Disclaimer: One Tree Hill and its characters belong to Mark Schwahn, The CW, etc. I'm simply whoring them for my own amusement.

Spoilers/Warnings: Mostly this thing is futuristic, but I've borrowed a few things from Season 5. Namely Owen.

Summary: It wasn't his fault, but she couldn't see anything beyond her despair, beyond her loss. Well, he'd lost, too. He despaired, too. But he was the enemy, he didn't get to have feelings.

—

05. Action! Not Words

Peyton clapped her hands, summoning the troops. Becca and Gilly each had their backpacks on, ready to embark on the zoo excursion with Lucas who was due any minute now. Dillon, however, was lying on the floor trying to stick his toes in his mouth, having shed his socks and shoes in favor of being able to do so. Peyton closed her eyes, groaning, to block out the sight of her son's peculiar new habit.

Opening her eyes, she turned her attention to Becca who had just sat on the sofa and grabbed up the remote control. "Becca, get mommy a diaper so that I can change Dill before daddy gets here." Surprisingly Becca didn't make a fuss. She hadn't been gone a second when Lucas pushed through the front door, having abandoned the nicety of knocking. Though, he had a key so knocking was a moot point regardless. Peyton muttered a curse under her breath as Dillon struggled to his feet and waddled across the floor to wrap himself around Luke's legs.

"Dude, where are your shoes?" Lucas asked, hefting Dillon into his arms. Dillon mumbled something incoherent that Lucas didn't quite grasp as he pointed at his shoes on the floor.

"Here," Peyton said, gathering up the socks and shoes off the floor. She took Dillon from Lucas, much to her son's dismay, setting him down on the sofa so that she could put his shoes back on. "I don't know if you've noticed, but he's garnered a fascination with his feet."

Lucas stood back and watched as Peyton laid Dillon out on the sofa, taking a moment to gnaw on his feet playfully before she got down to business, returning his socks and then his shoes to his little feet. "I thought that was just a one-time thing." Over the weekend, he'd caught Dillon trying to stick his toes in his mouth, but he'd just chalked it up to his son suffering from boredom.

Peyton shook her head. "No, no. Believe me when I say that it happens pretty often. I'll get him dressed in the morning and the second I turn my back he's spread out on the floor, sans socks and shoes, foot in mouth. I wish I was that limber."

Lucas grinned and opened his mouth to refute the fact, but she sent him a steely look that made him snap his mouth shut—though, he didn't lose the grin. He knew how limber Peyton was, had benefited from her ability to stretch her legs this way and—He pulled at the collar of his shirt, having gone warm all over. Lucas tried to discern which was worse, having her treat him coldly and shun his conversation or this right here, this flirtation that she'd come to do with him.

"Bite your tongue, Lucas Scott," she told him, pulling down Dillon's pants as Becca ran into the room with a diaper that she handed to her mother.

"Hi, Daddy," she said by way of greeting.

"Where's Gilly?" he asked, looking around for the daughter that was usually always first to greet him.

Becca leaned against the sofa, giving Dillon her hand to occupy him while Peyton changed his diaper. "She's redoing her hair," Becca said with a sarcastic roll of her eyes.

At this, Lucas glanced at Peyton. She sighed as she pulled Dillon to his feet so that she could pull up his pants. "Brooke showed her a new hairstyle; Gilly's obsessed with copying it."

"Oh." He didn't begin to understand girls and their fripperies. When the girls were with him, he left the hairstyling up to Becca. He'd never had to do it before and wasn't going to start. Not to say that Gilly hadn't hit him up to do so—because she had. The poor girl honestly thought he could braid her hair. After watching him turn her sister's hair into a tangle of knots, Becca had intervened and since then had taken over all hair duties.

After all, his version of style consisted of a dollop of hair gel, a couple of tugs on his hair with his fingers and that was about it. Most mornings he'd simply run a brush through it and call it a day. This was, of course, while he and Peyton had been living part. He hadn't been able to get by with that when he was at home.

Peyton watched protectively as Dillon scrambled off the sofa, stretching out on his back on the floor at his father's feet. Lucas, amused by his son's antics, peered down at him, making funny noises as he nudged Dillon with the toe of his shoe. Peels of laughter escaped the toddler, much to her delight. This was what had been missing, she realized, seeing Lucas with the kids, how happy he made them.

She nudged Becca's arm; she too was engrossed with watching Lucas and Dillon's interaction. "Honey, Dillon's sippy cup is in the refrigerator. Could you run and get it for your dad?"

