as though he wanted to come with. But one look at his hands had him frowning, "I'm afraid I've nothing that needs doing there."
Elsie nodded, knowing that was a lie. But it was for the best that he didn't accompany her. He wouldn't approve of her latest endeavour.
Sending a letter to their former under-butler, after all, would only upset him.
Days later, she had finally received a discreet response from one Thomas Barrow. The fact of the matter was that he was unhappy enough to agree to any chance of returning to Downton. To the point where he didn't require an explanation as to Charles's condition.
She'd hoped Thomas would prove eager, having remembered the countless times Daisy alluded to Barrow's unhappiness. Yes, well, there remained one problem: Thomas still had to get the time off, and Charles simply had to be amenable to the idea.
But first things first. The wedding was almost upon them. Time may be running out, but there were still tasks to attend to. She couldn't abandon her job, certainly not when Charlie had to step down.
_._
She manages the wedding well enough. As expected, Thomas stays closer to Anna and Miss Baxter than anyone else, but that works to her advantage. Now is not the time to put forth her plan. She's not fully convinced she can pull this off half as well as she might normally, not with the current circumstances. This isn't a household affair; this is their life together.
It's not even a real plan as much as it is a folly, a hope.
But she cares too much to give up now, and so she manages her way through the day.
Hours later, the party is in full swing and drinks are being served. She has hoped it wouldn't come to this, but the drinks are where her man is likely to slip. And so she informs Thomas it could be in his best interest to stay nearby all that. After all, Charles had informed her earlier that he was determined to serve, even if it killed him.
Hopefully, it won't.
Either way, there is one final detail to put into place.
In the end, she doesn't have to officially seek his Lordship out. She can't even fully remember what gets them to cross paths. But the aristocrat is in a fairly jovial mood, distracted enough to make a brief conversation with his housekeeper –– even if the mood dampens at the sight of their butler determinedly setting up the drinks.
"It really is a pity we've been unable to solve that," His Lordship remarks as he can, frowning at the thought.
Elsie nods in full agreement, but keeps quiet.
The aristocrat glances at her again, "Mrs. Hughes, am I to take it you've got an idea?"
"Not exactly, milord, only," Elsie resists the urge to point out the obvious: if the house is aware of Thomas's unhappiness, surely it's clear that taking him back is solution?
But it won't work to proclaim such a thing. Words have proven time and time again to do very little for the situation. Luckily, her employer is distracted by the approach of his new puppy and Elsie is able to step back just in time to watch something truly terrible occur.
Her man's hand fails to pour the drinks and he finally begins to properly give up. Thomas tries to quietly gauge if this peculiar condition –– for a condition is what it has to be; the butler would never let his standards crumble otherwise –– is the reason why she's asked him to return to Downton.
She cannot speak. She can only stride forward and pray that everything gets resolved.
Thomas gets the message, thank the Lord. He sees his opportunity, makes the offer to serve the drinks, and it's with relief that Elsie listens to his Lordship finally understand the solution. Luckier still, Charles accepts said solution with little bluster.
If only that could last: "I don't want to force your hand, Mr. Barrow."
"And I don't want to twist your arm, Mr. Carson."
Enough of this. If those two are given any more time, bluster will return tenfold. It's time to intervene, "I think his Lordship has found a solution, so we should be glad of that."
Her man accepts that remark, yet defeat lines his body as he lets her guide him out of sight. The door leading downstairs beckons them away from the crowd. At once she knows where they'll end up.
How familiar this is, following him into his pantry.
If only she'd had a toast for them. Maybe then these next five minutes would go far better.
"Something tells me," The butler begins tiredly, only speaking up after he shut the door. Elsie feels a similar wave of weariness overtake her, but she refuses to give into it. Not now. "That this was not his Lordship's idea, so much as it was yours."
She tilts her head, ready to fight for this new life with everything she's got, "And what makes you say that?"
"Elsie," He starts up, prompting the woman to properly freeze. But she's not ashamed. Even if he's disappointed in her, she is not ashamed of this.
And as it happens, "If you must know, I'm not opposed to the idea. Not entirely. As I said before, I did train Barrow myself."
"But?" She doesn't need to ask, not really. But she knows it's important for him to finally admit to the facts.
And admit the facts he does, "Up until now, I could still pretend to manage the whole thing. But now," he pauses, shaking his head, wandering further and further into his thoughts, "To step aside for Barrow of all people,"
He cannot continue to speak. He cannot even move about or indignantly protest the matter or––
She's there with hands ready to soothe him.
