London, England
April 2016

To keep on keeping on

There's a knock on the door and I signal for the man opposite me that I need to accept this. He nods and falls silent, thus allowing me to take a few steps closer to the door.

"Yes, come in, please!" I call out loudly

The door opens to reveal Andrew, one of Ken's assistant private secretaries. "Miss? Your father has arrived, Miss."

"Bring him in, please, Andrew," I reply briskly. "Also, would you mind telling Mr Overy that I should like to see him at his earliest convenience?"

"Of course, Miss." Andrew nods. "Anything else?"

I cast a quick look at the ornate clock on the equally ornate mantelpiece. (You're hard-pressed to find anything not ornate in Buckingham Palace.) It's around 11am and while I've already had breakfast, Dad must be hungry, especially if he was unfortunate enough to choose Air Canada's omelette and chicken sausage-option.

"Could you ask the cook to prepare a light breakfast, please?" I add.

"Of course, Miss," repeats Andrew. "Will you take it in the breakfast room?"

If there's one thing I will never get used to about these palaces, it's the existence of breakfast rooms.

"No, we'll take it here," I decide. "It doesn't have to be anything elaborate. Just some coffee and light refreshments, please."

"Absolutely, Miss," confirms Andrew and I have to resist the urge to tell him to stop calling me Miss all the time. He never used to do it as much, but ever since I came back, all members of the staff make liberal use of the word.

Inclining my head, I permit Andrew to leave. He withdraws, but leaves the door open for Dad, who cautiously enters the room.

He looks a bit tired and rumpled, but he's a comforting and familiar presence, and when I see him, my first impulse is to throw myself into his arms and just let him hold me. But we're not alone and there's still work to be done, so I simply signal that I need another minute and point him towards a pair of sofas near the empty fireplace. Dad smiles and the smile alone gives me strength.

I turn back to the man who patiently waits for me by the desk. "Please excuse the interruption."

"No problem at all," he assures me. "I'm almost done anyway. There's just this last bill here."

He passes me a folder that I accept without opening it.

"It's an important piece of legislation," he continues. "If at all possible, we'd like for the Queen and the Prince of Wales to give their assent to it."

I've already begun shaking my head before he even finished speaking. "That won't be possible. Her Majesty is not to be bothered with matters of state at the moment. The Prince of Wales and the Duke of Kendal will sign it, but that's the best we can do right now."

With Owen out of it, his official duties are passed to two so-called counsellors of state. Eligible are the first four people in line to the throne plus Leslie as Owen's consort, but in practice, it falls to Ken and Teddy to sign the papers I collect for them.

The man nods, not looking surprised. He probably guessed that asking for Leslie to sign anything wasn't going to be successful. "That's alright, I think."

I slap a bright pink post-in on the folder and scrawl important on it, thus letting Teddy know to give the contents special attention.

"Anything else?" I ask, placing the folder on top of the others I accepted today.

"No, that'd be it," replies the man and gathers his briefcase.

"Very well. Please tell the Prime Minister that we will have the documents back with him tomorrow. Oh, and the Duke of Kendal will likely call him later today." As I speak, I turn for the door, thus signalling for the meeting to be over.

After exchanging the usual niceties, I see my guest out of the room, only for him to be replaced by Overy, who is already waiting in the corridor. He's the private secretary shared by Teddy and Persis and I've come to know him as a calm and collected presence. Seeing as I want to get back to Dad as soon as possible though, I don't ask him to come in, instead merely handing him the small stack of folders.

"Would you take these to the Duke of Kendal for his signature?" I ask. "I'll come get them in the evening so the Prince of Wales can co-sign them and then we'll send them back down to Downing Street tomorrow."

"Certainly, Miss," Overy replies and I just stop myself from grimacing at the form of address. I know it's a mark of respect, but…

As Overy retreats, two housemaids wheel in serving trolleys laden with what amounts to much more than 'a light breakfast'. I smile and thank them, but inwardly, I wonder what I have to do to stop the Buckingham Palace kitchen from cooking up a storm when all I want is a small snack. It's almost as if they want to throw away half the food!

"A light refreshment, eh?" Dad considers the food in front of him pointedly, before looking up at me with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Or what passes as such in here," I amend and plop down on the sofa next to him. "I hope you're hungry?"

"Famished," confirms Dad. "What they served as breakfast on the flight was barely edible."

