AN: I am sorry I missed uploading this on Friday! We are in the middle of a move, and I was not able to get it up! I am sorry for that! Anyway, here is chapter 8. As always, a big thanks to my beta, shelter!

The screaming, seizing pain in her chest ripped Irene from sleep. The details of the dream were seared deeply and vividly in her mind. She shot up in bed and ran her hand over her chest, fully expecting it to be open and bleeding. However, her skin was smooth and undamaged.

Immediately, she looked down to her left arm. In the dream, it had been forcibly removed from her, cut away by that girl, that monster. But, it was still attached to her.

And next to her, Teresa still slept, alive and whole.

Swallowing hard, Irene pressed her hand against her chest, over her heart, trying to still its frantic beating. The dream had been so real, so intense. More than any that had come before.

Carefully, mindful that Teresa had been up late on 'Santa Claus' duty, she eased out of bed and slipped her robe on over her pajamas. With a last look to reassure herself that Teresa was still there, black hair—not blond— fanned across the pillow, Irene crept from the room. She intended to make her way to the study to read until her mind cleared, but as she descended the stairs, she saw a light on in the kitchen and redirected her path.

Marianne stood at the kitchen island, leaning over a cookbook as she stirred what looked like batter in a large bowl. Irene cleared her throat so she would not scare the other woman. Marianne jumped anyway.

"Irene, honey, you startled me."

"I'm sorry. I didn't expect anyone to be awake."

Smiling, Marianne nodded. "Neither did I. I'm just getting a head start on cooking for this afternoon. What's got you up at such an ungodly hour?"

"Couldn't sleep." She hesitated, then added, "Bad dream."

"I'd say being in a new place can do that, but you slept just fine last night, didn't you?"

"I did." At least, she had slept normally, with her dreams only lingering below the surface, not crashing over her enough to wake.

"You want to talk about it?"

"I…I'm not sure. It was very…strange." She shook her head. "Besides, isn't the superstition that if you talk about your bad dream before breakfast, it will come true?"

But there was that nagging feeling that the events of this dream had already happened.

"I've heard that," said Marianne. "Not sure I believe it, but if you don't want to share, that's fine. I won't push. Teresa says I can be pushy, so I want you to be sure to tell her how I've refrained."

Perhaps because of the adrenaline still in her system leftover from the dream, or perhaps because of her lack of sleep, Irene blurted out, "You've been so kind to me. Why?"

Marianne blinked. "What do you mean?"

Irene grimaced. She hadn't meant to say anything at all, but now she would have to elaborate.

"I know you didn't approve when Teresa first told you about me. I know that it's been hard for you and John to come to terms with this, and yet you've treated me as though I'm already part of the family. You've been so very good to me. Better than my own father." Was he her father? She wasn't so sure anymore. "I just…I don't understand why."

For a long moment, Marianne just looked at Irene, her face closed and contemplative. Then she put down her bowl and stepped around the island to stand in front of Irene. She looked so much like Teresa.

"Sweetheart, sit down." She gently pushed Irene onto one of the stools, then took the one next to her and clasped Irene's hands in her own. "It's true that when Teresa called me and first told me about you, I was shocked. And yes, I didn't approve. My baby girl was a lesbian, or bi. Whatever she's calling it. I couldn't wrap my mind around it, and I was…I'm so ashamed now. I always told myself that I wouldn't be one of those parents who turned on their children if they were gay. I suppose it's different when your child has been married and has a child of her own. I'm not trying to make excuses for my reaction, but I do want you to understand something, Irene.

"Now, Teresa probably wouldn't want me telling you this, and I know that it's an invasion of her privacy or something like that. But I think you need to hear this to understand why I've worked through all of that and welcomed you into my home."

Anxiety tightening in her chest, Irene waited, willing her hands to stay still where Marianne held them.

"The day Teresa called me to tell me about you, what she said to me is why you're here for Christmas. It's why I've accepted you when I never accepted Christopher. She said to me, 'Mama, it doesn't matter what you think or what you say because I am going to spend the rest of my life with this woman.'"

Irene jerked her head up, sure that she had misheard. "What?"

"She knew. She knew that day that you were the one for her. I have never heard her sound more sure of anything in her life. And let me tell you, Irene, she never said that about any of her previous relationships. Not even Clare's father. Oh, of course she said she loved him and that she was going to marry him and have a family with him. But she never said she was spending her life with him. She never talked about him the way she talks about you."

