April 16, 1912

After managing to grab a few hours of broken sleep–straight on the floor of the lounge as someone had taken her pile of pillows–Sarah awoke just before sunrise, surprised that she couldn't remember a single nightmare. She had been so sure that her night would've been filled with them. As she sat up in the dim light of the room and stretched the kinks out of her aching back, she looked around. It was surreal to see so many people scattered about on chairs, sofas, and even the floor.

After finding a steward to bring her a cup of tea, Sarah cradled the warm cup in her hands and made her way out to the promenade deck. She settled on the same bench she had sat on the day before. She sipped the tea, savoring its warmth, as the sky brightened with remarkable shades of pink and red, revealing the icebergs that dotted the water. There were a few other people on the deck, chatting softly, but one woman wept. She looked at her with compassion, knowing that she wasn't the only one to lose someone.

Suddenly, Sarah's stomach turned over and she sighed as she felt the familiar feeling of seasickness return. She hadn't experienced any symptoms while on the tiny lifeboat, but now that she was on the steadier ship, it had come back with full force. She realized she must've been too distracted to notice it before. It seemed like just another unfair thing on top of everything else she had already endured. No one else was seasick. Why did she have to suffer through it on top of everything else?

Sarah took another sip of her tea and closed her eyes. John always worried too much about every little thing. But now that he was gone she desperately wished for his worry. Why had she been left all alone?

The sound of soft voices grew louder as more people woke up and joined the ones already on deck. Someone let out a sudden laugh and Sarah whipped her head around to find the source. It seemed impossible that anyone could laugh after what had happened. How could anyone find joy in anything ever again?

"What do ye mean it's costin' 10 shillings?" Kate clutched the telegraph form upside down–she couldn't bear to look at what she had written. She was shoved in the middle of a group of people, all with their own forms in their hands, pressing towards the purser's office.

The man behind the desk let out a tired sigh. "I mean that is what it costs to send a marconigram."

"I was told that it'd be free," Kate protested, blinking back tears. The thought of her parents waiting at home for news of their journey and not hearing anything was too much to bear. Even if the news wasn't good, she had to get the message to them.

"Well, I was never told that."

"And where am I supposed to get 10 shillings from?" She asked, desperation creeping into her voice.

"If you don't have the money, then there's nothing I can do for you," he said, already turning his attention to the next person in line.

"I don't have any money," Kate protested. "I don't have anythin' at all.

The man ignored her and began to address the woman next to her.

"Beggin' yer pardon." Kate pounded a hand on the desk. "But I'm not finished with ye yet."

"Ma'am, I will fetch the master of arms if you—"

Without waiting for him to finish his sentence, she turned and pushed her way through the crowd, ignoring the angry muttering and jostling of the other passengers.

Kate put her face in her hands and tried to calm herself down."They're sayin' it'd be free to send a message to our loved ones, but now they're sayin' it'll cost 10 shillings," she muttered to herself in frustration. "Where am I supposed to get 10 shillings? Everythin' I own is at the bottom of the sea. I suppose they're expectin' me to swim down and fetch it meself." She felt like everything was collapsing around her and the tears threatened to spill over.

A woman next to her suddenly held out a few coins.

Kate looked at them in disbelief. "I can't be takin' that," she said, shaking her head.

"You can borrow it."

"I can't be borrowin' it."

The woman waved the coins in her face. "You can and you will."

Reluctantly, Kate reached out and took them. "It seems rather unfair to be charged for sendin' bad news."

"Who'd you lose?"

"Me brother," she replied, her voice catching in her throat.

'That's a real shame," the woman replied. "At least he died bravely then which is more than can be said for some."

"What are ye on about?" Kate asked.

"Ye haven't heard?" The woman leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "My cousin told me that there was a man in her boat dressed as a woman to get a seat. And she, my cousin that is, told me that she heard of another man who leapt into one as it was being lowered and completely crushed a child. And," she lowered her voice even further. "She saw a man get shot for trying to push his way onto a boat." She nodded. "What do you think of that?"

Kate scoffed. "I reckon yer cousin is talkin' shite," she retorted. "And I'm bettin' none of that ever happened at all."

But then she remembered the chaos and panic she had witnessed earlier, the crew members linking arms to keep the men back, the officer waving a revolver in the air, and she felt uncertain.

Cal sat at the breakfast table with Ruth and Rose, staring at the uninspiring food in front of him. The meal lacked the splendor of the Titanic 's lavish feasts and the silence was unsettling. Ruth looked tired and Rose seemed downcast. Both spent more time pushing their food around their plates than eating it.

After they finished breakfast, he spoke up before anyone could leave the table. "Rose," he began, "will you take a walk on deck with me?"