Becca nodded, at once taking directive and heading for the kitchen. Dillon, now on his feet, followed suit, screaming, "Ate, 'ecca, ate!" Becca spun around, holding out her hand to her brother, waiting for his little legs to reach her. The two of them disappeared together, Becca talking to her brother as they crossed the hallway to the other room.

Peyton leaned back against the sofa, taking a much needed breath. She had been running around after the kids all morning to make sure that they were ready for when Lucas came to pick them up. The kids were always eager to see their dad, more so today knowing that a zoo excursion and a night in a hotel awaited them.

"So, what are you going to do?" Lucas asked, resisting the urge to sit beside her. Doing that would no doubt result in him giving in to his desire to put his hand on the length of leg that was taunting him. Peyton's dress had ridden up high on her thighs and she was making no move to lower it. Though, to be fair, she did seem a bit winded.

Sitting up straighter, Peyton told him, "Well, I don't know actually. I thought I'd clean house, but then I nixed that idea. I want to do something for me. So, then I thought that I'd cash in my birthday gift certificate for the spa. But really I don't want to do that, either. Truthfully, I have no idea what I'm going to do. The last time you had the kids, Brooke came over and we got drunk, if you remember correctly." Peyton inwardly cringed, remembering the cake she'd made out of herself in front of him. She could kick herself for bringing that up when she'd attempted all week to forget the fiasco entirely.

"Oh, I remember," he said, remembering how he'd found her laying on the sofa with a cold compress pressed to her head. When he'd towered over her to ask if she was alright, the smell of his cologne had her running for the bathroom. If only she had made it.

"I was told that Brooke was worse. Then again she was drinking the vodka like it was water."

Conversation lulled when Becca and Dillon rejoined them, the latter carrying his sippy cup upside down, dripping juice all along the floor. Before Peyton could summon up a groan, Lucas sped into action. He scooped the cup from Dillon, handing it off to Becca instructing her to put it in the diaper bag. He then went to the kitchen, wet a washcloth with warm water and wiped up the trail of juice.

"You didn't have to do that," Peyton told him, a little in awe of how he took control of the situation, despite him not living there anymore.

Lucas shrugged indifferently. "You may need to mop that anyway."

"I will."

"You know… since you don't have any plans… you could always… come with us." Lucas let his eyes slip closed at the meager initiated invitation. He'd been turning the idea over and over in his head for the past three days, wondering how he could put the offer out there without sounding or looking desperate for Peyton's company, her attention. He had been aiming for something a little more put together and not so lame. He failed so, so hard.

Peyton was stunned into silence. At first she didn't know how to respond. Last week had he asked her that, her answer would've been no. A definitive, firm no. She might have said something sarcastic or cutting, rolled her eyes. But this week? Today? She could actually contemplate his offer because she wanted to spend time with him. She wanted to repair her family, her marriage. Accepting his invitation would be her first step.

"I wouldn't want to intrude," she found herself saying. Their children had been looking forward to this weekend with their dad. She knew they wouldn't mind; the three of them would be ecstatic to have their parents together even if for a family outing. But still. The weekends were Luke's time with the kids and she didn't want to interfere with those moments that she knew were precious to him.

Lucas scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. We always talked about doing this. Plus, you know you'll regret it if you can't see Dillon's reaction to all the animals."

Damn. The man had a point. Dillon was a lover of animals, both large and small, much like his father and though he'd never seen an elephant up close and personal, Peyton knew that she would hate herself forever if she missed out on the opportunity to see him point and laugh, or worse—point and cry. However, an excuse still formed on her tongue. "The hotel—"

"—has two beds. What else you got?" He was challenging her to make more arguments, more excuses, she mused. He lifted his eyebrow, crossed his arms, and waited.

Peyton bit her lip, undecided. She could go; there was nothing wrong with her going. It would probably help her decide what to do regarding their estrangement and how to go about rectifying it. Her decision made, she told him, "I'll need a few minutes to pack."

The grin that washed over her husband's face could only be classified as a smirk. A satisfied one, at that. Lucas grabbed Peyton's hand, pulling her to her feet. "Go pack," he said, nudging her forward. He fell onto the sofa as Gilly and Dillon ran into the room, attacking him at once. He caught Peyton's eye over their heads, holding it for a moment, until she turned away and disappeared into the hallway.