"But…but we'd only been seeing each other a few weeks at that point," Irene protested. She could not properly identify the emotions rushing through her. "She never…I never knew…she never said anything!"

Had Teresa always known, always loved her?

"Teresa knows herself, but she is much more cautious than she seems. I know she is rash and impulsive. She's my child, and I love her. Sometimes, she acts without thinking. But when it comes to matters of the heart, she guards herself. I think she needed to know for sure that the media pressure wouldn't not be too much for you to handle."

"I can handle it," Irene said quietly. "I love her." Which was why it had hurt all the worse when things had ended, when she had been sent to collect Teresa's head. But that wasn't what happened in this life, was it?

"I know, honey," Marianne said kindly. "I knew it the moment I saw you two together. And I have to tell you that I have never seen Teresa happier. That's the honest to God truth." She reached up and brushed her thumb across Irene's cheek which is when Irene realized she was crying.

"I'm sorry," she said, embarrassed at her weakness. "I just…I was so nervous about meeting you. I was so worried that I was going to cause some sort of rift, and I never wanted Teresa to feel like she had to choose between me and her family. I never would have asked that of her. And then I came here, and I feel like everything just fits and I never thought—" Irene realized where she was going and clamped her mouth shut.

"Irene?" Marianne's eyes searched her face with concern.

"It's nothing. Just old insecurities. They don't matter anymore." Irene was highly conscious of the fact that this was Teresa's mother, and that they had only met a couple of days prior. She did not want to seem fragile. She was so aware that she had been timid and withdrawn, that she had not been presenting herself as the powerful warrior-woman-she normally was. She wanted Marianne and John to think that she was not going to be able to emotionally support Teresa. "I'm just very glad to be here."

Marianne regarded her carefully. "Are you hungry? I think you need some comfort food." She checked the time on the oven clock. "Clare will be up in a couple of hours anyway. She never can sleep past six on Christmas. Well, she's probably awake now, but we told her she's not allowed to come down or wake anyone else up until at least six."

"She's a good kid," Irene said, even if she was rash and impulsive, just like Teresa.

Even if she took seven years to return a borrowed arm.

"She's perfect. Not that I'm biased." Marianne gave Irene's hands a squeeze. "You're such a sweet girl. I'm glad to have the chance to know you."

She and Marrianne ended up preparing breakfast together and were chatting still over coffee when Clare's elephant feet crashed down the stairs. The girl barely stopped long enough to say good morning before she dashed into the living room to start opening presents.

Teresa followed at a much more reasonable pace, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. The lazy way she stretched her arms brought Irene back to her nightmare, and she rubbed her left arm, frowning.

It's been a while. You're looking well.

"Morning," Teresa said through a yawn. "You're up early," she remarked to Irene.

"Couldn't sleep." Why did she feel so guarded? Like Teresa would attack her at any moment.

Her right hand twitched.

"Yeah, that bed is a little small." Teresa was regarding her, brows drawn, tensing, and Irene knew there was an understanding between them.

Things were going to change.

Clare's squeals of delight broke the tension, and Marianne hurried to the den with her phone out as John followed her from their bedroom.

Teresa looked at Irene. "You had a nightmare." It was not a question.

"I don't know. It felt like more than that." She shook herself, but the shroud of the dream, the memory, would not dislodge. It settled around her in a lead lining, heavy around her neck. "It was so real."

"Maybe you should take it easy today."

I don't mind you using your Quicksword, but leave the girl out of it.

Irene closed her eyes, and she could see the room at the inn, could feel the weight of pauldrons on her shoulders, could feel her arm jolt as their swords clashed. Teresa was impossibly strong.

"Probably."

"Irene." She looked up at Teresa who walked over to her, gently taking her hands. "I love you. So much. You know that, right?"

"I know." She had always known, hadn't she? But love hadn't been enough.

I've come for your head.

"Mom!" Clare's voice tore Teresa's eyes from her.

We'll see about that.

"Coming," Teresa called back. "We should go in there," she said to Irene.

Irene could only nod. She was wearing someone else's skin. Disassociating. That's what her therapist said. Not uncommon in someone who had suffered trauma. But which trauma? The one in this world, or the trauma that haunted her dreams, the one that wrapped around her throat now, slowly tightening?