"I would rather not," Rose replied coldly.

He bristled at her response. "It'll only take a moment."

"Maybe we should all go for a walk—" Ruth interjected, pushing back from the table.

Cal shook his head. "No, I'm sorry, but I was hoping to walk with Rose alone. We have something to discuss. If you'll excuse us."

Ruth froze momentarily, a flicker of alarm crossing her face before she regained her composure. "Of course."

He and Rose walked in silence to the promenade deck, the sky now gray and ominous with a biting wind. Despite that, the deck was still packed with people seeking respite from the overcrowded lower decks. Cal pulled his coat tighter around him, still feeling chilled from his swim two nights before, and cast a sideways glance at Rose who was still wearing his thicker coat. He hadn't had the heart to ask for it back.

"If you're going to demand that I remain in my room for the remainder—" Rose began, the irritation thick in her voice.

"No," Cal cut her off. "I wasn't going to demand that at all."

"Oh," she replied, taken aback. "Well, that's fine then. Because there's four of us in that tiny room and you can hardly turn around without stepping on someone's toe."

"Well, there's plenty of floor space in the smoking room, if you want a change." He had spent the previous night sleeping on a lounge chair in the smoking room. It wasn't the least bit comfortable and already he was trying to figure out how to luck into an actual room. Several men had managed it thus far and he was sure there must've been an empty bed remaining somewhere on the ship.

But Rose replied simply, "I'd rather not."

They reached the bulwark and gazed out at the gray sea. A ghostly iceberg loomed in the distance.

Cal took a deep breath before speaking. "Rose, do you think I'm a fool?"

She looked at him but didn't answer.

"That's what I thought," he replied, his frustration rising. He paused a moment before continuing. "And maybe I am one for pushing for something that will never happen."

"What are you carrying on about?"

"Rose, I have been foolish. I've been foolish because I had somehow deluded myself into thinking that eventually you would come to care for me. I've thought that if I bought you paintings and diamonds—where is the necklace, by the way? It wasn't in the safe when we left."

"Oh." She looked startled. "I have it."

"Why do you…never mind." He shook his head. "That's not important right now. What is important is that I'm finally seeing things clearly. I met a man on the ship who actually brought me to my senses."

"I'm glad you've finally found reason."

"Rose," Cal said. He stopped as he considered his next words carefully. He knew that calling off the engagement would cause a scandal and that it would affect her more than him, particularly given the rumors already circulating about her family's lost fortune. But as he looked at her, her attention half on the sea in front of them, he knew. "I think it's best if we call off the engagement before we reach New York." The words were like a weight lifted from his shoulders.

Rose's expression changed from one of surprise to one of relief. She opened her mouth to speak but shut it again. She quietly slipped the engagement ring off her finger and held it out.

Cal looked at it. Even under the cloudy sky the diamond seemed to sparkle. "Keep it," he said, at last. "Sell it, for all I care. I'm sure you could use the money."

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and went back inside the ship where it was warm and he could direct his attention to finding a better place to sleep at night.

More important things.

Kate had already asked two other people and was close to giving up when she approached the third. "Excuse me," she said. "Would ye be havin' the lists of those saved?" She already knew the truth–she had written it on the telegraph form–but she had to be certain. She didn't want to cling to the smallest, unrealistic hope like so many on the ship.

The man looked at her kindly and nodded his head. "I can fetch them," he said. "Are you looking for someone?"

Relief flooded through Kate and she very nearly hugged him. "My brother. Patrick Murphy. Why else would I be wantin' the lists?"

The man disappeared and returned a moment later, clutching a small stack of papers. He licked his finger before rifling through the pages. At last, he shook his head. "There's no one here by that name," he said, his voice apologetic. "I'm sorry. But maybe he was missed."

Kate had known what he was going to say, but the finality of hearing it from someone else made her heart sink. "No, that's alright," she managed to say. "He wasn't missed. Thank ye anyway. I just had to be sure."

As she turned to walk away, Kate's steps felt heavy and slow. The realization that she was completely and entirely alone sank in and she could feel her chest tighten with anxiety. What was she going to do once they reached New York? They had been planning on continuing on to Ohio, but she didn't know how to get there by herself. Pat had been the one planning everything and now he was gone. Without him, she was lost.

She looked around for a familiar face but saw no one. She briefly considered trying to track down Fabrizio, as he was the only person she still knew but she shook the thought away. He had his own problems and didn't need her hanging onto him for support. Helga's mother had already taken that role. Kate remembered how the woman clutched onto him, despite the language barrier, sobbing about her lost family. Kate envied her for having someone to hold on to. She wished she had someone.