It might not be how he had envisioned the weekend progressing, but maybe it would turn out even better. Right there, sitting on his sofa, his kids vying for his attention, he vowed to himself that he would see to it that the zoo outing was a success and that by the time they were on their way home tomorrow, his wife started to like him again.

"Okay, Peyton, what's the—" A dress hit Brooke in the face, before it glided to the floor, falling into a gauzy heap of blue silk at her feet. "—emergency," she finished, watching as Peyton flung dress after dress out of her closet, evidently in the middle of a fashion crisis.

"I have nothing to wear. Nothing."

Brooke's gaze shot to Dillon who was laying on the floor not far from Peyton's feet, amusing himself with one of Luke's ties. "Honey, are you having some kind of meltdown? See, I knew that you going away with Lucas for the weekend would turn you batty."

Peyton scowled at Brooke. "Going away with Lucas for the weekend did not drive me batty. It… if anything it gave me some perspective on my marriage and our relationship."

"This I've gotta hear," Brooke said, crossing her arms.

"Don't be cross."

Brooke made a sound of frustration. "Peyton you've been dancing around taking Lucas back for weeks now. If you're going to do it, then do it already. You're not doing your marriage—your children—any good by continually putting it off."

"I know," Peyton said, looking down at her son. Dillon looked so much like Lucas that it hurt to look at him sometimes. She would look into his eyes and see Lucas and guilt would plague her for all the hasty decisions—the wrong decisions—she'd made since Christopher's death.

"Plus, it's getting annoying," Brooke said, taking stock of Peyton's closet. Half of her wardrobe was outdated. Her vision swam. Her legs felt like Jell-O. Wait. Wasn't that dress trendy, like, three summers ago? Oh, hell no. She started flinging clothes off of hangers as well, adding to the growing pile of clothes strewn along the floor.

"Well!" she heard Peyton exclaim haughtily from behind her.

Feeling guilty, Brooke faced her best friend. "I'm sorry. It's not you, it's me. I'm just—"

"—being a bitch?" Peyton suggested, sliding onto her unmade bed.

Brooke moved to sit beside Peyton. "Sweetie, I know you. It's takes you awhile to get around to doing something. Remember how long it took you to own up to your feelings for Lucas back in high school? You can't afford to screw around with this. He's yours for the taking. If you want him, go get him."

"What if he doesn't want me, Brooke? What if I go to him and he thinks that I'm not worth all the trouble? That our marriage isn't worth saving…" Peyton felt tears stinging her eyes. Somehow she managed to make them retreat with a hasty blink of her eyes.

Brooke reached over, covering Peyton's hand with her own. "Peyton, you are all he's ever wanted. He's just waiting for you to go to him and tell him that you want him, too."

"Things were supposed to turn out better for us, you know?"

"Believe me, I know. You'll work it out."

"You seem certain."

"You're Lucas and Peyton, you have to work things out. But if not, I have a plan."

Peyton stared at Brooke curiously, wondering what kind of nefarious scheme Brooke had up her sleeve. "Why does that send a shiver up my spine?"

Brooke just laughed, pushing herself to her feet. "So, I take it Lucas is to blame for all of this," she said, changing the subject with a wave her hand towards the bevy of clothes that Dillon was now rolling around in. She laughed at the baby as he stood up, adorned in a green dress, smiling happily, looking at Peyton for her reaction. Peyton didn't disappoint, telling him how pretty he looked, far prettier than she ever did in that dress; Dillon beamed. The scene tugged at her heartstrings. It never failed, every time Brooke was around Peyton and her children, she was plagued with the desire to have more children. However, Bianca was barely a year old; she had time.

"I was going to go see Lucas," Peyton admitted freely, knowing that she couldn't hide the fact from Brooke for long. It was a decision she hadn't come to easily, but now that it was made, she had begun to freak out over it and its significance.

"That explains the neurosis," Brooke said matter-of-factly. "Lucas has seen you at your worst. You could go like this," she waved her head toward Peyton, "and it wouldn't make a difference to him."

"I want to make a difference, Brooke. I want him to look at me and…" Peyton looked down at Dillon, stopping herself from saying something that wasn't for a two year old's years.

Brooke nodded her head. "I get it." Walking to the closet, she surveyed what remained, making a note to bring Peyton some pieces from her own closet. She pulled a sweater dress off its hanger, throwing it in Peyton's direction. "Wear that. It'll get Luke's blood pumping."