She let Teresa lead her to the couch, even as her shoulders ached where Teresa had cut her down. Everyone else was so caught up in Clare's excitement that they didn't notice her hollow stare.

Everyone except Teresa, whose throat bobbed as she watched Irene, like she was struggling not to cry.

Your sword seems stuck.

Irene sat there as long as she could, trying to come back to herself, but something had shifted. Her dream world was leaking in, taking over.

The more she tried to fight it, the more sure she became that her dreams were not dreams at all.

They were her life.

"I need some air." Irene stood so quickly that Teresa almost fell.

"Irene, honey, are you all right?" Marianne asked, concern clear on her face.

"Yes, I just...I'm tired. I'm sorry." She wanted to vomit, but she made it outside into the backyard, hoping the cool air would help her calm down. Behind her, she heard the patio door open and close.

"Irene?"

Turning quickly, she lifted her arm, her fingers closing over empty air as she reached behind her for a claymore that didn't exist. Her heart pounded as she realized she was defenseless with the Number One right there, waiting to cut her down again.

"You're remembering," Teresa said, her hands held out in front of her, palms up and fingers splayed in a gesture of peace.

"Don't. Don't move." Irene knew she wouldn't have had a chance even with her claymore. Teresa could have killed her in seconds.

Teresa stilled. "Okay. Just...Just breathe, Irene. I'm not going to hurt you."

"You murdered humans," she hissed. God, as scared as she was, she was even more furious. Furious that Teresa had put her in that position. That Teresa had forced her hand, the hand of the Organization. "And you cut down your execution squad!"

"I killed the bandits. They deserved it. I didn't kill innocents. God, Irene, don't you know me better than that?"

"I don't think I ever knew you," she spat. She brought her hand to her mouth, shaking, and stepped back. "What the hell is happening?" There were too many memories in her head, too many lives.

"I wish I could explain it to you. But you're remembering another life. One that didn't happen in this world."

"I don't understand."

"I know. I'm sorry." Teresa took a tentative step towards her, but Irene put up her hand, her left hand that was somehow still there.

"Stop. I need to go home. Make an appointment...my medication…" She took gulping breaths, knowing she was hyperventilating.

"There's nothing wrong with you, Irene. Your medication can't fight memories."

"No, no no no no, this is wrong." She was dying. She had to be. An aneurysm. "This isn't happening. I need to go. I need to go. I have to go home."

"You can't go yet, love."

"Do not call me that!"

Teresa flinched. "I won't, I'm sorry. But you're in no condition to go anywhere. Come inside. I'll explain everything I can, but Clare and my parents are worried."

"Clare," Irene repeated flatly. The girl with fire in her heart. The girl with one arm. Just like her.

"Yes, Clare. She doesn't know anything. She won't understand."

"Teresa, is everything okay?" Marianne stood in the patio door, looking between them with concern.

"Mama, please go inside." Teresa's voice was high and strained, and Marianne's eyes widened before she retreated. Teresa did not look away from Irene.

"I have to go," Irene insisted. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. "I need my phone. I need to call an Uber."

"Irene, please. Please just let me explain things."

Something inside her broke, shifted, clicked into place, and she growled low and dangerous. "I don't know what the hell is happening here, but I do know you've lied to me. About who I am, who you are. About what we are. And I know that you need to get the hell away from me."

Teresa's eyes were shining with tears now, and Irene scoffed. Teresa of the Faint Smile didn't weep. She certainly hadn't wept for Irene when they'd parted ways. She had not wept for the humans she killed or the girl whose awakening she'd caused.

Irene pressed her hand to her face. No, Priscilla's awakening was her fault, wasn't it? She had been the careless one, the one so infatuated with the raw power that she hadn't seen the emotional instability. So stupid. Her fault that Teresa had-

"You're dead. You're supposed to be dead." She really was going to vomit now, it was inevitable. "I saw it." Had seen it, heard it, felt it in her bones, her heart, her soul.

"That didn't happen here," Teresa said, and Irene could not reconcile her words, her voice, with the memories flooding through her.

No, not memories. Hallucinations. These were hallucinations. A tiny, fading part of her mind tried to assert this logical explanation.

But it just wasn't true. She wasn't hallucinating, and she wasn't dying. Not now, not then. Not when Rafaela came. She was a survivor.

And she would survive this.

"I need you to move so I can leave. Don't make me fight you."

