Disclaimer: Not mine.

Chapter Summary: Bree Van de Kamp's wonderful day is everything but.

It Makes Me Sick

Floating down the hallway, laundry basket under her arm, Bree Van de Kamp was ready to begin another wonderful day. She was dressed to perfection; pearls looped around her neck, a single pair on her ears, her favorite collared shirt and tailored skirt. To match were her favorite suede shoes, helping her grace the ground she walked on. Bree smiled, content with her day's to-dos, and stopped in front of the bathroom door. Knocking her knuckles ever so gently, she informed, "Andrew, honey, you're going to be late for school."

"Just a minute!"

Danielle burst out of her bedroom, pushing past her mother in a snide way. "Don't bother."

Bree followed her daughter to the stairway. Elegance juxtaposing her daughter's raunchy ways, Bree questioned. "What on Earth could take your brother so long?"

Danielle bounced down the stairs, putting her mother on edge. Bree inched closer when Danielle looked over her shoulder, giving a particular glare. "Oh, I think you know."

Bree swallowed. "I'd rather not."

Dusting off the idea, Bree situated the basket higher on her hip, stepped onto the landing, through the living room and into the kitchen.

"Rex?"

Bree was startled to see her husband sitting at the table, sipping coffee and enjoying the newspaper. He peeped up past the newsprint, eyes taunting her in a way that she had seen too much of lately. Those eyes spoke of a disconnect between the two of them, one that quite simply terrified Bree.

He piped. "Yeah?"

"What are you doing home? I thought you had left for work."

"My surgery was pushed back a few hours. I wanted to stay home, relax a minute. Is that a problem?"

"Of course not. I was just surprised, you're not normally home when the kids are leaving for school." Bree had taken the laundry basket off her hip, and set it on the counter, but was still holding onto it by the handles. Her fingertips grazed the cool plastic they rest on, tapping gently in anxiety. Doing so, she watched her husband, noticing the way he gave her no attention. The absence was unraveling her.

"Well, like I said." Rex answered, sipping slowly from the coffee mug he had. "Can I take the kids?"

Bree made taut of her face, something in her body running phantom. She inhaled, keeping her voice low. "Huh?"

"To school? I don't have to be in until nine. Let me take them to school for once. Maybe I can pick breakfast up for them. I'll take them to that place Andrew likes."

"The Pancake Shack." Bree informed, a twinge of pain and disgust in her heart. "Sure. If you like."

"Sounds good." Rex concluded. "I don't get enough time with the kids. It'll be nice."

"Yes, it will." Bree said, still enormously off kilter. "Would you.. like me to fix you some breakfast? I'm sure you won't want to be eating that undignified fast food."

"I think I'll eat with the kids. Thanks." He added.

Folding the newspaper up, he lay it messily on the table. Rex peered at her, unapologetic, knowing there was no meaningful relation between them anymore. And he quite honestly didn't care. "Anyway, I'm going to learn how to fend for myself sooner or later - since I have mentioned that separation. So Bree, anytime you're ready to talk about that. "

As if the distance had been confirmed, Bree felt the love for this man betrayed and withering inside her. She somehow kept her composure. "Not now. And definitely not while the children are in earshot."

After her statement, Bree remained statuesque while Rex left the table, frustrated, presumably to go round up the kids. He pushed past her, giving no reciprocal look at all.

Bree sighed, feeling every inch of her being destroyed. She couldn't fathom how she still loved a man who treated her so poorly. She never imagined a marriage so imperfect.

The doorbell chimed, serving as some saving grace for Bree. Any distraction from the dissolution of her marriage she welcomed. Bree walked back through the living room, eyes misty and hands clasped tightly together. She breathed, composing herself.

Opening the door, Bree faked the widest of smiles. "Hello, Martha!"

"It's Mary Alice! I think she shot herself! There's blood everywhere!"

Emptiness has been reaffirmed in Bree's body. "Why would Mary Alice do such a thing?" fled her lips, and Bree let her eyes glaze with tears, for once indulging her emotions, for she knew in that instance how Mary Alice must have felt.