Peyton stared at the dress—a gift from Brooke—noting that it was rather short and would barely reach the tops of her thighs. "I want to wow him, Brooke, not seduce him." She felt her cheeks flame at the mere thought. It had been a long time since she and Lucas had… She pressed the dress to her chest as if that would strengthen her resolve, give her a boost of confidence. Highly unlikely, she thought.

"Same thing," Brooke insisted, scooping Dillon from the floor, before making her way out of the room, leaving Peyton to debate her next move.

Lucas was sitting out in Nathan and Haley's backyard, his laptop on his lap. He'd been attempting to write all morning to no avail. Chapter nine just wouldn't unfurl in his mind, his characters refusing to cooperate. He had a deadline to meet and Kathy would be less than thrilled if he didn't meet it. His concentration was shot to hell and he had no one to thank for that but Peyton.

He'd been unable to think of anything but her since they'd returned from their zoo excursion. When they'd all piled into his SUV, it was easy to see how excited and optimistic the kids were that he and Peyton were spending time together, time not spent yelling at one another. He'd felt compelled to make sure that the day went on without fail.

Surprisingly, it had. It had surpassed his expectations. Peyton had appeared happier than he'd seen her in months. She'd laughed and he couldn't describe the joy that had coursed through him upon being privy to such a sound. Much to his dismay, it hadn't lasted. By the time they were on the road home, Peyton had closed herself off, grown quiet, shut him out. He hadn't talked to her since, knowing that he had pushed too much on her too soon.

He didn't know what to do anymore, how to get through to her and prove that their marriage was worth saving, that they could persevere and they'd be stronger for it. She didn't want to hear his arguments, his promises because to her they were futile. She had made a decision and that was that. End of discussion.

He thought that they were turning things around, that they were beginning to rebuild. The situation with Heather had told him that his wife still cared enough to get jealous. He had thought to make use of that, distort it to his advantage, but he couldn't resort to trickery. If he was going to get her back, he was going to do it honestly. Plus, he didn't want to lead Heather on, that would only make matters worse in the long run. However, his patience was running thin, the hope that he had regained, he was losing.

Hearing the door open behind him, Lucas snapped his computer shut saying, "Good, you're home, I could use the distraction." Setting his laptop aside, he glanced over his shoulder, expecting to find Haley standing behind him. Surprise didn't begin to describe his reaction when he encountered Peyton instead. Her hair was down around her shoulders and once again she was wearing a dress, this one a dark blue—so blue it was almost black. Midnight, Lucas thought the color was called. It suited her, he decided.

Peyton pulled the door shut behind her. "I, uh… I rang the doorbell but no one…" she stopped, offering him a lopsided smile. "Well, because you were out here and obviously you couldn't hear me."

"I wasn't expecting…" Then, alarm set in, forcing Lucas to his feet. "Are the kids alright? Did something happen—?"

"What? Oh. No, no. They're fine, Luke. The girls are safely tucked away at school and Dillon's with Brooke. I just needed to talk to you. Alone."

Lucas was alarmed by the tone of her voice, but despite that, he said, "Okay," and waved to the chair beside him.

Peyton folded her dress under her before she settled onto the chair that he offered; Lucas lowered himself into the one he had been occupying. They were being cordial, that was a good sign. Maybe she wouldn't regret coming here after all. "I, um… I heard that you were thinking about leasing an apartment."

So this was the moment. The end. Haley was right; him getting his own place had sent Peyton a message—a message that he'd given up. Well, if it was a divorce that she wanted, then he was more than happy to give it to her. At least he would no longer be left wondering where he stood—he'd know. Yet, anger bubbled through him, prompting him to say, "I assume that I don't get a say in this."

Peyton stared at him blankly. What was he talking about? She was about to inquire about that when Lucas exploded from his chair. "Dammit, Peyton, you're going to give up, just like that," he said, snapping his fingers to drive home the point. "Eight years of marriage… and we're just going to throw it all away?"

Peyton didn't know what to say. Not because she didn't have anything to say, because she was confused. Slowly, she rose to her feet. "Lucas, I came here to fix things. I want you to come home so that we can figure things out." She paused, watched as the tension in his shoulders eased, the clouds in his eyes part. "You thought… you thought I wanted a divorce?" If the concept wasn't so absurd, she'd laugh.

"Don't make it sound so ridiculous. What was I supposed to think?"

"I'm not sure," she told him honestly. "Though I guess I haven't really given you any reason to hope for any other solution."

"No. You haven't."