What's betting he had the chicken sausage?

"Well…" I gesture at the bowls and plates stacked on the trolleys. "Knock yourself out."

Dad does just that, digging in heartily. I'm not very hungry, but I also fill a plate with fruit and some bread to be companionable. I want to give Dad some time before getting down to business, so decide to start with a little small talk before tackling the difficult subjects.

I just mean to ask how the flight was, when Dad beats me to it. "Who was the chap you were meeting with? He looked vaguely familiar."

"He's a senior aide to the Prime Minister," I explain. "You might have seen him on TV before."

"A senior aide to the Prime Minister?" repeats Dad, raising both eyebrows. "And he was here to deliver bills that need to be signed?"

"Among other things, yes," I confirm.

Dad hums thoughtfully and eats a forkful of egg. "Are you allowed to look at the papers he brought here? Aren't they state secrets or something?"

"I don't look at them!" I quickly defend myself. "I just accept them and pass them on to Teddy. Teddy is the one to read them!"

"Not Ken?" asks Dad.

I shake my head slowly. "He does when Teddy indicates that he should, but otherwise… Teddy is better equipped to deal with this at the moment. He reads everything the government brings over and then I put it before Ken for his signature."

"So our future king signs whatever paper anyone puts before him?" Dad clarifies, looking slightly amused. "That sounds like a scenario ripe for revolution."

"He signs what I put before him," I correct. "And I only tell him to sign what was okayed by Teddy and Elphinestone beforehand. Elphinestone is Owen's private secretary and helps Ted with the government things. He usually also takes the meetings with people from Downing Street, but he couldn't make it today and asked me to sit in for him this once. He really gets this legislative stuff, Elphinestone does, and Teddy is getting better at it, too. I'm really just passing papers around like some glorified secretary, but I promise you that if anyone was to stage a coup, they'd have to go through the three of us first."

Dad reaches out to squeeze my arm. "I'm just teasing you," he assures me. "I'm sure you have it all under control."

That makes me laugh, but it doesn't sound very amused. "I have absolutely nothing under control. I just pretend I do. Half the time, I'm waiting for someone to call me out on it, but somehow, no-one ever does."

Placing his fork down on his plate, Dad looks at me for a long second, before opening his arms wide. It's all the invitation I need. Scooting closer to him, I allow him to wrap me in a big hug, burrowing my face in the soft fabric of his shirt. I don't cry, because I know that if I start crying, I won't stop anymore, but the amount of comfort I draw from Dad's hug is more than I can put into words. I've had to be strong since I stepped off the plane from Ottawa, but right now, Dad can be strong for both of us and I'm feeling pretty grateful for it.

It's a long while before I pull back and Dad releases me from his hug. "Better?" he asks with a sympathetic smile.

I smooth down my hair, feeling a little self-conscious. "Yes, thank you. I… I guess I needed that."

Dad reaches out to push a wayward strand of hair behind my right ear. "How are you holding up?" he asks.

"Well…" I shrug. "I'm holding on, I think. Someone has to."

"It doesn't necessarily need to be you," Dad points out carefully.

In other circumstances, I might have been offended at him questioning me and my decisions, but it seems ridiculous to get worked up about something so trivial. "No, perhaps not," I therefore acknowledge. "I guess it's just… I know how the palace machinery works and the family trusts me… I'm not badly placed to help out."

"You're very brave to take on this responsibility," Dad tells me, his expression gentle but sincere.

I frown. "Is it bravery when I'm simply doing what has to be done? And faking it half the time, too?"

"It's brave when it doesn't have to be your battle to fight," Dad replies. "You came here not because you needed to but because you wanted to. That's a difference."

"I care about them," I try to explain, feeling a little helpless. "They're having an awful time and I'm trying to make it a little easier. It's as simple as that."

"And I'm sure you're doing a whole lot to help them," Dad assures me kindly. "Your Mum and I are very proud that you're so willing to offer your support like that."

Feeling a little uncomfortable with the praise, I use the opportunity to change the subject. "I'm surprised Mum isn't with you, to be honest. I half expected her to find a way to come, too."

Dad chuckles. "It's not for lack of trying on her part. She tried everything in her power to get this week off, but between her teaching obligations and the events she has booked to promote her new book, not even your mother could make it work."

