November 27th 1998

I can't do this anymore. I wish I could say that I was happy; I know how much we put into this. I know how much we wanted to make it work. And I didn't want to be the one to break this up. But I think that this would be the best thing for the both of us. You can call me a coward for writing this out, for not being able to tell you all of this in person. I've already picked that name out for myself. You once told me that the only thing you wanted was for me to be happy, as much of a cliché as that is. And I know you weren't lying.

I'm sorry,

Karen

She wrote it out to Stan as soon as she got back from Coney Island that night. It was fresh in her head, and since she knew she would never be able to muster up enough courage to tell him herself, she wanted to write it all down. She was willing to take the easy way out; slip out of the manse with enough packed to get by for a couple days, sneaking back in whenever Stan was gone to get the rest of her things. Karen figured she would be setting the letter down on his nightstand within two or three nights of writing it. But Will never called about leaving. He never called at all now. It had been over a week now. She tried his phone at least twice a day, but always got the same thing.

At home: "You've reached Will and Grace. We're not in, leave a message at the tone."

At work: "I'm sorry, Mr. Truman isn't available at the moment. Can I take a message?"

Maybe it was a little forward, a little invasive, to walk into his apartment and wait for him to show up. She didn't care. He gave her a key to use whenever she wanted; she was in the right. She wanted to know what she did to make him avoid her. She wanted to know why he was seemingly going back on his word. She wanted to know why, all of a sudden, things changed.

Will walked in to find her sitting on the couch, hands in her lap, staring straight ahead. She looked as though she were made of stone, unable to move, unable to feel, and he wondered if he was the one to do that to her. "Karen, what are you doing here?" He realized that sounded cold. He hung his jacket up and rephrased his question while he walked towards her. "What's wrong?"

"Why haven't you answered my calls?" she shot at him, never turning her glance towards him. "I haven't seen you in over a week. I haven't heard anything from you but a pre-recorded voice. I want to know what's going on."

"Look…maybe we're fooling ourselves." She looked at him; he knew he answered her quickly. The truth was that he had expected her to be here eventually, and he tried to put everything in perspective before it happened. "We've been playing with fire. You know that if you came to live here, it would never work out. I can't give you what you have now. You would be throwing so much away, and I don't want to be the one to make you do that. We always said that nothing would break us apart, but maybe we're only setting ourselves up for a bigger disaster by keeping this up."

"What are you talking about? When have I ever cared about any of that? If I wanted any of what he gave me, I would be in Prada instead of ripped jeans right now. If I wanted that, I wouldn't be here wanting to make this work." She moved towards him, taking his hands in hers. "Will, I love you. Only you. I know that now. I don't want to go back to him. Don't make me go back to him. " She buried her face in his chest. "Don't spout off Grace's opinion just to please her. Do what you want."

"I just…" he started. "I just don't want this to be so hard."

"Nothing worth it is ever easy," she replied softly.

At that moment, Grace walked in. "What's going on?" she asked as she set her key on the coffee table.

"Nothing," Will said reflexively. He held Karen close and told her softly, "Go to Washington Square Park. I'll be there soon." She looked up at him, brushed her lips against his quickly, so as not to make a scene with Grace, and walked out the door. Will sighed and walked over to Grace.

What he said: "I can't do this anymore."

What he meant: I can't listen to you about her anymore. She's the one; you can't see that.

What Grace heard: I can't be the one to break her heart.

Grace picked her key back up and said, "Don't worry about any of it. I'll handle this."

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Karen stood underneath the arch, her back turned towards Washington Square North. She felt a hand on her shoulder and immediately grew nervous. This didn't feel like Will; this didn't have the same warmth and love it did when he touched her. She turned around and saw, out of the corner of her eye, the red locks that she knew belonged to Grace.

"What are you doing here?" Karen asked.

"Look," Grace replied, cutting to the chase. She wanted to get it over with, because she knew how this situation would turn out. "Will doesn't want to hurt you. But he can't do this anymore."

"Will you stop already? Honey, whatever grudge you have against him because of your failed relationship, just let it go. It was thirteen years ago. He wouldn't tell me to meet him here if he was going to send you to tell me it's over. I can almost guarantee you that he didn't say any of that."

"Karen, I am not lying to you. I'm not saying this because of what did or didn't happen between me and Will a thousand years ago. I'm saying this because I care about you. He said that, word for word. I'm so sorry."

Karen could tell Grace was serious. The tone in her voice was unlike anything she'd ever heard from Grace, from anyone, for that matter. She reached in her pocket and grabbed the folded letter to Stan, the one she was hoping to use tonight. She crumpled it up into a ball, kept it in her fist, feeling the slight pain of the edges and grooves of the paper digging into her skin. She turned to Grace and looked at her for a moment, tears in her eyes, before making the move to leave.

"You win," she said, before leaving Grace behind.

Grace stayed by the arch for a few minutes after Karen left. She started to evaluate what she'd done, tried to tell herself that she was doing a good thing, that she was being a friend to Karen and letting her know the truth. But she quickly knew that she could tell herself anything and it wouldn't erase the fact. She was a bitch.

She saw a figure walk up to her. "Where's Karen?" She jerked her head up to find Will.

"Wait, what are you doing here?" Grace asked. "I thought I told you I was going to handle this."

"Handle what?" They were silent for a moment. Will began to put it together. I can't do this anymore. Oh god. She took it the wrong way. "Grace, you didn't…" he started. She looked down at the ground. "I can't believe you," he said and started running up Fifth Avenue, towards Karen.

Towards the million failed attempts of getting her back.