NOTE: I sincerely apologize for how long it took to put this new chapter out. A family emergency kept me from writing. I hope to get the next chapter out within 24 hours of this update to make up for it.

April 4th 1997

She couldn't watch him leave. Not when she was going straight into the arms of another man afterwards. So she locked herself in the bathroom, trying to make it look like she wasn't home. She knew that Stan had taken the kids to their mother beforehand, and she wouldn't be caught. She could hear him in the bedroom, doing some last minute packing, calling her name once or twice in the hopes that she was just hidden in some corner of the house, that she was going to be there to say goodbye. When she heard the door slam, she turned the lock and looked outside.

Once the coast was clear, Karen made a dash for her closet.

She went to the back, started to blindly search around with her hands. When they finally landed on the box she was looking for, Karen pulled it out and sat down on the floor to open it. She knew what it contained, but once she revealed the contents, she was taken aback. This is what she was before she met Stan. This is what she was when she met Stan, before he started his slow and, for a long time, unnoticeable transformation of her. She was not Prada and Gucci all her life, contrary to popular belief. She was worn jeans and cotton t-shirts. She was tank tops and boxers at bedtime, not silk nightgowns like she was now. Stan had told her to throw all of this away, that she didn't need it anymore. He would be dressing her in style, and she wouldn't miss any of this.

She missed it every day. She wanted it every day.

Karen found a duffel bag in the box, packed it with a few pairs of jeans and t-shirts, stuffed a tank top and pair of boxers to sleep in over the week. She never wore these clothes around Will before; if she showed up in her usual costume, he wouldn't think anything of it. But she couldn't bring herself to wear them this week; they remind her of Stan, and the last thing she wanted to think about was him. Those clothes weren't her, they never made her feel like she was being herself.

In that skin, she was merely Stan's puppet.

Once she had everything packed, she took a white V-neck and jeans out of the box. There were holes in the knees; she remembered when this pair finally tore, but thought they did so strategically and decided to keep them because they still looked good. She slipped out of her skirt and blouse and put the outfit on, amazed that she still fit in it. She let her hair down and put the box back where it was before leaving her apartment.

When she exited the cab, Karen stopped in front of the door that would lead her inside 155 Riverside Drive. She almost wanted to turn around and see if the cab was still there, open the door and tell him to just drive her back home. But no, she wanted this. They both wanted this. She didn't want to disappoint him, but more than that, she wanted to prove to herself that she could do this.

She wanted to prove to herself that she could be happy.

The elevator ride seemed like an eternity before the doors opened and she came face to face with 9C. She took a deep breath before knocking on the door. She felt her nerves take over her body, forcing her little by little to give up control. She wanted to run, but she couldn't move. She wanted this week to be perfect, but knew that she probably wouldn't be able to contribute enough for the goal. But as soon as the door opened, and she saw Will standing before her, she knew that even if she didn't have control, he would be able to be her anchor.

"I'm so glad you're here," Will said.

"Are you as nervous as I am about this?" Her voice was shaky; she hated that. She hated that she just blurted that out, but she never lied to him before.

"More," he replied with a smile. "But I know that we're going to be okay. I can't wait to wake up with you tomorrow morning."

Will put his arms around her, led her inside. God, to feel her warmth. If this were his last moment on earth, he would die a happy man. He knew she would have reservations about being here, and to tell the truth, he had his own. Of course he thought about what it meant to have another man's wife live with him for the week, to have her sleep in the same bed with him, to kiss the skin someone else has kissed. He thought about what it meant to pretend that she wasn't with him, so that he could trick himself into sheer bliss. He actually considered calling her to say that he had to go away this week, that he apologized that it was such short notice, but he had to do it for work.

But then he thought about her, all alone in her house. He thought of her without anything but the thoughts of Stan keeping her company. And he couldn't let her stay by herself like that. He wanted to be with her, to keep her in his arms and listen to her wonderfully beautiful musings about everything. And he knew that to be with her this week was the right thing.

"I couldn't watch him leave," she said as she looked around, taking her surroundings in. Will took the duffel bag out of her hands, ran into his bedroom and placed it on the bed before coming back into the living room. "I didn't know how I could. What the hell was I supposed to say to him? 'Yeah, honey, have a nice time. Be safe. I'm just going to stay with my lover for the week, hope you don't mind.' Do you know how easy it would have been for me to just let everything slip?"

"I know it's hard. But you're here now. You don't need to think about that anymore." He brushed his lips against hers, kissed her cheek before she rested it on his chest.

"How do you do that? How can you just do something like that and make me forget everything?" She wasn't looking for an answer; she only wanted him to know how captivated she was by him.

After a moment, Will put his hand in his pocket and started fishing around. "Before I forget," he said. He pulled out a key and handed it to her. "Here. You know, so you don't feel like you're trapped here when you want to step out for a little while."

"You're giving me a key? You'll want it back when the week's over, right?"

"Not necessarily."

Karen shifted her glance from the key in her palm to his eyes and smiled. This is how she was supposed to feel. She spent so many years with Stan that she forgot what true happiness actually felt like. Stan tried to make her believe that money caused it, material things caused it, and after a while, she believed him. But Will showed her everything she loved about her life before she married, and she suddenly hated everything Stan stood for. And she wondered how she would ever be able to go back to that life once this week ends.

Will smiled and laughed a little, looking down at Karen's outfit. "What's with the jeans and t-shirt?" he asked playfully.

Karen looked down with him. She fixed her gaze on the holes in her jeans. "This is how you make me feel when I'm with you."

"What, torn?" he asked, motioning to the holes. She knew he was joking, but it did hold some truth. Although she was so tired of life with Stan, it was comfortable, it was what she knew for so long. But Will gave her excitement, joy. And she felt torn between familiarity and happiness. But that wasn't what she was getting at now.

"No," she shook her head and giggled. She looked up at him before speaking again.

"You make me feel real."