The next few months were unbearable for Andrea. Emily kept her updated on the editor's situation, so she refrained from interfering despite every bone in her body telling her to. Nearly every weekend her fingers hovered over her phone, about to send a text message to the editor. But she held back. Miranda had to want this, she had to come to this on her own.

Miranda began to rely on Emily more, now that she knew about her little habit. Emily flat out refused to buy or transport any illegal substances, explaining to Miranda that she would be deported back to England if she were caught doing any of that. Still, she found other ways that Emily was able to cover for her, so she kept her close and denied Emily the promotion to Buyer that she so clearly deserved.

It was all too much for Emily, and after talking it over with Serena, she decided to apply at Cosmo and was hired on the spot. Miranda would hate that she was going to the competition, but at least there, she had a chance to learn and grow and do the work she loved. Assisting Miranda was no longer the work she loved.

As expected, Miranda was furious that Emily was leaving. Emily was willing to stay out her two weeks, but Miranda told her to pack her things and leave immediately. It broke Emily's heart to see her like this, but as Andrea always reminded her, Miranda did this to herself. Still, she had an idea.

"I need you to help me with something this afternoon," Emily said.

"Hello to you, too. What is it?"

"I want your help finding Miranda a new assistant. Technically I'm still on payroll for the next two weeks, but Miranda won't let me come in the office. This will be the last thing I do for her, and I want to do it well."

"And you need me because—?"

"Must I really spell it out, Andrea?" Emily sighed. "You're better at this. You know what she needs. I can't see past appearances."

Andrea chuckled. "You do have a point. What do you propose?"

"I got a box of resumes from HR, people who've applied for or been deemed potential for a role as a personal assistant within the last three months. I'm taking it home—Miranda will think it's just me packing up my desk. I need you to come over tonight and help me sift through these all."

"I'll bring the wine," Andrea said, and she agreed to meet her later that night.

But first, she felt justified in finally sending that text to Miranda: I heard about Emily. I'm sorry, Miranda. I know that must be hard. If you need help in the interim, or just a warm body to bitch at, I'm here. -Andrea

She did not expect a response, let alone a phone call.

"Hello?"

"Andrea."

"Miranda."

"Yes, well. I don't need your pity. I don't want your pity."

Andrea took a deep breath. "I know. I do actually care about you, you know."

Miranda humphed. "Can you believe she would go to Cosmo of all places? Of all the places she could have chosen. Was she that desperate to leave?"

"I thought she gave you her two weeks' notice?" Andrea said.

"That was just for show."

"It's a shame she couldn't have stayed at Runway and moved onto another position there instead."

"You little—" Miranda hissed. "You think I deserve this, because I didn't promote her. Is that what you were going to say? Well I didn't promote her because there was a better position coming. Accessories."

"Isn't that Jocelyn?"

"Exactly. I couldn't come out and tell her that, now could I?"

"Did you at least explain to her that you thought she could do better and that you might have an opening in the future?"

Miranda didn't respond.

"Miranda? Did you say anything to her?"

"I told her that she didn't get an interview because I removed her from consideration for the Buyer position."

"And you wonder why she left."

"She was a nuisance, anyway. A liability. Her and that 'I'm going to be deported!' nonsense," Miranda said.

"How is that going, by the way? Have you thought any more about rehab?"

Suddenly, the line went dead.

Andrea groaned and threw her phone on her desk. This was going to be difficult.

That night, the two former assistants selected six people from a box of about seventy-five. Emily arranged to interview them at the Starbucks across the street from Elias Clarke the following day, and Andrea rearranged her schedule so she could join. They hoped to narrow it down to three or four candidates, which Helen from HR would send to Miranda, with a note saying "These candidates don't seem to have the sense of style you are looking for, and they're not really interested in fashion, but it's all I have right now."

Emily and Andrea hoped that Miranda's brain would see that as a challenge and accept them on the spot. It was Emily's idea to make them sound more like Andrea than herself, knowing Miranda still had a soft spot for the brunette. After the back-to-back interviews, Emily happily emailed the names of four people to HR.

Andrea was relieved to hear that Miranda, indeed, hired the first two on the spot. Rebecca and Stephen started the following Monday, and Emily spent the week training them from Starbucks. Knowing the editor's work life was taken care of gave her hope that Miranda would have time to focus on herself.

