"Hi. I just realized I'm missing my document pouch—I think I left it on the plane. Can you check?"

"What seat were you in, honey"

"22A."

The attendant on the desk picked up the phone and called the attendants cleaning the cabin. "They said there's nothing there. Are you sure you don't have it?"

"No. I don't. My interview notes were in there!" Andrea said.

"I'm sorry, honey. Here, fill out this form and if we find anything, we will send it your way. Next!" she called, pushing Andrea off to the side.

Several hours later, Andrea returned to her apartment, frantically trying to piece together the notes from her interview with the director of Los Angeles Department of Water and Power, or DWP for short. Mentally cursing herself for not typing them up right away, she felt that she had enough for her piece and decided to finish writing it the following morning.

"Caroline, answer the door please."

The fourteen-year-old sighed as she marched to the door, answering it with as much attitude as one would expect from Miranda Priestly's daughter. "Here," she said, returning to the den and tossing a padded envelope on the couch next to her mother. "I can't believe you're, like, still getting Runway mail—that was, like, forever ago."

"Caroline, please refrain from saying 'like' so much. It makes you, like, sound, like, unintelligent," Miranda said, casually glancing at the package.

"Whatever," Caroline said, heading back upstairs to her room. "Are you ever going to do anything but read? What are you even reading anyways?"

"Bobbsey, 'anyways' is not a word. And I am trying to read all of these books I own but have never read. Are you and Cass going with your father this weekend?"

"Well, sorta. He wants us to watch Jake so he can spend the weekend in the Hamptons with Tiffani."

"Oh, I see," Miranda said. "You don't have to do that if you don't want to. I can call him and ask to hire a sitter."

"Nah, it's okay. Jake is so cute, and without Tiff there, it's way calmer," Caroline said.

"Oh, I'm sure." Miranda paused. "Do you want to bring him here for the weekend?"

"Are you serious?"

"I've told you before, I have nothing against that little boy. Just because I personally think your father is an asshole and his new wife is a bimbo, doesn't mean Jacob needs to suffer."

Caroline laughed. "Ha. Ha. I think we'll be fine, but I promise we will call you if we need anything."

"Okay. Do you need a ride?"

"Nope," Cassidy said, appearing in the doorway. "Dad just texted—he's on his way. See you, Mom!"

"Bye darlings, have a good weekend," Miranda called after them.

She tossed her book to the couch and stretched her arms above her head. With the girls gone, she would have a quiet weekend all to herself. She had been anticipating this time alone for the past few weeks. Not that she wasn't always alone, but today there would be no teenagers bursting through the door, blaring pop music throughout the house, stomping up and down the stairs. Tonight, she would enjoy the peace.

Miranda spent the next half hour doing her evening yoga routine, then prepared a quinoa salad with roasted butternut squash and portobellos in a fresh lemongrass vinaigrette. After rinsing off her plate and turning on the dishwasher, she turned out the kitchen lights and returned upstairs to her study.

She eyed the curious package on the couch. It had been months since she received any Runway mail. Five years ago, Emily had arranged to have the Elias-Clarke mail carrier forward all of Miranda's mail to her home address. It was one of the more thoughtful things Emily had done, though Miranda wasn't sure she actually wanted any more reminders of her former life.

"It's probably just more samples from that utterly useless assistant at Prada," Miranda said. It was really surprising how many people still thought she was the Editor in Chief.

Miranda picked up the envelope and walked to her desk, taking a pair of scissors and carefully cutting it along the edge. Inside, she was surprised to find some sort of folder—one of those brown accordion folders you would sometimes see lawyers carrying around on the subway as if they had never heard of an attaché case or messenger bag. Before opening the folder, she reached inside the envelope and pulled out a note hastily written on a piece of hotel stationery.

Hello—
I hope this envelope finds its way back to its owner, as there appear to be several important documents. I must have mistakenly grabbed this on the airplane, or perhaps in the airport lounge, and by the time I realized, I was already here at my hotel. My sincerest apologies—I hope this hasn't caused too much of an inconvenience.

Miranda read and reread the curious note several times. So, this envelope belonged to someone—certainly not her—and someone else took it by mistake. Why did she send it to me? Miranda wondered.

As she began to undo the string closure on the folder, she felt a chill run through her body. She knew it wasn't hers, but she needed to see what it was. Something about it was familiar, even though she had never seen it before. Did it belong to Stephen, perhaps? She couldn't quite place it.

Pulling the documents slowly out of the folder, she found several small stacks of paper held together with paperclips. Quickly thumbing through, it appeared to be a transcript from an interview with a Joel Hobson, in addition to some research on energy conservation in the state of California. Another stack of papers held pages upon pages of spreadsheets, grids, numbers. Each page had the letters "DWP" stamped across the top, and it was clear she was looking at photocopies. Still unclear as to why this was sent to her, she kept flipping through the papers.

Then, she saw it. Then, she knew why this was so familiar. Andrea.

Miranda quickly placed the papers back in a neat stack and stepped away from her desk. She had tried so hard to forget about her, and she was doing so well. She was in a good place. The last thing she needed was her.

"Oh god," Miranda groaned, sinking into the armchair by the fireplace. "I can't, I can't," she said, slowly pulling her knees to her chest as tears streamed down her cheeks. "I can't."

But as hard as she tried this time, Miranda couldn't force the memories away—not when the papers smelled like Andrea.

"Hey, Mom."

"Hi Cassidy. Is everything going okay with Jake?"

"Yeah, he's great. I'm so glad he's potty-trained already, though."

"Well, I'm sure that makes everything easier."