He stills, desperate to gulp back tears.
She speaks, obstinately clutching at a hope she truly thinks they deserve, "Would it really be so bad? Retirement?"
"It's not what I expected," You mean, it's not what you hoped for. The more she thinks on the matter, the more it explains. This condition would explain how when the Great War was on, he'd become frenetic. It might even explain why he'd been willing to leave Downton for Lady Mary, back when Sir Richard Carlisle was in the picture.
But he's taking her away from her thoughts, slumping, clinging to her and bringing her back to his reality as he admits, "I really wished it had skipped me by,"
"Of course you did." Had she known about it, she would have wished and prayed for the exact same thing. "But it hadn't. And now,"
"And now you're stuck with something worse than a curmudgeon," Charles shakes his head at the thought, disgusted with himself for failing in this regard. "An invalid." He doesn't deny the urge to shudder, turning to her. "Are you sure you don't want to change your life entirely? Now that you know the truth?"
Elsie doesn't bother with words. Words will never get her conviction across.
If only they aren't being interrupted by a knock at the door. Then maybe he could actually begin to believe her. But they are interrupted and it's unfortunately for good reason: Anna needs all the help they can give.
Elsie ignores her man as he sputters and stammers his disbelief, declaring that such a thing shouldn't be possible. Not because Anna doesn't deserve such happiness. Rather, does the blessed Lady Mary deserve to be burdened with such an indecorous thing?
Personally, Elsie's a little amused that Anna's waters broke in the aristocrat's room. She's worried more than anything else –– will her favourite lady's maid survive the ordeal? Will the baby make it out all right? –– but she's also a little amused by the thought of it.
It is a success. As is everything else of the night.
Well, almost everything. She's not entirely convinced her Charlie is at peace with the changes before them.
But can she really expect him to adapt so easily?
She supposes not.
Soon enough, they're seated at the table with the others, and it's not as though she can ask him such a thing when the new year is upon them. She knows that this is not the time for Charlie and Elsie Carson to make an appearance. Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson are required here.
And still, in spite of everything, he still manages to sneak in a private word. Not so private as anything in his pantry or her room, mind. But there is something to be said for the fact that he is approaching her with a look that speaks volumes.
He cannot say anything, not at first.
But he is managing something, in the end: "It'll be a different life."
Her heart lightens at the sound of those words, confidence coming back to her as she remarks, "But we can make a go of it, Charlie, and I definitely mean to try."
She doesn't have time to doubt her words, not when his eyes are softening and he's leaning in to bestow her with a peck. She wants more while they can still have it, but she's willing to settle. For now. "Happy new year."
"Happy new year, Elsie." She blinks.
Her Christan name.
He's said her Christian name downstairs.
He's said her Christian name downstairs with the entire staff hanging about.
Time and time again may have proven words to be ineffective, but this moment is proving to be an exception to that. Quickly, before anyone can interrupt, she's the one pulling him for something, something that's more than a peck and can barely be described as chaste.
They're both a little flustered from this moment, but neither of them can regret it.
And then Mr. Barrow is offering her a drink and Auld Lang Syne is slipping out of her before she can think. And though the song eventually comes to an end, their hands have found one another in the midst of it. And neither has any intention of letting go, not for as long as they can help it.
Today's Inspiration: Nothing in particular, this time. Well, that's not entirely true. Rewatching the scene where Thomas is declared the new butler, I felt that Mrs. Hughes was more of a plotter than we officially saw in the finale, so I suppose that did play a hand. Hence, the liberties that were taken.
In Response to Future Guest Reviewers: To any guest who has reviewed Another Time, Another Place, you'll find that your review has now been officially responded to (it felt like the fairest thing to do was wait until both stories had been officially completed before responding to reviews).
Author's Note: Jimney Christmas, I cannot believe we did it. We actually finished the show. Apparently, May is bringing quite a bit of change with it.
To anyone wondering about whether or not I'll be writing up something for the movie: I'm torn. I did enjoy the first movie to a degree, but… well, I would honestly want to play with it much like Another Time, Another Place. There are just some things (much like with Series 6) that I think would play out differently.
So, if you'd like to see an alternative version of the movie, let me know! If not, no worries. I haven't actually forced my sister––I mean, we haven't had a chance to sit down and watch it. Maybe when we do, I'll see little things that can be elaborated on much like Time and Time Again.
In any case, I truly hope you have enjoyed today's update, not to mention the series as a whole. It has meant a lot that you've stuck with me throughout all of this, and that you're reading these words. Thank you.