Exactly one month after Emily left, Andrea's cell phone rang. It was just after 7:00 am on a Friday morning. "Miranda?" she answered.

"Cara quit. Can you believe it?"

"Wow, no, I'm shocked. How are Caroline and Cassidy handling that?"

"Not well." Andrea could imagine Miranda pinching the bridge of her nose. "They, uh, I mean, James, he—they're moving in with him. Permanently."

"What!? Oh my god, Miranda, are you okay?"

"Of course I'm okay, why wouldn't I be? I have two new assistants, so much better than you or Emily ever were. Runway is doing better than ever. Everything is fucking wonderful."

"Oookay. I'm not sure what you want me to say."

"I've never been more disappointed in you, Andrea. I just thought you should know."

Before Andrea could respond, Miranda ended the call.

"What the hell?" Andrea said out loud, staring at her phone. She texted Rebecca to make sure she knew that Cara left and Miranda would need a housekeeper, preferably one who could make some simple meals, too.

As she was walking to work, she got a text message from Miranda.

You said you were with me, but you lied. You aren't. You've always been right.

Andrea was confused by the cryptic message, so she tried calling her back, but it went to voicemail. So, she left a message: "I got your text, Miranda, and I just wanted to chat about it. And despite what you may think, I am with you. I'm on your side. I've got your back. I am with you in spirit. I care about you—very much."

She found it difficult to focus on work all morning, but thankfully they had a two-hour monthly planning meeting scheduled, so she could let her mind wander for a bit until she received another text message, this time it was Rebecca telling her Miranda didn't come in and she couldn't get in touch with her. Andrea looked up at the clock and decided that once the meeting was over, she would go to the townhouse to check on her.

Less than an hour later, she walked up the concrete stairs and let herself in. "Miranda?"

When there was no response, she walked over to the kitchen, where she saw Miranda's bag and coat draped over a chair.

That's when she saw her.

There, on the kitchen floor. A needle sticking out of her arm.

Her lips were blue. Periwinkle blue.

Andrea's heart sank to the pit of her stomach. She rushed over to her, fighting the urge to wretch. "Miranda!" she called, shaking the woman, gently slapping her cheeks.

She quickly dialed 9-1-1 on her cell phone and tossed it on the ground, putting it on speaker. As she explained the emergency to the dispatcher, she rifled through Miranda's kitchen cabinets, looking for the first aid kit that contained two emergency doses of Naloxone for an opioid overdose, which, judging by her lips, this was.

The dispatcher told her to administer the Naloxone, explaining that it wouldn't make anything worse unless she had an allergic reaction to it. Then, she told her to immediately begin breaths and chest compressions.

Andrea cried while her hands pressed down on Miranda's chest, so hard she thought she heard some ribs cracking. "Please don't die," she repeated over and over. She was angry and scared and completely in love with the insanely stubborn editor.

When the paramedics arrived, they took over compressions and got Miranda into the ambulance right away. Andrea rode with them, holding Miranda's limp hand the whole way to the hospital. En route, they gave her a second dose of Naloxone, and Andrea prayed like she'd never prayed before. And just like that, Miranda gasped and opened her eyes.

Andrea felt the woman's hand gripping her own and she couldn't stop the tears flowing down her cheeks. The EMTs were busy asking her questions, getting her hooked up to a heart monitor, giving her oxygen, so Andrea stayed quiet, tucked into a little ball near the end of the stretcher.

"Andrea?" she heard the editor say weakly.

She was immediately at her side, squeezing her hand and brushing the hair out of her eyes. "I'm here. I'm with you," she said.

"I—I'm sorry," Miranda whispered before her eyes shut and her hand again went limp.

"What's happening?!" Andrea gasped.

"She's resting," an EMT quickly reassured her, looking at the heart monitor. "An overdose is a big strain on a body. She's going to feel exhausted for awhile. We're not out of the woods just yet, but if you hadn't found her when you did, we might be having a different conversation."

Andrea couldn't handle that thought. Locating the trash can, she leaned over and vomited.

When they got to the hospital, Andrea explained to the doctor that she knew Miranda used cocaine occasionally, but wasn't sure about anything else.

"You're sure she doesn't use heroin or any other opiate?"