Rose had felt relieved as though she had escaped a second great tragedy. For a moment, she even felt like she could smile. But then the memory of Jack flashed across her mind, sending a wave of sadness over her. At least now she was free from the one thing holding her back. She could live her own life. Jack would be proud of her.

As she went back inside, she was stopped by her mother blocking the way. Rose tensed at the sight of the crossed arms and the scowl on her mother's face. She took a deep breath and tried to keep her tone level and serious. "Mother," she said, acknowledging her presence.

"Don't mother me," Ruth replied sharply. "I warned you what would happen if you continued behaving the way—"

Rose cut her off. "I don't know what you mean."

Ruth grabbed her hand and held it up. "Where's your ring?"

She yanked her hand back. "I threw it overboard."

Her mother clasped a hand over her heart and nearly fell back. "You have ruined us," her voice quivered. "You know that, right? There will never be another match like—"

"No, mother. My father ruined us. I just choose to live my own life on my own terms."

"And how do you intend to do such a thing with no money?" Ruth snapped. "Are you planning on whoring yourself out like that Dorothy Gibson?"

"Mother!" Rose protested.

"Don't think that I don't know how the world works. We are ruined." She spoke the words slowly and deliberately.

"We are not ruined."

"We will be cast out of high society," her mother continued. "Our things will be sold at auction and you will have to content yourself with whatever is willing to overlook this scandal. And God forbid word gets out about your gallivanting around with that steerage boy."

"We didn't gallivant around," Rose replied defensively, feeling her face flush. "We only talked."

"Talking is more than enough."

" This talking is," she replied with a touch of defiance. With that, she pushed past her mother, leaving her standing there speechless. Rose knew that being removed from high society was hardly being ruined. If anything, it was freeing. And without all of the rules and restrictions, she could live her life the way she wanted, expectations be damned .

Fabrizio had braced himself for the worst when he had approached Helga's mother. He wouldn't have blamed her if she had wished to throw him overboard. He certainly blamed himself. He played the scene over and over in his mind. Helga one moment next to him, clutching his arm, and then the next, she was gone, swept away in the torrent of icy water. It was all he could see when he closed his eyes. Her cries were all he could hear when he tried to sleep. The rest of the time that he spent on the swamped collapsible was nothing compared to that one moment when he realized he had lost her. But instead of anger, her mother had greeted him with tears and threw herself into his arms. She hadn't left his side since.

Even with Inger there-as he now knew her name to be-Fabrizio still felt lonely. For the past year, Jack had always been by his side as they traveled from place to place, hustling poker to pay their way. And now he was no more. He had searched the list of those saved in vain, knowing deep down that Jack had gone down with the ship. After all, he had run toward the stern. No one who went that way stood much of a chance. How could they when they were one among the hundreds who ran aft?

But Fabrizio couldn't dwell on his losses. He tried to comfort Inger as best he could, knowing that the moment he started thinking about his own pain, he wouldn't be able to stop. There were more important things that he needed to figure out. He had no money, no plans, and knew no one in New York. For the first time in a year, the thought of returning to Italy crossed his mind.

Pat woke up with a parched throat and aching body, every inch of him stiff and sore. His hands and feet throbbed with pain, but he was relieved to find that he could move his toes. A massive headache pounded behind his eyes and he wondered how late in the day it was. It was strange how quickly the memories came back. Running through the ship's corridors, falling into the icy water, clinging to the overturned boat, the sounds of panicked screams. It was all too surreal, yet too vivid to ignore. He sat up in the empty room and felt a wave of loneliness wash over him. The thought of being the only survivor flashed through his mind, but he swiftly dismissed it as impossible.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing at the pain in his feet as he tried to stand. His head spun and he gripped the wall a moment before going on. He opened the door to a corridor and watched as several people walked by but he didn't recognize any of them and none of them paid him the least attention. He took a deep breath and steadied himself before slowly continuing on.

At the end of the corridor, he paused to catch his breath. He tried to move his fingers but they hurt as much as his feet. He turned the corner and felt a flutter of panic that he couldn't explain. It was just a corridor. It was just a ship. Everything was fine. It's just a ship. It's just a ship. It's just a ship. He repeated the phrase in his head.

But then, as he turned the following corner, the panic surged up again, stronger than before. The walls seemed to close in on him and he felt lost and alone in the maze of corridors. His heart pounded in his chest and he leaned against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn't breathe and the feeling of drowning overwhelmed him.

"Sir?" Someone touched his arm and he jumped. "Are you alright?"

Pat tried to speak, but his throat was tight and his voice came out in a hoarse whisper. "How'd I get out?"

