Exhibit 7

I was the first one awake and out of bed that Monday morning. To my surprise I had awaken an hour before my alarm clock was set to go off. And no matter how hard I tried, I could not get back to sleep.

Unhappily, I stumbled out of my warm bed and into the bathroom. Perhaps I would sneak down and see if the latest issue of Teen Vogue had arrived. I had heard, through the rumor mill at school, that Caroline and I had gotten ourselves in the latest issue for attending a huge bash several weekends back for Miley Cyrus. Our outfits had topped the charts and there had been a little exposé written about the 'van Ziegler twin's' and of course our outfits were linked to our mother, the ever elusive, fashion icon herself: Miranda Priestly.

So I quietly crept down the stairs, past my mother's bedroom, where I could hear the running water of her morning shower humming, and down to the main level. I glanced at the front door, noticing a pile of mail beneath the mail slot in the door. I saw, immediately, the magazine; it was hard to miss with its bright pink font and colorful photos splashed on the front page.

I moved towards the pile and reached for it, when I noticed that there was a newspaper trapped between the rest of the envelopes and various other, foreign magazines. Picking up Teen Vogue, I moved the envelopes to the side and found the paper was The New York Mirror.

That was not at all the paper I had envisioned my mother subscribing too; and didn't she have all of her news subscriptions sent to the office?

Skimming over the front page, I realized it was a hard-hitting, seemingly liberal type of publication, complete with pictures of criminals, the president, crime scenes, etc.

As I glanced at it a name popped out at me.

There, under a little front page blurb about the new reform on carbon emissions in the city, was the all too familiar name and seemingly familiar picture to accompany it.

Andrea Sachs.

My mother was secretly subscribing to a newspaper that Andy wrote for?

I heard footsteps on the stairs and immediately gathered the mail up, standing up just in time for my mother's heels to stop their clicking down the carpeted stairs. She had paused, mid-adjusting her shirt sleeve, and was staring at me as if she couldn't quite comprehend why I was there.

"You're awake early." She mused, quickly snapping out of it and continuing her steady walk down the stairs, and straight to me. She took the mail from my hands, leaving me with my Teen Vogue, and headed towards the kitchen.

I scampered behind her and watched as she tossed the mail on the clean countertop, opening the refrigerator door to try and find some milk for the coffee Manuela had already made.

I crawled up into a barstool and opened Teen Vogue. "I couldn't go back to sleep." I muttered, my voice tired.

My mother raised her eyebrows as she poured a slight bit of milk into her cup of coffee, her eyes not leaving the white liquid as she vaguely acknowledged my presence. It would appear we were both tired.

"Are you going to be home tonight?" I asked her, shifting through page after page, looking for the section on Miley's big New York bash.

"Hmm..." my mother uttered through a mouthful of coffee. "I have a, uh, dinner...function this evening. I might be home for a minute before, but I doubt you'll see me afterwards."

I nodded, my eyes coming to rest on the fabulous Betsey Johnson clad Caroline and I at the huge teen event. I quickly scanned the little snippet below the picture and, just as I had guessed, it mentioned my mother and her success as a fashion icon. Luckily, it's rubbed off on her girls.

I grinned and turned it over for my mother to look. She glanced up from whatever she had been reading and her eyes traveled over the page I extended to her. As she looked, I notice a small smile creep across her red-tinted lips.

I happened to glance down and I noticed that my mother's finger was lingering on the very article I had found so interesting in The New York Mirror earlier this morning. The one written by Andy Sachs. Mom was reading it...that very article...

"That is wonderful, Cassidy." She smiled and sipped her coffee, my eyes quickly flashing up to see the momentary pride cross behind her icy blue eyes. "I'm glad you two ended up choosing those Johnson dresses. I absolutely detested those Armani outfits. They were horrendous."

I grinned, slightly, at my mother's disapproval of the designers, who would burst to tears, no doubt, if she was ever to say such a thing in public.

However, I was distracted by my mother reading Andy's article. I was confused and concerned about her reaction to my sister bringing up our mother's old assistant the night before. Carefully, I decided to work in a question or two of my own.

"What are you reading?" I asked, attempting to sound nonplussed, as if I hadn't noticed it was Andy's article.

"What does it look like I'm reading, Cassidy?" She mindlessly replied.

Well this wasn't getting anywhere. "Is that Andy?" I couldn't resist; my finger shot out to point at the picture of the woman.

My mother actually, visibly, squirmed for a moment, but quickly masked it with a slight cough. "Oh," she held the paper up closer to her and attempted to look as if she were examining the picture, as if she had only just seen it for the first time. And perhaps she had, but I had a feeling she had known all along that it was Andy's article and that Andy wrote for The New York Mirror. I was quite certain that was exactly why she had this subscription.

