I'm back, everyone! I have to apologize for the horrendously long absence—we were abroad for about a month and then I came back to school and got sucked into the hell that is college apps. I must thank Mellowmom to infinity and beyond for reviewing and telling me she hoped I hadn't abandoned this story. It got pushed to the back of my mind and though it wasn't fully forgotten, I didn't quite feel the motivation to come back to it. You gave me the kick in the butt I needed, so thank you SO much for your sweet words.

The part about Anna's past I mentioned in the last chapter will be revealed in the next installment due to some rearranging. Hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: If I owned this show I would've actively campaigned for JoFro to get the Emmy she deserved last night. So basically I own nothing.

Anna's shadow now lingered longer than she did. She entered rooms only to leave, if they didn't offer the solitary confinement she felt she deserved. And she nearly ran out if John was one of the faces that worried over her when she walked through a doorway.

First she tried hiding in the laundry, but that was no good. Maids in and out with their small talk, and a heart attack every time one of the girls burst in in a rush and clanked the heavy door.

She couldn't hide in her room; that was too obvious (but wasn't she already cut-glass, clear enough for them all to read?) and most of the other rooms downstairs were always occupied.

The boot room. It wasn't nearly as busy. She could keep to herself there.

And it was the proof of her guilt, the angry cuffs around her bruised wrists like the ones they had dragged John away in. For every moment she let him hope, for every moment she thought she could share it with him, this would be her punishment. This was where she belonged.

It was coming out of the boot room that he ambushed her (well, as much as a man with a cane can ambush. They would've chuckled at at that together, many months ago.) Anna was making tracks towards the servants' hall to check the ledger when he appeared out of the kitchen. He had no issue picking up speed for the short length of the hallway.

"Anna, we must talk."

"Not during the day. We can't be seen slacking."

"When else are we supposed to? It's not as if we have the walks home to catch up." She flinched, and he dropped his head. There was the vicious tongue his mother had spoken of. She never thought she'd push him to use it, the way Vera had. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to snap. Just a few minutes. You can manage that, surely."

"I can cover for you, Mrs. Bates." Baxter must've heard the end of their conversation. What was it she had said once to O'Briend about minding her own business? It seemed fitting, now. Though Anna couldn't bring herself to frown at the kind look on the woman's face.

"That would be much appreciated, Miss Baxter. Anna?" John searched for her approval. Her John, ever the gentleman.

"That's kind of you, Miss Baxter. We shan't be a moment."

She followed John out into the courtyard. God, she didn't want to ruin this place with lies that should've had no place between her and John. She would try and do it quickly, mercifully (why not tell the falsehoods to herself, too?)

She looked away, eyes already burning. "What is it?"

"I couldn't tell you. Only that something's gone terribly wrong."

(The court appeared in front of her. This is-this is terribly, terribly wrong! The jury was upon her, weighing her sins. Adultery, lies, a tongue like a whip. The scales were tipping.)

"How many times do I have to tell you? Nothing's—"

"I know, nothing's wrong. But that can't be the truth. Not when you won't look at me and we aren't even living in the same house." He moved closer to her, his voice gentle. "I don't know what I did, but I'd give anything to fix it. Just tell me and we'll go from there."

"John—" her voice caught. What could she even say to that? "I can't do this now. Please. Let's talk after dinner when we don't have to go back in right away."

She moved to hurry past him, but he grabbed her wrist. Ever so gently, but she just barely held back a shudder at the way they'd last held tighly. She looked up, only to find his eyes slightly glassy. (Would this awful pain never stop?)

"Anna, you must understand—I'm only trying to make things right."

"You did nothing."

He sighed, then gave her wrist a kind squeeze. She couldn't stop a slight moan; the bruises were still fresh on her skin. John frowned, and brushed the edge of her sleeve up.

"Anna?"

"From when I fainted. I must've—I think I tried to break the fall with my hand, somehow."

She pulled free and hurried back into the house then, hoping against hope that he wouldn't notice that purple bruises bloomed in the shape of a hand.