"What?"

"I'm needin' to get out. How do I get out?" His voice shook.

"Sure," the man replied. "Turn left at the end of the corridor and you'll see a staircase at the end of that one. Take it up. Are you sure you're–"

Pat walked away before he could finish speaking, moving as quickly as his painful feet would allow. He found the stairs and began to climb, leaning heavily against the railing. He still couldn't escape the overwhelming feeling that he was sinking.

Sarah still sat in the same spot on the same bench, beyond exhausted but still too afraid to sleep any more than necessary. She could hear a couple of women sitting nearby, quietly chatting. She wondered briefly what it would have been like to have a shoulder to cry on and then she wondered what it would be like to cry at all. Why hadn't she cried yet? A feeling of guilt rose up inside of her. Hadn't she loved John? Shouldn't she be inconsolable with pain? It felt as though she had died alongside him.

A figure approached from across the deck and Sarah's shoulders tensed. She knew who it was without even looking up. "Don't you have anything better to do than bother me all the time?" She asked.

"No, I really don't," Lowe replied, taking the seat next to her. "But if you can think of anything, please let me know."

Sarah let out a deep sigh, feeling annoyed but also grateful for his presence. "I don't have anything to do either," she admitted. "Except think and that's something I'm trying my hardest to avoid." Trying and failing.

"What does that leave you with?"

"Staring," she replied. "And fighting the thoughts as they try to creep in. It's actually quite exhausting."

"I can imagine. Are you still trying to keep awake?"

"Are you?" She retorted.

"So that's a yes, then," he replied.

They fell into silence. Sarah could feel Lowe's eyes on her, but she didn't dare look at him. She didn't want to see the pity in his expression.

"What am I supposed to do?" She suddenly asked.

He looked caught off guard. "Keep going, I suppose."

"I'm not asking some deep philosophical question," Sarah snapped. "I literally don't know what to do now. I keep thinking about it and I just…I don't know. We were going to Spokane, I know that much but John had the train tickets. I suppose they're gone now. But that doesn't matter because I don't even know the address. Is it even my house? We were only married a week. That's hardly anything. So, tell me. What am I supposed to do?" The words came out in a rush.

Lowe took a deep breath and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I wish I had answers for you, I really do. Would it help if I told you that everything would be okay?"

"No."

"I didn't think so," he replied. "Well, you're not sleeping and I know you're tired. I'm sure everything will be clearer once you've had some rest."

"What is with you and sleep?" Sarah snapped. "I appreciate your concern but my mental state is none of your concern." She stood up and looked at him. "Oh, you know what I mean. I'm sorry. I have a great deal on my mind." She walked a few steps away, then hesitated and returned to the bench. "I forgot I have nowhere else to go. If you could leave, though."

"Of course," Lowe replied, his tone gentle. He stood and gave her a warm smile. "Well, if you need anything, I have absolutely nothing to do, so please reach out."

"You can't give me what I need but I appreciate the offer," she replied.

As Lowe walked away, Sarah leaned her head back and stared up at the endless sky, feeling entirely alone.

Rose was determined to prove her mother wrong. There had to be options for them that didn't involve marrying into a wealthy family. She borrowed a piece of paper and pencil and sat at a table, tapping the pencil on the table as she thought.

First she wrote down 'Dorothy Gibson,' then scribbled it out. She might've thought the woman was a success but she already knew what her mother thought of her. Next, she wrote 'Lucy Duff Gordon,' the woman who started as a simple seamstress-her mother's greatest fear—and ended up creating a large, wealthy empire. Rose knew that her mother respected her, at least. She tried to think of a second name who had a career that consisted of more than throwing cotillions and drinking champagne but no one else came to mind.

Instead, she shifted her focus to careers that she, personally, found respectable. She wouldn't have minded being a secretary—at least for a time—as she always found the clickety-clack of typewriters pleasant. And teachers were quite respected. Could women be teachers? Her governess had taught her plenty of things but she didn't want to be a governess to a bunch of spoiled children. But if they weren't spoiled, it wouldn't be terrible.

Oh, but she could fly! It wasn't all that long ago that she had overheard two men discussing female aviators or, more likely, complaining about them. But the idea of soaring through the clouds fascinated her and she filed it away in her brain as a possible option. She wasn't sure if it could be a career, but she wrote it down anyway.

As she watched a man walk by with bandaged hands, she added 'nurse' to the list, but then crossed it out and wrote 'doctor' instead. She had never heard of any female doctors, but if a man could do it, then why couldn't a woman do it better? When she ran out of ideas, she held up her list and smiled. Her mother was wrong, and she had plenty of options.