"Did the hospital give you any trouble?" I ask, furrowing my brow. "I mean, it was extremely short notice and –"

Raising a hand, Dad silences me quickly. "It was absolutely no problem. We didn't have any complicated cases scheduled for surgery in the next week, so there wasn't anything I couldn't pass to my colleagues."

"But didn't people at the hospital mind you leaving so suddenly?" I insist.

"They might have minded if I had simply gone on a spontaneous Caribbean cruise, but I prefer to leave those to your grandma anyway," Dad answers, his eyes twinkling amusedly. "When I told them I was being consulted about the King's health, everyone was very understanding."

I take a deep breath and smile a somewhat shaky smile. "Which brings us to the elephant in the room…"

Dad nods, suddenly more business-like than before. "When do you want me to look at him?"

"As soon as possible, I guess," I reply. "Do you want to rest a little beforehand or get freshened up or something?"

"No need. I slept on the plane and changed into a fresh shirt just before landing. I was a little hungry, but that's been taken care of, too." He indicates the food still spread before us. I only nibbled a little on some fruit, but Dad tucked in heartily, yet there's still more than enough left. When all of this is over, someone really needs to have a talk with the kitchen staff about portion size.

"Shall we…" I gesture towards the door. "Shall we go to the hospital?"

Dad gets to his feet and holds out a hand to pull me up as well. Out on the corridor, I alert a footman to tell him that we're done with breakfast and to please have a car ready for us in a few minutes. When I do, I feel Dad looking at me a little strangely, but don't react to it. This, after all, is how it works here.

Before going outside to the car, I stop at Ken's room. Turning to Dad, I ask, "Would you mind waiting for a minute? Ken indicated he'd come with us and I just want to check whether he's still up for it."

Ken has been with me to the hospital before, generally very early in the morning or late at night when the streets are quiet and there's more privacy than in the glaring light of day. It's nearing noon now, so as bright as it gets, but I know it's important to him to greet my father and to find out immediately what he has to say about Owen.

"Go ahead. I promised you mother I'd call her anyway, so I might as well do it now," Dad assures me, already brandishing his mobile phone.

Leaving him to make his call, I quickly enter Ken's room, not bothering to knock. The curtains are drawn back, bathing the room in the light of a bright spring sun. Ken sits in a chair by the window, reading a heavy tome of a book. He looks up when he hears me and smiles in greeting. I smile back and make a mental note of the fact that he seems to have eaten some of the breakfast I sent up for him.

"My Dad is here," I tell him. "We're leaving for the hospital now. Do you want to come with us?"

Ken puts the book down. "Yes, of course. Thanks for coming to get me."

As he passes me on his way to the door, he grabs my hand for a moment and squeezes it. I squeeze back just as tightly, before we both let go at the same time, a silent sort of understanding. I can see that Ken takes a deep breath to collect himself before opening the door and I know that it isn't easy for him to put on a composed front right now, but years of training kick in and he manages to keep his expression calm.

"Gilbert! Thank you so much for coming. We really appreciate it," he greets Dad and holds out a hand for him to shake.

Dad pockets his phone and grasps Ken's hand. "It's good to see you again, though of course it would have been preferable under kinder circumstances."

Ken grimaces slightly and I briefly touch his back in support. He gives me a fleeting smile and squares his shoulders, seemingly drawing strength from my presence.

"We're very grateful that you agreed to come and check on my father," he tells Dad.

"I can't promise that I will be able to help him," Dad cautions. "I'm sure he's already getting excellent care and I might not be able to do more for him than his current doctors do."

I notice Ken hesitating and take a step forward. "No-one expects any miracles," I tell Dad quickly. "Owen's doctors are great and we don't doubt that he's getting the best care possible. It's just… it's different, hearing it from someone we know."

Dad nods slowly, his eyes flickering from me to Ken and back again. I can't tell what he's thinking, but Ken seems to have a better idea. He smiles wryly and meets Dad's gaze.

"Yes," he confirms some unspoken thought of Dad's. "I'm grateful you're here, but we'd all of us be lost without Rilla."

I swat at him, rolling my eyes. "Don't be dramatic."

What's it today with everyone trying to tell me it's somehow special what I'm doing here when all I really do is be there for people who are important to me?

Not wanting to give them more time to discuss this train of thought, I take two steps in direction of the staircase. "Shall we? The car is already waiting, I think."