I had known it. My mother didn't hate Andy at all.

But what was it about the very mention of Andy that drove my mother crazy?

Could it be...

"I had no idea; well her writings not as horrible as it used to be." My mother mumbled, setting the newspaper down and quickly checked through the rest of the mail, as if looking for a distraction.

"Mom," she had piqued my curiosity and I needed a better answer than that.

She half-glanced up at me, acting enthralled by a phone bill.

"How come you subscribe to the newspaper Andy writes for?"

She attempted to look unmoved by my question, buying herself time by studying the bill, but she knew she would have to answer. "I...want to keep tabs on my old employees. I can't have any one of them making me look bad."

Wrong.

But I could tell she was getting flustered and I knew one more question would push her over her edge and she would be yelling at me. So I let it drop.

There was so something going on.

And I was going to figure it out.

~*~

My morning conversation with my mother lingered like a bad taste in my mouth through the rest of the day. She had mentioned a dinner, function, of which I figured was business related. True to her word she came home long enough to slip into a nice, functional Vera Wang dress in a deep shade of green that had been delivered at the house literally seconds before she stepped in the front door.

She barely had time to talk to either my sister or I. We watched her run from her closet to the bathroom, to her closet again until she looked impeccable.

We figured it was an event; albeit, not an overly dressy event.

She looked as if she was going out to dinner with someone, but no date came to pick her up. She left of her own accord, whisked away in the backseat of her town car.

I didn't expect her back till late that evening, but I was shocked and surprised that by nearly one that morning she had still not returned.

The next morning, when I awoke - oddly early once again - I realized she had not come home at all the night before.

I discovered this when I went trapezing down the stairs, unable to fall back to sleep even though I was exhausted. I headed towards the kitchen, deciding that if I was up, I was up. I peered into the refrigerator, knowing that Manuela wouldn't be here for at least another thirty minutes.

I poured myself a bowl of cereal and some grape juice, and settled on the barstool, flipping on the TV for company.

Imagine my surprise when I heard the backdoor clicking open and it was not Manuela on the other side.

I thought my heart might have stopped beating all together, and I dropped my spoon. I heard it clamor to the floor, but was unable to comprehend anything except for the sight of my mother's crystal blue eyes staring at me in horror and surprise.

She looked...well...disheveled. Her hair was pushed flat on one side and her mascara had left a mark down her cheek, her lipstick was smeared. And the topper of it all was the fact that she was still in that same Vera Wang dress, though it didn't look near as nice and neatly pressed as it had the night before.

We stared at one another, unable to comprehend the other's presence in the room.

I hadn't wanted to see her like this, sneaking in at the crack of dawn, and I knew she didn't want to be seen like this either.

I quickly broke eye-contact with her and my eyes flew to the cereal before me, the television on the wall opposite my mom; I looked anywhere except at my mom.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw her quickly shuffle towards the back stairwell; but I sensed her hesitate and unwillingly I looked back at her. "Where were you?" I asked, more surprised at myself than my mother by my question.

"That," she hissed, slipping out of her heels, "is none of your business."

And with that she gained her poise back and with all the dignity she could muster, she stomped up the stairs, away from me.

My heart pumped faster, my hands shaking. I had never, ever witnessed my mom like that before...and sneaking in so early in the morning?

~*~

The incident was not mentioned again. I knew better than to bring it up that evening as the three of us sat around the table. I had been itching to mention the episode to my sister all day, but we hadn't had a moment of free time to catch up. Though I felt that my sister knew something was up.

My mother attempted to ignore me, only glancing my way when the normal dinner conversation shifted towards me. She stared at me with what looked like fear dancing in the corners of her crystal blue eyes, and I knew she was mortified at her behavior and the fact that I had caught her.

I supposed it wouldn't have been so horrible, but I had no idea who my mother was out perusing with and it concerned me. My mother had been rather unhappy ever since her last divorce and I didn't want her hurting herself further. Even though she didn't always act like she cared about my sister and me, I cared about her.

She was an icon; she could take care of her appearance, her work, keeping up appearances at banquets, functions, fashion shows and so on, but she rarely took care of herself. Her inner self, which I knew suffered because of the hard demands of her seemingly high-maintenance life.

If she had someone, I would hope that she would share this information with us, not sneak around behind everyone's backs like I believe she was currently doing.

I happened to glance over at her for a second, and I suddenly had a quick flashback to the morning. There was something in her cheeks, her skin. She was radiant, glowing. She had been happy this morning, I just hadn't realized it.

Had she finally found someone who could make her happy?