Izzie let herself into her house, dropping her purse onto the floor in the kitchen and trudging up the stairs as if her pumps were filled with lead. She stayed in the door for several seconds before entering; her mere presence being the thing that would disturb the illusion of her son coming home. It was neat and orderly, normal Doug. Nothing littered the floor, the books in the bookcase were alphabetized, and his gaming headphones were over a hook next to the computer.

Running her hand over the dust free desk, Izzie noticed the note addressed to her propped up in the keyboard and picked it up. Unfolding it slowly, she sank on to the bed as she began to read.

Dear Mom,

By now, you probably know what happened. I may or may not be coming home. I don't really intend to. There's no place for me here. You might not have noticed this, but I don't really fit in.

I know that Dad thinks I'm a disappointment. Honestly, I've never done anything but try to please him. But nothing that I do is ever good enough. I feel like I've spent sixteen years wasting everybody's time.

You have always loved me, Mom, and I know that. I love you too. I want you to know that none of this is your fault, so please don't blame yourself for any of it. This is something that I have to do. I have to let people know that I'm not ordinary, Mom, I have to go out with a bang, and leave my legacy. I have to do something extraordinary, and this is my moment; this is my something. I'm doing something so that when I'm gone, I will not be forgotten.

Whatever happens, however today ends up, I'm not sorry for any of it. I would do it all again. They deserve it, every one of them, and I'm not sorry.

I don't expect you to understand. I don't expect you to forgive me.

I love you, Mom. I always will.

Izzie folded the note up almost robotically, and shoved it into her pants pocket. Letting herself fall back on the bed, she curled up in the blankets and buried her face in the pillow. Doug's scent was all over everything, and Izzie absorbed it into her very pores.

Her husband and her child were never coming home.

OoooooooooooO

Rummaging through her VHS tapes in the dark, Meredith pulled one out and put it in the VCR.

Sinking down on the couch in front of the fireplace, she watched as the television flickered on. She still didn't bother to turn on any of the lights, instead reaching up and pulling the blanket from the top of the couch down around her shoulders as the image of her son came up on the screen.

"Present!" the five year old Rich on the screen squealed, tearing into the wrapping paper surrounding one of his birthday presents. "Present!"

Meredith grabbed the remote and turned down the volume, reaching over to the end table and taking the portable phone off of the charger. She dialed the number that she knew by heart without looking at the buttons, and rested her head on the back of the couch. The phone balanced easily on her shoulder as she listened to the ring.

His new wife answered. "Hello?"

"Rose, it's Meredith," she said, biting her cheek to keep her voice from quivering. "I need to talk to Derek."

"Hang on one second, okay? He's downstairs."

Meredith listened as Rose went down the stairs, opening and shutting doors searching for Meredith's ex-husband. Rolling her neck back and forth across the back of the couch, Meredith ran everything through her head and tried to figure out what she wanted to say.

"Derek, it's Meredith," she heard Rose say through the receiver.

"Meredith," he said politely, rustling fabric as he took the phone from his wife. "What's up?"

"Hi," she answered, unsure of what else to say.

"Hi," he replied, puzzled. "Is everything okay?"

Despite her best efforts, Meredith realized that she was starting to cry. "No, Derek, something…Something happened."

After several seconds, he responded, "What? What happened?"

Meredith drew her knees up to her chest, pressing a pillow against her mouth to keep herself from hysterics.

"Meredith? Are you there?"

"Yeah," she managed to choke out.

"Is it Rich? Did something happen to Rich?"

"He's…gone," Meredith whispered, wiping furiously at her cheeks with the sleeves of her sweater. "He's gone."

"What do you mean gone? Where did he go?"

"He's…gone, Derek. He's…" Meredith sighed deeply, wishing with all of her heart that her ex-husband would be the type who would have watched the news. "He's dead, Derek. He died."

"What? What are you talking about?"

Meredith was freely crying again as she answered, "There was a shooting at the high school today. He was…killed."

"What?" he asked again, and Meredith could tell by the tone of his voice that he had started to cry too. "How…"

"It was Doug. Doug O' Malley. He brought…it to school. He wanted to use it on his father, I…"

"Oh, man, Meredith, this isn't happening. Please tell me this is a joke, tell me this isn't happening," Derek's voice shook slightly.

"They keep calling him a hero, and I keep saying that…that doesn't make it any better that I'm home and I'm sitting here and…he's never coming back," Meredith sobbed. "He's really gone, Derek, he's really gone…"

She heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, and then Derek said, "I'm coming. I'll pack up some stuff and I'll come out there to help."

"I don't know what you can do," Meredith whispered. "He's not coming back. You can't bring him back. You can't…"

"You shouldn't have to plan things alone," Derek interrupted. "I'm coming up to help you. Don't argue, okay? For once? Let's just not argue. Not today."

"Okay," she answered, folding over so that she was lying across the couch twisted up in the blanket.

"I should be able to be there tomorrow," Derek said.

Meredith buried her face in the back of the couch.

"Meredith?"

"Okay," she said, muffled by the couch. "Okay."