Lorelai POV

"It's almost done," Rory murmured, her head resting on the dining room table, "The article. It's almost done."

I nodded, "Are you going to send it in?"

She had gone back and forth on the idea of actually doing something with it, but she had written it anyway. She had decided that my parents were going to get a copy if she did send it in to the paper, and she was considering sending it to Christopher as a big fuck you. Actually, those were my words, not hers; for her, it was to show him what he had done since she could be completely better by the time the trial date came around and she wanted him to know.

"Do you know what you're doing with it yet?" I asked, curious to know if she had decided.

"Yeah. I'm sending it in, along with the photograph of my scar that Grandma took when they first removed the bandage," She said.

Mom had taken a photo, wanting to document the scar's healing process. She had also taken a photo at dinner, remarking on how well it was healing. Unfortunately, the shaved hair wasn't growing back as well as we had hoped and the border of the scar remained as thick and obvious as ever. I was just grateful that Mom didn't say anything about that particular issue in front of Rory; she didn't need that.

I thought about the photo, and agreed, "I think that would be perfect."

A few days later, it was in the paper, big ugly scar and all. I had brought 7 copies; one for Rory, one for me and Luke, one for my parents, one for Sookie and Michel, one for Mia, one for Christopher and a spare, and had to restrain from reading it until I was with Luke since she had forbidden us from reading it until it was published.

When I entered the diner, almost every customer had it in their hands, bringing a small smile to my face. Luke almost snatched it out of my hands, impatient to begin reading, so I handed him Rory's one so we could read separately.

My name is Rory Gilmore. I know most people in this town, and most of you have watched me grow up. And most of you know that I had brain surgery a few months ago.

I've heard the rumours; my mom tried to kill me for whatever reason, or I had a brain tumour, and I heard a few saying Luke had done it because he wanted to date my mom without a kid being in the way.

None of these are true, and while there are gaps in my memory, I know enough to tell you what really happened.

I went to see my father in Boston. I hadn't seen him in months, but he had called my mom asking for money. He didn't ask about me, he just wanted money. So I went to see him to find out if he cared about me.

He was happy to see me at first, but when I told him that I didn't have any money for him, he got angry. He yelled a bit, and then took my arm and threw me out into the street. There's a small gap in my memory here, and I don't really remember hitting the floor, but my top was ripped, I had grazes on my face and hands, I had a few friction burns on my side, my lip was bleeding, and my head hurt a bit.

I made my way back to the bus station, but they wouldn't let me get on the bus home because I was apparently too young, even though the Hartford Bus Station allowed it, which is funny. I was too scared to call Mom, so I called Luke instead, begging him to come and get me.

That night, Mom let me sleep but woke me every hour to make sure I was okay. I was sick a few times, and at 3:30 am, they couldn't wake me and phoned an ambulance.

I had something called a subdural haematoma. That's when blood collects between the brain and the skull and it needs to be removed before it causes permanent damage. They did a craniotomy, which is when they temporarily remove a piece of the skull so they can remove the blood. When I woke up from the surgery, they were removing the tube that went down my throat, and I was hooked up to several machines. Mom and Luke were by my side as much as they were able, and even my grandparents were there.

I was able to talk, but it was difficult to do anything for myself. I had to relearn almost everything that I had learnt as a child, like walking and writing, and I still have problems now, two months down the line. Stairs are my biggest enemy, and using a knife is pretty difficult when I'm tired, especially since I have a tremor in my right hand when I'm tired. My knees give out on me if I do too much, and sometimes, my speech slurs. I'm not back in school yet; I had a failed attempt a few days ago and we're trying again next week. It's pretty embarrassing but it's not my fault.

My father is currently in jail awaiting trial, and I plan on testifying if I'm well enough. While it'll be pretty scary to see him again, he needs to be punished for what he did and I know I won't be alone.

If you have got this far, I thank you for reading. I know there have been a lot of questions, but I hope most of them have been answered here.

Rory Gilmore.

As I read the article, I felt more and more proud of her. She had written the truth without being graphic and had described all the things she was struggling with. While she hadn't completely overcome her shame, she had made a lot of progress, and this article shared that.

When I looked up at Luke, he had the biggest smile on his face, "Is it wrong that I want to frame this? I know it's a miserable topic, but it's her first published article and she's only 10."

I laughed, "You can't frame that one, it's Rory's. But I'm definitely framing our one, I have to."

He passed his paper back to me, and I took it over to where Rory was resting. I put it down on the table, kissed her forehead, and said, "We're so proud of you, hon. This is incredible."

"Thanks, Mom," She said, "Can you pass me the one's for the grandparents and Christopher; I need to write a letter to put with each one, especially because I know Grandma and Grandpa have no idea why I needed surgery in the first place. They deserve more than just an article."

I nodded, and put them on the table with her one, "I've got to get to work, but I'm really proud of you. Everyone at the Inn will be, too. I love you."

She smiled up at me, "I love you too."

I kissed Luke goodbye and rushed off to work, ready to brag.

AN: The article isn't as good as I wanted it to be, but it was 'written' by a 10-year-old so I'm going to go with it and pretend it was that bad on purpose. Let me know what you thought, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.