Pat stepped onto the promenade and a gust of cold air made him flinch. He tried to pull his coat tighter around him, but his fingers hardly deck was crowded with people; some stood in small groups, while others quietly wept into each other's arms. As he passed two women in conversation, he couldn't help but overhear, "...was so blasphemous he must've been under the influence of liquor…" They stopped talking as he walked by and turned to stare at him. He looked away toward the railing, where a woman stood with her back to him. Her dark hair seemed so familiar and suddenly, all at once, he knew who she was.

He uttered her name quietly, almost as if he didn't believe what he was seeing. "Katie?" It couldn't possibly be her.

The woman turned and Pat saw recognition, surprise, and disbelief, each wash over her face in turn. She brought a hand to her mouth and then she was rushing toward him. Pat's legs gave out and he fell to the deck. Kate knelt beside him and pulled him into a tight embrace that sent pain jolting through him but he hardly felt it. He hardly believed it.

"Are ye okay?" Her voice was thick with emotion.

Pat tried to answer, but his throat wouldn't work and all he could do was nod.

She pulled back to look at him better and took his hands which sent another burst of hardly noticed pain. "You're so cold," she told him.

"I can't get warm," he confessed, finally finding his voice. He felt as though he was still struggling in the icy water. He looked at her face, etched with worry, dark circles under her eyes and guilt overwhelmed him. "I couldn't find ye," he blurted out. He thought he saw a flicker of disbelief in her eyes that may or may not have actually been there and before he could stop himself, he started to cry.

Katie pulled him close again, her embrace warm and soothing. "I'm right here," she spoke softly as she would to a child. "Ye've found me. I'm here."

Pat clung to her, trying to steady himself. He felt like she wasn't real and he half-expected to wake up back on the overturned boat, shaken awake by the man next to him or by the shock of icy water as his fingers slipped from the keel. "Don't let me fall in," he murmured.

Katie pulled back and wiped the tears from his face with her sleeve. "What was that?" she asked, her voice gentle.

Pat, still clinging to her, looked confused. "What?"

She shook her head. "Forget about it." She looked him over and he couldn't meet her gaze. "Are ye hurt?" She asked.

He gave a half-hearted attempt at a shrug. Everything hurt but he didn't want to trouble her with it.

"Well, yer freezin'," she said. "It's warm inside." She helped him to his feet and he winced at the pain. She noticed and concern crossed her face, but she didn't say anything.

As they took a few steps toward the door, Pat could see the stairs just inside, and suddenly there was a rushing sound in his ears and he couldn't breathe. He pulled back. "No."

"Pat?" his sister looked at him, but he shook his head.

"I can't go back," he said, his voice trembling. "Don't be makin' me go back."

Her face softened although there was still worry in her eyes. "Alright," she said, in that soothing tone again. "We'll be stayin' right here."

Relief sagged his shoulders and he nodded. His grip on her arm loosened, but he still clung to her as if afraid he would lose her if he let go.

"There," she said and they sat on a nearby bench facing the gray water.

Pat closed his eyes and prayed that he wouldn't wake up from the dream he was surely in. He couldn't bear to be back in the icy water again.

Cal had put it off as long as he felt comfortable, but he knew he had to face it eventually. As he made his way to the Second Class area, a small part of him hoped that he wouldn't be able to find her. After all, there were quite a few survivors and he only had a name to go on. Not even the simplest description. But as he walked out onto the deck, almost at once his gaze landed on a young woman sitting alone on a bench. She had a hat on her lap and was slowly running a finger through the feather on it.

He approached her tentatively. "Mrs. Clarke?" he asked softly, hoping he had found the right person.

The woman looked up at him and after a moment nodded.

"Could I?" He gestured to the empty seat next to her.

She shrugged. "It's not my bench."

He hesitated. Maybe it would've been easier to mail her the ring after they reached New York.

"Oh, would you just sit down? I'd prefer that to you hovering over me," she said, interrupting his thoughts.

He quickly sat down. He gave her a sideways glance. Now that he was there, he found himself at a loss for words.

Sarah returned his look with a puzzled expression on her face. "I'm terrible with names so if we've met before, I don't remember," she said. "It's nothing personal. My husband always–" She stopped abruptly.

"We haven't met before," Cal replied. He hesitated a moment before continuing on. "I met your husband though. On the ship."

Her hand froze on the feather and she sat up straighter. "John?" There was an undeniable note of longing in her voice and Cal could feel his own heart break a little.

He nodded. "I didn't know him well but we spoke a few–"

Sarah cut him off. "I don't wish to be rude, I really don't. But I just…I can't speak of him. Not now. Not yet."