"I'm not sure of anything," Andrea cried. "I've only known her to use cocaine occasionally. It was getting out of hand. She refused to get help."

"Okay, then maybe her cocaine was cut with heroin or fentanyl. If that's the case, it would explain why she had symptoms of an opioid overdose and responded to the Naloxone. Can you explain why she had it in the house? It's not something most people have."

"She wanted a fully-stocked first aid kit. Her daughters are almost teenagers. I think she was worried she'd need it for one of them, or their friends. I really don't know. Can you, um, can you force her to do rehab this time?"

The doctor frowned. "Let's get her stabilized first. In my experience, forcing rehab never works."

Andrea nodded and sat in the chair next to Miranda's bed, softly stroking her arm. Nurses came in and out, hooking her up to various monitors, drawing blood, administering medication. It was nonstop. She didn't have a second to think until they took Miranda for a CT scan because apparently she also had a gash on the side of her head. Andrea used that time to update Rebecca and Emily on the situation—and email her boss to say she had a family emergency and would need a few days off.

Meanwhile, a nurse brought Andrea a warm blanket and some cranberry juice. "For me?" Andrea asked.

"Yes. It wouldn't do us any good to have you passing out on us. You're white as a sheet."

Andrea thanked her and sipped the juice. She had to admit, the warm blanket was extremely comforting.

When Miranda returned to the room, she was more awake, and appeared to be agitated. A nurse explained that they were going to sedate her for her own safety, and Andrea asked if she could have a few minutes with her first.

"Five minutes, that's it," he said. Andrea nodded appreciatively.

Miranda stared up at the ceiling as she were in the Sistine Chapel.

Andrea bent over and hugged Miranda, gently at first, then tighter when she felt the woman's arms wrap around her, too. Her tears streamed down her face and she could hardly put words together.

"I'm sorry."

It was just a whisper, but Andrea heard it and pulled back.

"Don't make me say it again," Miranda said, wiping the tears from her own cheeks.

"I won't," she said, pressing a kiss to the woman's cheek, her forehead, her cheek again. "I was so scared. I thought… I didn't know…"

Miranda closed her eyes. "Who all knows?"

I told Rebecca the basics, so she could work with Leslee on any press, and then—"

"Leslee no longer represents me."

"—Emily. Wait, what? She doesn't?"

Miranda shook her head. "Last week. I forget what her excuse was. But Rebecca knows. She's good." She looked right at her when she said that last part.

"How did you know?"

"She answers the phone like you. They both do, actually."

Andrea smiled. "I wanted to make sure you were taken care of at work." Sensing that Miranda's awake and alert time was waning, she took her hand. "Okay, serious question. Do you want me to talk to James or the girls?"

"About this? Lord, no. Not a word."

"Okay. I respect that."

"But—?"

"But I think you should call them."

"They made it clear they wanted nothing to do with me."

"Miranda, they're twelve."

"—going on eighteen."

"They are kids. You've been their world for their entire lives. It's hard, seeing you like this the past few months. And I've only known you for two years."

"They have never seen me as you have."

"Maybe not, but they are sensitive and pick up on all sorts of stuff." Andrea reached into her bag and pulled out Miranda's cell phone. "Call them. It's still before bedtime," she said, holding the phone out.

Miranda rolled her eyes and took the phone, dialing James's landline. "It's me. Can I talk to them?"

Andrea wasn't sure what he was saying, but Miranda seemed to be floundering. "You want to tell them goodnight," she whispered.

"I just want to say goodnight. Thirty seconds."

"You love them and miss them and hope they have a good night with their dad," Andrea supplied.

"Hello, Bobbseys, my darlings. I know this morning was hard. I just wanted to tell you both that I love you—so very much—and that I miss you. I hope you have a good time with your father. … Yes, darling, very much so. I love you both. Sweet dreams."

Andrea smiled and held her hand out.

"You don't have to gloat," Miranda said, depositing the phone back in her hand.

Just then, the nurse returned. "Miranda, we need to give you some medication. It's going to make you feel very tired, but your body needs the rest."

"Wait—" Andrea said, just before he administered the medication into Miranda's IV. She reached over and hugged Miranda once more, kissing her cheek and whispering into her ear.

"All set?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied, her eyes once again welling with tears. "Sweet dreams, my friend. I'll be here when you wake."