"Irene, I know you're scared and confused. But please, God Irene, please remember that you're at my parents' house for Christmas. That is our reality. They have no idea what we are-what we were-and they are very worried about you." Teresa had not moved towards her, but Irene did not need yoki sensing to know she was straining to reach out. "Please, let me help."

"No." Irene closed herself. Teresa could not be trusted with her heart. She was so damn careless with it. How could Irene trust her to help with something of this magnitude? Teresa who was lazy and arrogant and cold and beautiful and perfect. "I'm leaving. Right now. I'll make an excuse." Her head was clearing some, coherent thoughts budding again. "I'll tell them it's work. I'll apologize. I'll play the part. But I'm leaving."

Teresa's features twisted painfully. This was a problem that would not bend to her sword. "I can't stop you." She could have. They both knew it. At least, the old her could have.

Irene did not know if they had powers here. She did not feel any yoki in her veins, and she certainly did not bear the body-length gash held together by stitches that would have indicated she had yoma flesh inside her. But maybe things were different here. She had always been strong and fast and so powerful. She had healed so quickly after trying to kill herself. And she bore no scars from it.

Irene brushed past Teresa as she headed inside. Marianne stood at the kitchen island, worry creasing her brow, and John had his hand on Clare's shoulder behind her.

"Irene?" Clare asked, voice thin and trembling, so unlike her adult self, and that was when Irene's stomach gave out.

She pressed a hand to her lips and barrelled to the bathroom, collapsing to her knees, hard enough to bruise, and emptied her breakfast into the bowl. Teresa's hand touched her back, started to pull her hair away from her face, but Irene shoved her roughly and dragged a hand across her mouth.

"Do. Not. Touch. Me."

Teresa shrank back and said something Irene could not hear to her parents.

Irene stood when she was able, too sick, angry, scared to be embarrassed. She washed out her mouth, much like the first time she'd met Teresa in this world, and turned to face her audience.

"I apologize," she said, as calmly as she could manage, knowing she looked and sounded insane. "Teresa may have told you, but I take medication that sometimes messes with my stomach." A lie. An outright lie. She never lied.

Except to tell Teresa they would be able to make a relationship work.

"I've gotten a call from work, and I must return to New York. I am sorry for the inconvenience."

"Irene," Marianne started, but she trailed off. There wasn't much to say. They had all seen the argument, even if they did not know what it was about.

"It truly was wonderful to meet you," Irene said before her courage failed and she pressed up the stairs. Her things were thrown into her suitcase with none of her usual precision. She just had to get out, out, OUT.

Somehow, she managed to call a Lyft or Uber or cab, she wasn't sure, but by the time she was finished packing, there was a car waiting for her. Teresa did not try to stop her again, and Irene resolutely refused to look at Clare, who kept telling Teresa that she didn't understand.

That made two of them.

"At least tell me you've gotten home safely," Teresa said as she followed Irene to the car, keeping a safe distance.

It was a concession Irene was almost unwilling to make, but she gave a curt nod. "Fine."

Alone in the car, she let out a shuddering breath, the tears finally falling. The driver said nothing, and Irene let herself curl over her pain, hand pressed to her chest. The first thing she would do was call her doctor. Another MRI, new meds, probably a stay in a rehab facility. She would have to call the board, make arrangements for her clients. What in the hell would she tell her brother?

Her brother. What was her family here? Was it real?

And Elda. Did Elda know? Was it the same Elda? She looked like Elda, but their personalities….everything was so different. How many of them were here? How many warriors were in this world, living, as Irene had, without knowledge of their other lives?

It was enough to make her want to laugh hysterically. The noise bubbled in her chest, but it came out as a barked sob instead. What was the point of rehab? It could not erase her new existence. Medication could not repair this damage. Two lives in one mind, overwhelming her, suffocating her. This was magic, or sorcery, or an act of the gods she did not believe in.

"Hey, are you okay?"

The question ripped another laughing sob from her. "No. No, I'm not. Just get me to the airport." After that, well, she would figure that part out after she got home.

Irene pulled out her phone and texted her brother, telling him she was coming home early, asking if he could help her make arrangements to check into rehab, because that was the only plan she had, and a bad plan was better than no plan.

He tried to call her, but she ignored him. She couldn't talk now. Not about this. She wouldn't know what to say. It would sound crazy. It was crazy. But she also knew she was not crazy. She just needed time to think, time to understand what was happening. Time away from work, from life, from Teresa.