"Of course. I'm sorry." He suddenly found himself wishing he was back in the freezing water rather than sitting next to her on the bench. "It's just…" He reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring. Without looking at her, he held it out.

Sarah took it with trembling fingers. "How?" She whispered.

Unable to look her in the eyes, Cal kept his gaze on the ground. "I spoke to him as the ship was sinking and he gave me that. He asked me to give it to you if he shouldn't make it."

She didn't say anything and after a while, he stole a glance at her. Sarah sat perfectly still, staring at the ring in the palm of her hand.

He tried to think of something reassuring to say but his mind went blank. "He was–"

"How did you make it?" Sarah asked suddenly, looking up at him.

He blinked several times, thrown off by the abrupt change. "I jumped off the ship and swam to a lifeboat."

"Why didn't he?" Her voice was sharp.

"What?" Cal could feel the eyes of several nearby people turn to stare at them.

She shifted in her seat so she was facing him. "Why didn't John, my husband , jump off the ship and swim to a lifeboat?" She demanded. Her voice rose with every word. "Why didn't he try? Why did he just give up?" Her hand clenched tightly around his wedding ring and her foot tapped a nervous rhythm on the deck.

Cal started to reach for her arm but quickly pulled back, thinking better of the gesture. "He didn't give up," he said. "I don't know why he didn't jump. I wish I had an answer for that. But I know…I absolutely know that he didn't give up." He might not have known John well but he knew him well enough to know that he would've done anything to get back to his wife. Every conversation between them had always centered around her. Even the ones that had nothing to do with her.

"Then why is he not here?"

Cal looked down at his hands, feeling helpless, and wished he had an answer to her question. "I can't answer that."

"You can't answer anything, can you?" Her voice was bitter.

"I'm…" he started. His voice trailed off as he struggled to find the right words.

"It's so unfair," Sarah's voice broke.

Cal let out a sigh. "I know," he said softly. "It is."

Fabrizio sat at a table with Inger with a telegraph form in front of him. He had started to fill one out for himself before he remembered that no one had known he was on the Titanic in the first place. There was no sense worrying his mother for no reason. He was fine, after all. But he was sure that Helga's mother had worried family somewhere out there, waiting for news.

"You fill out," he said and pushed the form to her.

She hesitated, looking at it and then at him.

"Here." He took the form and pencil from her and wrote 'Inger', but then realized he didn't know the Norwegian word for 'safe.'

The woman sniffled beside him.

Fabrizio shrugged and wrote down 'safe' in English. Her family could always find a translator somewhere. He added, 'Helga and…' and then paused again. He didn't know Helga's father's name. There was so much he didn't know. He felt a sense of sadness at the thought of the potential years stolen away from him. Time that he could have used to get to know Helga and her family, learned their language, maybe even started a family. The thought may have been far-fetched but there was nothing saying it couldn't have happened. Sighing, he crossed out 'Helga and' and wrote in its place 'rest lost."

He pushed the form to Inger again and pointed at the section marked 'To.' "Here," he repeated. "You fill out."

The woman looked at it for a moment. A look of understanding suddenly crossed her face and she nodded. "Da," she said. She took the pencil and wrote down a name.

"I'm sorry this happen," Fabrizio said.

She reached over and patted his hand. "Vi skal klare oss."

Every bench was taken so Kate sat out on deck, shivering in the cold under the gloomy gray skies. Pat sat beside her, staring down at the sleeves of his coat, lost entirely in thought. She had suggested that they go inside where it was warmer but he refused, despite obviously being cold. She frowned as she watched him. It wasn't like him to be so quiet. Since they had found each other, he had been jumpy and distant; always keeping close to her side unless she went indoors where he simply refused to set foot.

She suddenly found herself thinking back to the night of the sinking, with words from the earlier woman floating around her head. Pat hadn't said anything about that night at all nor had he asked about Tommy or how she had survived. It was as though that night had never happened. The entire thing made her feel uneasy.

Unable to take the silence a moment longer, she blurted out. "Where in the name of all that's holy were ye, Pat?"

Her brother continued to stare at his sleeves. "This isn't me coat," he said quietly.

"Pat," Kate repeated, louder this time causing him to jump. "I asked ye where ye were."

He stiffened visibly at her question. "What?" He asked, still looking down at his sleeves.

"When the ship was goin' down, Pat. Where were ye?"

A puzzled look crossed his face. "I was searchin' for ye."

"Were ye now? Because ye told Tommy that ye'd be meetin' us in the General Room," Kate accused. "And would ye look at me when I'm speakin' to ye?"

Slowly, he turned his head to meet her gaze. "I was searchin' for ye," he repeated.