Both Ken and Dad follow without protest and we make our way down to the courtyard, where we pile into a spacious limousine with tinted windows. With Beaverstock taking up the seat next to the driver, I find myself stuck in the middle of the backseat between Ken and Dad, but I suppose that's kind of a given. I am both the shortest of us and, well, the link between them.

"To the hospital," I instruct the driver, not needing to specify which hospital I mean. Moments later, we glide through one of the Buckingham Palace gates, preceded and followed by two SUVs carrying even more protection officers. (With Owen incapacitated, Ken's security was beefed up considerably I don't think he's taken much notice of it yet, but I've found it hard to overlook ever since Beckett walked me through the details.)

With our police escort, we zip through London traffic quickly and draw up in front of the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery in no time. Though when I say 'in front of the hospital' I really mean a discreet and shielded side entrance that lets us slip inside without having to walk the gauntlet of a whole lot of nosy long-lense cameras.

Once inside, we make our way to the heavily guarded section of the hospital where Owen lies. One of the PPOs on duty looks at Dad sceptically, but since he's with Ken and me, security can hardly deny him entry and we pass unchallenged.

"I called ahead this morning and the attending physician said to come meet him when we're there," I explain to the men as I guide them through the maze of halls and rooms that make up this hospital.

The physician primarily responsible for Owen's treatment is a thoughtful, earnest man named Dr Fallon who politely invites us into his office once we arrive there. (You never usually get to see a doctor this quickly in any hospital, but I guess when said doctor is treating the King, he's relieved of most other duties and thus has a lot of time on his hand to deal with relatives and other visitors.)

Still, I make sure to express my gratitude first-hand, lest he think we're taking him for granted. "Dr Fallon, thank you for seeing us today. May I introduce my father, Dr Gilbert Blythe? He's a neurosurgeon at Queen Alexandra Health Science Centre in Halifax."

"Yes, we've met before at conferences and of course I'm familiar with his work," Dr Fallon acknowledges and stretches out a hand for Dad to shake. "Dr Blythe, it's an honour to welcome you to our hospital."

"The honour is all mine, Dr Fallon," Dad immediately replies as he shakes the other man's hand. "I've heard a lot about the excellent work and research you do here. I read your latest paper in Neurosurgery with great interest."

Dr Fallon nods briskly. "And I studied your paper about suggestions for new experimental treatments in the Journal of Neurosurgery. I consider some of your ideas to be potentially ground-breaking."

Uh, yes. Can we stop with the adulations now?

"So, everyone knows each other already," I chime in brightly. "Excellent!"

While I speak, I gently nudge Ken forward, because what has to be said next best comes from him directly. He gives me a puzzled look at first, but when I roll my eyes meaningfully in direction of Dr Fallon, he cottons on. He might not be his best self right now, but thankfully, Ken has never been slow on the uptake.

He clears his throat and takes a step forward. "Dr Fallon, I want to express my entire family's gratitude for the great care everyone at this hospital is giving my father," he begins and I nod along with his words. "I also want to assure you that Gilbert's – Dr Blythe's presence is in no way a sign that we doubt your expertise. We know my father is getting the best possible care already and no-one intends for Dr Blythe to intervene in your treatment of him. However, we know Dr Blythe personally and I believe that this entire situation would be easier for some members of my family, my mother among them, if Dr Blythe could explain it to them directly, seeing as he is someone we've already gotten to know in happier times. I hope this wish doesn't offend you in any way."

When Ken stops talking, I exhale a breath I didn't realise I was holding. He basically made the same argument I already gave to Dad earlier, only so much more eloquently. Trust Ken to make a pretty speech even when his general well-being is… being less than well.

Predictably, Dr Fallon looks mollified by Ken's declaration and is quick to assure us that no, he isn't offended at all and of course he doesn't mind our request and anyway, it's an honour for him to finally get to work together with Dad. It's starting to turn into a second adulation feast, so I quickly step in before Dad has time to reply.

"Great!" I interject. "So, I suggest we'll leave the two of you to discuss relevant matters in your garbled medical jargon and go see His Majesty in the meantime. Is that alright for everyone?"

Dad and Dr Fallon look amicably enough. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Ken flinch when I suggest go seeing his father, but I make a point to ignore it. I know this is hard for him, but I also know he'll never stop blaming himself if he doesn't go visit Owen with some regularity at least. Thus, I take his hand and drag him with me, leaving no room for argument. As the door closes behind us, the two doctors bend over a collection of CT scans, already deep in discussion.