Had Teresa known this whole time who they were? Had she known that night at the Gala? Had she pursued Irene already knowing who she was and what they'd had? Because Irene could recall every excruciating detail now of their past. She remembered the transformation, their training, their work as warriors. She remembered Teresa pursuing her, wooing her, seducing her. She remembered that she had been such an eager participant, so willing to defy Organization rules for Teresa. So willing to love Teresa. She remembered the first time they met, their first kiss, the first time they lay together.

She remembered the last time, as well.

Everything was now seared once again into her brain. Teresa's sword clattering to the ground, her hands still attached. Teresa's eyes widening in shock. Teresa's blood pouring from the stump of her-

Irene closed her eyes tightly, willing the image to go away. It was so much worse than a dream because it was real.

The airport was a welcome distraction. There was a flight leaving soon, and she could sit in anonymity for a while, just a normal person forced to travel on Christmas. Even when two women seemed to recognize her-is that the woman Teresa Blackwell is dating-she was able to slip into the lounge, escaping, and her mostly empty flight gave her time to learn how to breathe again.

At home, she started packing once again, this time with the expectation of being gone for several weeks. A month, even. Time to figure out what to do. She could not retreat to a cabin in the mountains this time.

Remembering her promise to Teresa, she reluctantly picked up her phone. She could have just texted, but she found herself calling instead. The phone only rang once.

"Irene?" Teresa sounded breathless.

"I made it home." She did not say more, but she also did not hang up.

"Oh, good."

The silence hung between them for a few moments.

"Are your parents upset?"

"Of course they're upset-" Teresa cut off sharply. When she spoke again, her tone was level. "They don't understand, and I can't explain it to them. They know you didn't leave because of work, and they can't understand why I let you travel alone when you're clearly not well, as my mother put it."

"How long have you known?"

"Years. It's why my marriage ended," Teresa said. "I didn't always remember, but I always knew something was different about me. I was too strong, too fast. And I never fit. After Clare was born, things started coming back to me in bits and pieces. The doctors said it was postpartum, but I knew it wasn't. It all came to a point when I met Rosemary."

"Oh my God," Irene muttered, rubbing her eyes. "It was that Rosemary?" The Rosemary Teresa had replaced as Number One. The Rosemary who had awakened in an effort to murder Teresa.

"Yes. I'm sorry. But she was familiar, and I felt so alone."

"Did she know?"

"Not the way we do. But she knew she hated me. It was messy, and I regretted it immediately. I can't begin to explain what it's like to sleep with someone you killed." She sounded ill.

"I have an idea," Irene said. She was so tired, exhausted to her core. Too tired to try and hang on to her anger and confusion for now.

"You didn't kill me."

"I tried to. It was my fault Priscilla awakened."

"The girl was unstable. She shouldn't have been in the field at all. She would have awakened soon anyway. I let my guard down. It was no one's fault."

Irene rested her head in her free hand. "How did this happen? How are we here?"

"I don't know. I've spent years trying to figure it out."

"How many of us are here? How many warriors?"

"I don't know. You, me, Rosemary. Priscilla." Her voice was like glass as she said the name. "I'm pretty sure I saw Hysteria at a casting all one time, but I couldn't be certain.I only caught a glimpse."

"Noel. Elda. God, I dated Sophia," Irene added, trying to push down her residual fear over Priscilla. "Clare."

"What?" Teresa's voice was strangled, and Irene frowned.

"You didn't know?"

"No, I thought…I thought Priscilla…"

"You thought Priscilla killed her." When Teresa did not answer, Irene took pity. "Clare survived the encounter and was infused with your blood. She became a warrior to avenge you. I met her again much later. She never let go of what happened." As an afterthought, she added, "Neither did I."

"You survived, too? I thought Priscilla killed everyone."

"She tried. After she...after you, she killed Noel and Sophia." Irene paused to collect herself. Reliving those memories, so fresh even across worlds and time, brought back the terror she had felt that day. "She took my arm, and she delivered a final blow. I don't know if she meant to leave me alive or not. But I fled when I woke. I let them think I was dead."

"No, that...I don't understand."

"I'd never felt terror like that," Irene explained, annoyed that Teresa couldn't put herself in Irene's place. Of course, Teresa had likely never known that kind of fear. Priscilla killed her too quickly for that. "Even when Luciela awakened. Even when we were sent after Hysteria."