"Then where were ye lookin'? Sure, ye know where the General Room is." There was a note of irritation in her voice. It was a simple question. Why wouldn't he answer it?

"I was…I couldn't…" He stammered.

"For God's sake, Pat. Ye have no idea how scared we were. We thought ye were dead. The least ye could do is give me an honest answer."

"I am…I'm tellin' the truth. I was lookin' for ye."

"Then how did ye end up on a lifeboat?" Kate asked.

"What?" A strange look came onto his face.

She pressed on. "How did ye end up on a lifeboat? Tommy couldn't even get himself onto one," she said. Her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. She hadn't said his name since that night and just saying it was more painful than even thinking it.

"I wasn't on a lifeboat," he said quietly.

"Yer on this ship, so ye must have been. Unless ye swam all the way here."

"Katie—" Pat began, but she cut him off.

"Don't ye Katie me," she snapped. "And why haven't ye asked about Tommy, then? I thought he was yer mate. Don't ye even give a damn? Well, he's dead so there's that. And maybe he wouldn't be if ye hadn't–" She broke off suddenly, realizing she went too far.

Pat looked as though she had struck him and his hands trembled.

Kate clutched the fabric of her skirt to keep her own hands steady. "Ye abandoned me."

"I didn't," he insisted.

"Then tell me what happened," she asked.

There was a long pause, and Kate could see the panic in Pat's eyes. Finally, he spoke in a quiet voice. "I can't."

"Pat—" She reached out to touch him.

He flinched and yanked his arm back. "Don't…don't touch me."

"What's the matter with ye?"

"Just leave me be." He stood up slowly, wincing as he got to his feet.

Kate watched him move to the railing and briefly considered following him, but instead, she held back, letting him go.

There were no words for how her heart had plummeted to her feet when she was given John's wedding ring. It had taken several seconds before she could breathe again and then she felt only anger, not at the man who brought her the ring but at John for not fighting hard enough to return to her. As soon as the man had walked away, she put the ring deep into her pocket, unable to look at it, unable to touch it.

When she pinned her hat back onto her head, her fingers brushed against the feather. It suddenly dawned on her that John must have known what was about to happen. Why else would he have insisted she wear her best hat? The realization was enough to make her legs feel weak. He had lied to her. She knew why he had done it; if she had known the truth, then she would've never left his side. She wished she had known because then they could've died together. And that was better than living the rest of her life without him.

She thought suddenly of John's coat and felt a sharp pang of loss. She wished she still had it with her so she could bury herself deep inside it. But it was gone, given away to help someone else. She hoped John would've been proud of her for doing such a thing. Her thoughts drifted to the young man who had been pulled from the overturned boat and wondered if he was still alive. She wished she knew who he was but she didn't know how to find out.

Sarah tried to ask a steward but he looked at her as though she had lost her mind. True, she didn't have much in the way of description and she couldn't even remember her own lifeboat number. Describing it as 'the one that didn't leak' wasn't very helpful. But it was then that she remembered Lowe. He had wanted something to do and, as an officer, he should know what was going on. It may have been a long shot but the idea of passing the task onto someone else felt good.

Unlike the young man with her husband's coat, Lowe proved easy to find. He was engaged in a conversation with another officer—Sarah wondered whether John would've known who he was. She stood to one side and waited until she caught his eye. Immediately, he excused himself and walked over to her.

Sarah began speaking the moment he was within earshot."Mr—"

He cut her off. "Lowe."

"I know," Sarah said more sharply than she intended. "And that's really not funny anymore."

"It sort of is," he replied with the hint of a smile. "I must say, it is nice to see you off your bench."

"I let someone else borrow it," she said. Unintentionally. She had stepped inside briefly and was mildly irritated to find someone else sitting on it when she had returned. "But that doesn't matter." She paused as she found the words. "I have a favor to ask."

"Of course."

"My lifeboat—the one I was shuffled into, not the leaking one—picked up some men from an overturned boat. Do you know who they might've been?" Surely someone must've made a list.

Lowe tilted his head to one side, his brow furrowed in thought. "Their names?" he asked.

"I gave John's coat to one and I don't wish to be heartless but…" Her voice trailed off.

"You want it back." He finished for her.

"I mean I'd also like to make sure the young man's still alive," she quickly added. "I feel rather responsible for him." She hoped he hadn't died. He had been so cold.

"Have you checked the lists of those saved to see if he's on there?"

Sarah stared at him a moment to see if he was teasing her. But his face remained serious. "I don't know his name so I'd imagine that wouldn't be very helpful."

"Oh, right," Lowe sighed. "Well, I can ask Lights. He was on the collapsible so I'm sure he knows who was with him. But I can't make any promises. He might've been one of those we buried at sea yesterday."