"What are you doing? Are you getting a cold?"

"No, it must just be allergies. I woke up like this," Miranda said.

"Hey, did you ever open that envelope?"

"Do not address me with 'hey'—I am not one of your high school friends."

"Sorry, Mom. Did you open it?"

Miranda hesitated. "Yes, I did. It was—it was nothi—" she said, pulling the phone away and pressing her fist to her mouth as she choked back a sob.

"Mom? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

After several seconds of silence, Cassidy cautiously asked, "Did she send you another letter?"

"Yes," Miranda cried. "No. Well, sort of."

"Huh?"

"She didn't send it. She wrote it, and then someone else took her papers on the airplane. I don't think she was going to send it."

"So how did you get it?"

"Whoever took her stuff was trying to return it. My address was the only identifying information."

"What, did she write a freaking business letter?"

Miranda smiled and chuckled. "Yes. Yes, it appears she did."

"Did you burn it yet?" Cassidy asked.

"No."

"Are you going to?"

"I don't know. It doesn't feel right. I wasn't supposed to see this one."

"Mom, just tear it up and stick it in the fireplace. You don't need this. If you weren't supposed to see it, just pretend you didn't."

"Bobbsey, you still have a lot to learn. Forgetting isn't as simple as it seems."

"Ugh, I remember, I remember. You tried to explain this when we watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, remember?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, Cass. I just—this one is different."

"You've said that before."

"Well, I really have this overwhelming urge to reply this time."

"Okay…so do it! That's good, right?"

"No! I was never supposed to see this in the first place."

"Isn't that fate, Mom?"

"I suppose."

"Are you okay—I can come home for a while today if you want. Caroline's fine here with Jake, you know."

"No, darling, you just have a good weekend. I need some more time to think."

"Okay, love you, Mom. Call me if you need anything—even if you need me to talk you into or out of sending a reply."

Miranda smiled. "I love you, sweetheart. I'll see you tomorrow night."

Ending the call, she turned to the pieces of paper clutched firmly in her hand. Andrea, why are you doing this to me? she thought.

Deciding it would be best to write a reply before deciding whether or not to send it, she collected her notepad and pen, making herself comfortable on the couch. It was going to be a long night.

"Hey Cass? Was Mom upset about Andy again?"

"Yeah. It's super weird, but Andy wrote this letter to her, not meaning to send it, then lost her stuff. Mom's address was on there, so some lady sent everything to Mom. I don't know what was in the letter but it definitely made her really upset."

"I kind of miss Andy. I know Mom would kill me if she heard me say that…but I do. Mom was happier when she was here, too."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I still don't get why Mom broke up with her."

"What do you mean? They were never dating or anything official," Caroline said.

"Well, you know, like broke up their friendship. Like how you told Alicia you didn't want to be her friend anymore?"

"Oh yeah, I guess. But I still talk to Alicia sometimes. I mean, I'm not burning texts from her or anything crazy."

"True," Cassidy said. "I really hope Mom writes back to her. Andy deserves it."

"What? She's actually writing back? You didn't say that!" Caroline said, punching her in the arm.

"Ow. Mom didn't exactly say it either. I just have a feeling. Actually, I have a feeling she's going to write this awesome letter back and then not send it."

"You mean like she does every other time she hears from her?"

"Yup. Personally, my favorite was when Andy left a voicemail on the house phone and Mom spent like a whole week practicing a reply, then chickened out."

"Hey," Caroline said, "what if we send the letter for Mom?"

"Uh, I'm pretty sure she would not be cool with that."

"But we can say it was an accident—like, Andy's letter got to her by accident, but I'm sure Mom's glad she got it, despite what she says."

Cassidy's eyes lit up. "You're right. This is brilliant. Now if we can just get them in the same room together…"

"One step at a time. We don't even know if Mom wrote a reply."

Both girls busted out laughing. "Who are we kidding. Of course she did. She's probably on her thirteenth draft by now," Cassidy said. Even Jake joined in their laughter in the way only a three-year-old can.

Later that afternoon, after their father and his wife had returned from their weekend trip, the girls joined Miranda for dinner on the patio. Sensing that Miranda didn't want to talk much about her weekend, Caroline and Cassidy filled their mother's head with stories upon stories of the silly and cute things their half-brother Jake has been doing and saying.

"Hey Mom, do you feel like going for a run with me?" Cassidy asked.

Miranda paused. "Yes, actually, that sounds great. Can you give me twenty minutes to change?"

Cassidy internally rolled her eyes. "Sure, I've got to find my leggings," she said. Miranda never wore anything other than yoga pants, stretchy tees and athletic jackets anymore, but apparently a run through Central Park required entirely different attire.

Once Miranda was upstairs, Cassidy turned to her sister. "While we're gone, you have to find the letter."

"What? Am I supposed to go searching through her stuff?"

"Yes. I've already searched the study but it's not there—and neither is the letter Andy wrote. I'm thinking Mom has it tucked away in her closet or nightstand or something."

"Fine," Caroline said. "But when I find it, I'm relocating it to YOUR bedroom. You realize she will kill us?"

"I have a better idea. Make a copy of it on the printer, then put it back where you found it."

"Cass, if I get caught I'm never talking to you again."

"Okay, okay. I promise to keep Mom out for at least an hour, maybe two. We'll chat more tonight. I've gotta change."

TBC

A/N: "DWP" is the legit abbreviation for the Los Angeles County Department of Water and Power. I won't lie, I saw "DWP" in the subject line of an email at work and was ridiculously disappointed there was no Mirandy involved. Tsk Tsk.