"No, I meant...I thought that we were here because we died."

"What?"

"Everyone here, I thought...I thought everyone here had died in that world."

"I didn't. Neither did Clare." At least not by Priscilla's hands. Maybe they had died later, after Clare came back to return her arm. Would she have remembered dying? "Not that I know of."

"I don't remember dying, so much as everything just...stopped. Priscilla's blade coming for me is the last thing I remember from that life."

"She beheaded you," Irene said softly, for it had been the single worst moment of both her lives.

"That's always what I assumed happened," Teresa answered, equally quiet. "I should have felt it coming. What good was my yoki sensing if I was too stupid to recognize a cornered animal when I saw one?"

"You died in front of me."

"You'd been sent to kill me. Did it really surprise you so much?"

"I never thought we would actually succeed." Not in her heart, not if she was honest. "As soon as Priscilla announced herself to you, I knew it was over. The element of surprise was all we had."

"But you followed orders, even when you thought it was hopeless. Always the good girl."

Irene bristled. "At least I never killed a human."

Teresa did not rise to the bait. "You don't understand what happened."

"Enlighten me."

Teresa told her of finding Clare, of traveling with her, of bandits and rapists and all the things that made humans monsters. Teresa told her of the village that those bandits burned, the people they killed, the horror they would have subjected Clare to. The whole while, her voice was flat, emotionless, like she had to remove herself from the memories in order to speak them.

Teresa took a dragging, shuddering breath as she described rescuing Clare. "I lost myself. I killed them, and I don't regret it. Not then, not now. Not ever."

Irene could see where this was heading, and she hated the Organization more than she thought possible. She had been jaded by the time she was sent after Teresa, but life as a warrior was all she thought she could have at the time. It had been easier to follow orders than to try and carve a new place for herself. She had never been as brave as Teresa. She wished now that she had asked more questions, had known the circumstance. It might not have changed anything, but she would at least have known all the details.

"I knew what I had done, and I gladly turned myself in. I accepted my punishment. Do you think they could have brought me in if I didn't want to go?" There was no need to answer. "I was ready to submit, but when I asked what would happen to Clare, I knew what they were going to do to her. I couldn't let that happen."

"I didn't know. They made it seem like you attacked the humans unprovoked." And Clare had never gone into specifics when she trained with Irene. Talking about that day was painful for them both, for a surprisingly similar reason. They both loved Teresa.

"Of course they did. They knew we were close. They knew they had to convince you to lead the team. They knew you would only do it if you thought I deserved it. It would have worked, too, if Priscilla had followed your orders."

"Yes. It was a good plan." And she had hated herself for thinking it up. Who better to bring down Teresa than the person who knew her best?

"You didn't need Noel and Sophia. You were enough to distract me."

"Teresa, don't." It hurt too much now. Now that she remembered it all. "I lived with that burden for so many years."

"I'm sorry."

"What now? How do we just go back to our lives?" How could she go back to work? She would have to call her brother at some point. Rehab was worthless now. No therapist could help with this.

"I don't know. What do you want?"

"I want to go back to thinking my biggest problem was finding a dress for a stupid awards show."

"I know."

"But you knew. This whole time."

"Yes. When we moved to New York, I found out about your Foundation, and it just seemed like fate. And I missed you."

"I need time, Teresa. I don't know...I need to figure out what's happened."

"I wish I had answers for you."

Irene looked at the clock, reluctant now to hang up. "Is my family real?"

"Mine are," Teresa said firmly. "I love them, and they are as real to me as you and Clare."

Irene closed her eyes, swallowing. "I should go. I need some sleep."

"Can I...Will you…" Teresa sighed in frustration. "We're coming back in two days. Can I call you?"

"No," Irene said, but this time it hurt to deny Teresa. "Give me time."

It was a moment before Teresa answered. "Okay. I love you, Irene. That hasn't changed."

"I know." She could not make herself say the words back. Not right now. "Tell your parents I'm sorry. And tell Clare...Tell Clare I will see her soon." She nodded resolutely to herself.

When she hung up, she carefully unpacked, folding every pant, hanging every shirt, taking time and care to do it right. Tomorrow, she would start looking for answers. But tonight she would give her mind time to rest.

Surprisingly, her dreams were of dress shopping and nothing more.

Thank you for reading. If you're enjoying the story, please leave a comment! They really make my day!