Sarah's heart sank at the thought. "Thank you," she said, reaching out and touching his arm. "I really appreciate it."

"I appreciate having something to do," Lowe replied. He smiled. "I can only count the lifeboats so many times."

"How many are there?"

"Thirteen," he said.

"And the rest?" Sarah pressed.

"Cast adrift."

"There couldn't possibly be—" Sarah started to say, but Lowe cut her off.

"No," he said, firmly. "All survivors are on this ship. I'm sorry."

Sarah nodded. "I knew that. It's just…it's hard to accept it, you know?"

"I know."

Fabrizio sat outside, enjoying a brief moment to himself. He had managed to find an empty bench and the sun was trying its hardest to break through the heavy gray clouds. His moment alone was soon interrupted as he saw Kate walking across the deck, a look of heavy worry on her face. He waved her over at once.

"Where's Inger?" She asked, taking a seat next to him.

He shrugged. "Sleeping, I think. I hope." He didn't mind that Helga's mother had attached herself to him...there was something to be said for not having to go through everything alone but her presence was a constant reminder that he had failed Helga and that was difficult to think about.

"I think there's somethin' wrong with Pat," Kate said, suddenly.

Fabrizio shook his head. "He's fine. He just need time."

"Sure, he won't tell me anythin'. Not even where he was when he disappeared or how he survived." She fidgeted with a seam in her skirt. "All he does is sit there and stare. And he won't even go inside. What's that all about?"

He frowned as she spoke. He hadn't known what her brother had gone through—he didn't share with him either—but he had been in the icy water and heard the screams and watched men die and if Pat's experience had been even remotely similar, it was no surprise that he was struggling. "Just let him alone. He needs time," he repeated.

Kate shrugged. "I'm just worried about him, that's all."

Fabrizio looked at her and wondered how much of her worry was over her brother and how much was her own grief. Outwardly she seemed to be handling everything well…better than Inger and certainly better than her own brother…but he could see the struggle slipping out between the cracks. He could see how rigidly she sat on the bench, a physical embodiment of tension. When her hands weren't clutching something—her skirt, her coat, the ship's railing—she drummed her fingers on whatever surface was near and her foot tapped anxiously. He knew she hadn't been sleeping well–truthfully, none of them had been–and it was only a matter of time before she broke down. He only worried about who might be in the line of fire when it finally happened.

Kate spoke up. "Ye were there at the end when the ship went down."

Fabrizio nodded and he could feel his stomach clench at the memory.

"What was it like?"

"No," he replied. It was hard enough to think about it; he didn't know if he could put it into words without breaking down himself.

"No?"

He shook his head. "I not want to talk about it."

"First Pat and now you," she said, her voice tinged with frustration.

He sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping as he spoke again. "What you want to hear about? The screams? The freezing cold? A man died in my arms. He talked about his wife he just marry. We see this ship in the distance but still he died. And Helga…" His voice faltered, and he paused for a moment before continuing. "She was next to me and then she was gone. I lost her."

Kate's expression softened. "I am so sorry."

"I never feel warm again." Would the feeling never go away? He shook his head, trying to clear the memories out.

"Fabri, I—"

"Leave Pat be. He talk in his own time."

"But—" She began.

"Kate," he said, his voice stern.

Kate didn't look happy with his response and her face was more worried than before, but after a moment, she nodded.

Pat clung desperately to the keel of the overturned boat, as icy water washed over him. Above him, the ship broke apart with a deafening roar and he was thrown into the frigid water. He gasped for air as he tried to break free from the grasping hands that clawed at him, pulling him under–

Abruptly, he awoke with a jolt, his heart pounding and rain lashing at his face, as another clap of thunder shook him to his core. It took a moment for him to realize that he wasn't back in the icy water; it was only raining. The ship wasn't breaking apart; it was just thunder. Slowly, he sat up, wincing as he felt the pain in his limbs.

He had been trying to sleep on the deck as he couldn't go inside without feeling as though he were suffocating. His body was exhausted, but the little sleep he did manage was fragmented and he was forced to relive the horrific moments from the past couple of days. A sudden thunderstorm only made everything worse. Another boom of thunder startled him, and he scrambled to the doorway, watching the sky.

His mind drifted to the letter he had found earlier in his coat pocket. It had the name 'Sarah' written on it and he wondered who she was. A faint memory of a woman's voice came to him, but nothing more. Shivering, he wrapped his coat tightly around himself and tried to block out the cold rain and wind. He pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in his arms. But even as he closed his eyes, he couldn't escape the thoughts that continued to torment him. What was wrong with him?