I grasp Ken's hand very tightly while we walk along the hospital halls, and he, too, holds on for dear life. As we turn the last corner, we nearly stumble into Teddy. His face is pale and his eyes are red-rimmed and he looks slightly uncomfortable to be seen like this.

There's a moment of hesitation as I take a breath and wait for the brothers to do… something.

"Ted," Ken finally acknowledges. He looks like he wants to add something more, but despite all his usual eloquence, he clearly doesn't know what to say here and now. In the end, he merely leans forward to give Teddy a quick, one-armed hug and somehow, that says more than all the words in the world.

The hug is over within seconds and Ken moves on without another word, his hand slipping from my grip. Teddy's eyes look a little redder still, but when I open my mouth, he shakes his head sharply. Now is clearly not the time for comfort.

"Do you have any papers for me?" he asks, his voice slightly gravely.

"I gave them to Overy," I reply, recognising that he needs normality right now to help him compose himself. "If you need any help with them, you can ask Elphinestone. I'll be over to get the papers for Ken sometime in the evening. My father is sitting with Dr Fallon right now and I'll give you an update on their talk tonight as well. Oh, and I also promised you'd call the Prime Minister later, but I think I can get Ken to do it today, if that is any help to you."

"That would be –" Teddy clears his throat. "That would be helpful."

Ken won't be much interested in talking to the Prime Minister, but if I can orchestrate for the call to happen right after we come back from the hospital, I'm reasonable sure he'll be able to sit through it. He's composed right now and he'll hold on to that composure by the tips of his fingers until it becomes too much and he crashes and breaks. I'll be the one to have to put him back together tonight, but that's okay. I know how to be strong for both of us.

Reaching forward, I wrap both arms around Teddy and bestow upon him a bear hug of my own. "Chin up," I murmur into his ear. "You're doing great. We'll figure this out. I promise."

Behind his back, I quickly cross my fingers. In the interest of comfort, I've been making an awful lot of promises recently and to be honest, there's very few of them I know I can actually cash. The majority is out of my hands, frustrating as it is.

Letting go off Teddy, I send him on his way with a pat on his back and an encouraging smile, noting with some satisfaction that he's looking a little less strained. When I hurry to enter the visitor's section in front of Owen's ICU room, however, I find Ken to look at least as stricken as his brother did, possibly even more so.

He stands close to the glass separating us from Owen and stares at his father, lying motionless in his hospital bed and hooked up to all kinds of scary, beeping machines.

Cautiously, I approach Ken and put a hand on his shoulder. "Do you want to go inside?" I ask. "We could talk to him a little. I promised to keep him updated on the Stanley Cup playoffs." (Which, in turn, Katya is keeping me updated on via text messages, because I wouldn't know when to look them up myself.)

Ken, however, ignores my suggestion. He doesn't move his eyes from his father behind the glass and at first, I'm not sure whether he's heard me at all, but then he reaches up to cover my hand with his.

"He looks so… so small," he whispers, his voice sounding hoarse. "He looks…" He breaks off, swallowing heavily.

There's pain in his voice and his face and even the way he holds himself and I'd do just about anything to take that pain away. I want to tell him that everything will be okay, that Owen will get better, that there's no need to worry and that he'll be alright, but despite all the uncovered promises I've made in the past weeks, I somehow can't get the words out. Right here, right now, I can't promise him something that might not come to pass.

And so, because there's nothing else to do, I move behind him, wrap my arms around him and rest my chin on his shoulder, hoping against hope that maybe it doesn't need words to express everything I can't say and that maybe, for now, being there can be enough.


The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Tangled Up in Blue' (written by Bob Dylan, released by him in 1975).


A/N: Just... be a little gentle tonight. I haven't had the easiest of weeks.


To Guest:
Actually, yes, in a constitutional monarchy, the royal family primarily undertakes representative duties. Political decisions are made by the elected representatives, e.g. parliament and the government, not by the royal family and not even by the monarch. Therefore, the previous chapter didn't concern itself with anything of poltical importance to the country. There are no actual undersecretaries present either, it's all employees of the royal family. What Rilla is really doing is coordinating the staff, channelling relevant papers to Ken or Teddy (without reading them, mind) and making decisions about which royal to send on which engagement. That's hardly world-changing or revoluntionary stuff. She's their declared representative when it comes to coordinating things and that's it. She's not running the country!