Lucas could only imagine what it took for her to come here to him. He didn't know the agony that she'd gone through, the nights that she laid awake wondering what to do and how to do it. She'd lingered days over her decision to ask him to come home, fighting to find the perfect words, debating the necessity of her decision. Finally it all came down to one thing: she loved him. It was just that simple. She'd rather have him in her life, making her miserable, than watching him from afar, making someone else happy.

"You can't possibly know what it did to me when Brooke told me that you were searching for an apartment. I was angry at you, ridiculous as that sounds, but I… yet despite that—the pain and the anger, everything I'd been feeling since Christopher died—it felt like my heart was breaking. Not just a piece, but my whole heart. I thought that was it, that you were letting me go. And I refused to let you let me go. I didn't want to lose you. I don't want to lose you, Lucas."

"But Christopher—"

"We'll have to come to terms with that. Together." She made an odd noise that made Lucas cock his head to the side and furrow his eyebrows. However, he said nothing in response. "Which we should have done in the first place."

Lucas stood up again, needing to do something, anything. It was impossible for him to sit still. He had so many questions. But was it imperative that he know how exactly Peyton had come to this decision? Did it really matter? She wanted him to come home, she didn't want to lose him. That was… he had no words for what that was or what it meant to him. Still, he didn't trust it. "I'm going to have to think about it."

Peyton pushed herself to her feet, holding on tightly to the straps of her purse. "I understand." She turned to leave, but stopped when Lucas grabbed hold of her hand. They both stilled in that moment, noting that she didn't pull away. If anything, she wanted him to pull her close, hold her. She'd denied herself that comfort, the strength of his embrace.

Lucas felt his heart doing a cartwheel in his chest, as if he'd just won the gold. Which, in a way, he had. He hadn't known why exactly he had reached out for her. Maybe it was to test her. After all, he had expected her to recoil as she'd done before, surprised that she didn't, that she hadn't. She was looking at him in awe now, as if she was just as shocked by her reaction as he was. And then, because he was curious, he pulled her closer.

Peyton went willingly, until she and Lucas were toe to toe, their breathing labored as they stared down at their clasped hands, as if neither of them could believe how far things were progressing, how quickly. "I don't—" he started to say, but the words died on his tongue.

"Me neither," she said, a little breathless.

Their fingers entwined. "You're shaking," he whispered, nudging her a little nearer.

Peyton nodded. "I'm afraid, Lucas. Letting you back in… I've fought against it everyday since Christopher died." When she looked up to meet his eyes, they were blurry with tears. "But I can't… I can't get through it alone. I can't lose you, too."

Lucas pulled her into his arms without another conscious thought. "I just need a few days," he murmured in her ear. He leaned back, holding her face between his hands, thumbs lightly caressing her cheeks as she asked, "Can you give me a few days?"

"I'll give you as much time as you need, Lucas. I don't care how long it takes you to decide to come home. Just come home."

—

Days later Lucas was standing on the Rivercourt with Skills, his decision to return home still unmade. He'd been on the court with Skills for over an hour, though his head wasn't on the game at hand. He could tell Skills was getting frustrated, but his friend refused to press him for details, something that he'd relegated to doing since Christopher and everything that had happened thereafter. "Peyton wants me to come home," he found himself saying, dribbling the ball as he did so.

Skills kept his opinion to himself for a moment—but for only a moment. As if sensing his friend's indecision, he pointed out, "That's what you want, right? What you've been waiting the last three months for?"

Lucas took his shot, frowning when the ball bounced off the rim and rolled until it was beside the front tire of his SUV. "Of course this is what I've wanted," he told Skills. "I miss her. I miss my children. But how do I know that on bad days she won't send me packing again?"

"You don't. It's like basketball, Luke. You take the shot even though you don't know where the ball is headed. It can bounce off the rim like your ball just did or it can go straight through, nothing but net. That's your gamble, the chance you take. In basketball, in life. You have to ask yourself if it's all worth it." Skills quieted for a second, let what he said sink in. Then he asked, "So, is it?"

Lucas didn't have to think twice about it. "Yeah, it's worth it."

"That's what I thought," Skills said, running to collect the ball. As he made his way back toward Lucas, he told his friend, "Now, can we please play some ball. This is the only time Bevin lets me out of the house. I'd rather not waste it, letting you cry on my shoulder."

Lucas just grinned as the game proceeded.