To AmybethAnne23:
Interestingly, I think you're really addressing your own point in your review. To put it plainly: I'm not writing about the real life royals. That's the crunch point. I'm writing an AU story with fictional characters that share a lineage with the real royals, but only way back in Queen Victoria's time. My timeline diverges from real life in 1892, with different people shaping the royal traditions in different ways. In over 125 years, a lot can happen and the traditions and customs that govern the Windsors today don't necessarily apply to my version of the royals, nor to their staff. The courtiers are said to have a lot of influence in real life, but I've decided that in my version, they were never given as much power and thus, are more like normal employees.
Similarly, it is of little consequence to my story what William and Harry did or didn't do (though I'd argue that we have no way of knowing how they really dealt with Diana's death behind closed doors), because Ken and Teddy aren't William and Harry, nor were they actually based on them. My story does not and was never meant to be a comment on the real life royals. These are fictional characters and they're
my characters, so, with all due respect, I think I know best what they would or wouldn't do. Also, you might disagree with how I'm writing Ken right now, but I've always seen him as a character with plenty of mental issues. Having earned a PhD in psychology, I pride myself in knowing a little bit about those and his behaviour is based on my experience of people who aren't mentally well. In an ideal world, he'd step up and take over, but he's simply not able to do that right now.
I'm sorry my writing made you want to tear your hair out, but I fully realise that no story is for everyone and that's perfectly fine. There's plenty of other reading material out there and I wish you the very best of luck in finding something that is more to your liking!

To AnneShirley:
I'm sorry to hear you've been going through a difficult time and so very, very sorry for your loss! I send you lots of strength and good wishes and hope that you and your family will find a way to move forward soon!
With regards to Rilla taking staff meetings, let me emphasise that at no point is Rilla making decisions that have any far-reaching consequences. She doesn't deal with government matters, she decides who gets to open which museum exhibition. That's pretty low-level. And while the staff might not like her taking those meetings, they were told to accept her presence by Ken and Teddy, who are their employers. Their personal feelings are secondary.
I'm glad to hear that Teddy's reaction felt realistic and believable to you! With Ken, I'd say we've moved past emotional fragility and arrived right at severe mental struggles. He's basically unravelling at the seams and that's important to remember when looking at his reaction. I've always seen Ken as a character with more mental health issues than he likes to let on and this is the catalyst to bring them out to full force. He can't be judged on the same spectrum as a healthy person, because he is
not healthy. I've noticed that there's a feeling in some reviews that Ken ought to be able to pull himself together because he's a prince and he was trained to expect what happens when his father dies. Quite frankly, I don't think you can train or even really prepare for an event such as this and being royalty doesn't save anyone from mental problems. His behaviour isn't healthy, but that's because he isn't either. That's all it boils down to.
Having said all that, I hope you enjoyed the chapter despite not agreeing with all its points and I hope you don't mind me not agreeing with all
your points either. I do think we've "known" each other long enough for an healthy exchange of opinions without any hard feelings though, so I decided to explain where I stand. Maybe we'll see eye to eye on this new chapter - though I'm already waiting for people to explain to me that Rilla would never be allowed to handle government papers, even if she doesn't read them ;).

To Rach H:
Just in time, just in time! =)
I'm very glad to hear that Ken's and Teddy's behaviours make sense to you. Of course, on paper, it should be Ken stepping up, but like you said, I've long tried to plant the seeds for this particular plotline. Ken just has that much more baggage than Teddy, both with his childhood trauma and with his ambivalent relationship with his parents, so the threatening loss of Owen bowls him over more than it does Teddy. Personality-wise, Ken is also more like Leslie and Teddy is more like Owen and we all know who we'd rather have at the helm in a crisis. Plus, of course, Owen's death (whenever it happens) will have a far bigger impact on Ken, who will see his entire life change. All this means that it's just more straight-forward for Teddy to cope with and thus, he's more functional than Ken.
You've most definitely not been wondering to vocally! In fact, you were perfectly right that Rilla needed to grow and that she needed to grow in a way that wasn't just about Ken. It has always been my plan for this to be the pivotal moment that makes her take that one big step forward. She's stepping up, she's doing it capably, she's seeing her own worth and I love that you love it ;).
Oh, and keep the speculations coming if you want to. I always love reading them and I love it especially when they're correct!