Battling another night of insomnia, Peyton stood in the kitchen, stirring a mug of hot chocolate, thoughts of Lucas keeping her from attaining sleep. It'd been nearly a week since she'd gone to him, laid her heart at his feet and left their marriage in his hands. A freaking week and nothing. Oh, he'd come to collect the kids over the weekend, remained pleasant with her, but he gave her no hope to cling to, no hope at all.

Maybe she should take it as a sign. Perhaps there was no hope left to begin with and this distance, this indifference, was his answer. He was freezing her out, blatantly ignoring her to send her a message—that he was done, that their marriage was, indeed, over. Her hand shook as the thought took root. She didn't want to believe that. She wouldn't believe that.

More importantly, she couldn't let herself believe it. After all, he'd nearly flipped out on her when she'd sought him out, concluding that she was going to ask for a divorce. It was ludicrous to believe that Lucas would want to end things when he had reacted badly to a possible ending himself.

Then again maybe the waiting was her punishment, for pushing him away, for kicking him out, for refusing his comfort following Christopher's death. Maybe this was payback for putting him through the ringer recently. That, she would understand.

Peyton slid onto a barstool, wrapping her hands around the bulk of her mug in an effort to warm her hands. She stared up at the clock on the wall, watching the hand move from 11:37 to 11:38, storing that time in her memory. A second later, as she was lifting her cup to her lips, she heard a noise, the unmistakable sound of a lock being turned, a door opening, the succinct sound of boots slapping against the hardwood floors. She sat still, waiting to see the evidence before she believed it was true.

Then, he was standing on the threshold between the kitchen and foyer, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and a pair of well worn jeans, staring at her as if waiting for an objection, her to yell at him to get out. The box he was holding dropped at his feet, As he straightened, he said, "I hope the offer still stands..."

Peyton stared at him for a moment, then let her excitement show as she quickly crossed the room to him. Throwing her arms around his neck, she hugged him tightly, fiercely, with all the love that was coursing through her that she wasn't quite ready to express.

Lucas closed his eyes, pulling her tight against him, fisting his hands in her hair. "I'm sorry I didn't come home sooner," he murmured in her ear.

Peyton pulled back then, searching his face. Lifting her hand, she touched his cheek, her fingertips dancing along his skin, the stubble that lined his jaw, across the dark circles under his eyes. "You shouldn't have left at all," she blurted out without thinking. Quickly, she amended, "I shouldn't have pushed you away, Luke. This is all my fault."

"It's all right. Peyton, everything is going to be all right," Lucas assured her. "Sure, it might not be right away, but we'll get there. It'll just take some time—and a lot of patience."

She smiled up at him, enjoying the warmth that suffused her, the… the happiness. His optimism was catching. She felt invigorated by it, letting herself believe that what he said was true—that everything was going to be all right. "I'm glad you're home, Luke."

"Me, too."

Peyton glanced at the box at her feet. "Do you need help bringing your stuff in?"

He grinned, kicking the box. "Nah. I only brought this. I wanted to make sure you hadn't changed your mind."

"Did you really think I would?" she couldn't help but ask.

Lucas just shrugged. "Honestly? Yeah, I did. I used to be able to gauge your every reaction, your every thought and motivation. But lately… lately it's like you're someone totally different. Not the woman I married."

"I'm sorry," Peyton apologized, bending down to grab up the box. She wanted to put it on the cabinet, out of their feet. Mostly she did it to distract herself from this conversation. She didn't like Lucas pointing out that she'd been behaving differently, that she'd changed over the course of their separation. Maybe it was true, but where did that leave them? If she had changed, was she still the woman that he'd fallen in love with and married?

Lucas took the box from her, sensing what she had planned. Placing it on the cabinet, he told her, "You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm not saying anything bad or criticizing you. Quite the opposite, in fact. It's like you're a whole different person. But don't get me wrong, I like this new Peyton, that there's new facets of you that I have to discover."

"Was there really so much wrong with the old Peyton? The woman that you fell in love with, might I remind you."

"There was nothing wrong with that Peyton. I loved that Peyton. But that Peyton let her grief take over her life. It made her weak. This Peyton… this Peyton is stronger for her grief."

"This Peyton," she said, "isn't finished grieving."

Lucas nodded his head as he dug into the box, pulling out his shaving kit, his eyeglass case and a book, setting them aside on the counter. "Precisely."

Peyton watched as Lucas scooped up his items and left the room without another word. As she busied herself with unpacking the rest of his box, she wondered if what Lucas had said was true, if she had changed. And if she had, what exactly did that mean—for herself and for her marriage.