*** Kleenex alert (at least it was for me). Mary's paradigm is redefined. Baptised by fire. ***

Here's to the man of your dreams

Take it all in a box
And make my way down to the shore
Throw it in and begin to leave it to the waves

Leave it to the waves
Leave it to the
And leave it to the
And leave it to the waves

- Oceans, The Fray

Mary stood and looked at the box of letters sitting on the end table. She knew what she was going to do with them, but it was like pushing through a wall of invisible dread to take the final step towards that table. What if she burned them and then looked around to find that there truly was no other way to declare her identity? What if she stood to move forward unencumbered only to be scattered like the ashes she had left? Who would remind her of who she was if his words were gone? Would he hate her if he found out?

"No," she said aloud, shaking herself and reaching for the box. "He sent these for him, not for me. I'm tired of giving him the luxury of not having to think about me because he did his duty."

Mary settled down on the floor in front of the fireplace, the heat of the flames warming her. She opened the box and gently stroked the papers within. White envelopes. Stationary of ecru, light blue and eggshell. One piece of lined notebook paper. The handwriting was the same on each; slight variances in pressure and pace caused by circumstance or age. The faint scent of paper and ink wafted from the open box and Mary closed her eyes. She used to smell every letter hoping for some whiff of aftershave or tobacco. Tried to envision her father scripting the page and wonder if he kissed it before he tucked it into the envelope; like he used to kiss her before tucking her into bed. "Oh, God," she whimpered, tears slipping down her cheeks from beneath her eyelids. What am I doing?

Reaching into the box blindly, Mary grabbed the letter on top. The most recent addition to the collection sent only two years prior. She opened her eyes to read the words. Congratulations on an accomplishment she didn't realize he knew she achieved. Generic career advice. Comments about Marshall. She reread the final lines.

You've made me so proud all these years. Never forget I love you. A million kisses, the sun and the moon, Daddy.

"Never forget," she repeated. She remembered mismatched shoes and clothes two sizes too small. The smell of alcohol and urine as she drifted to sleep. Remembered leering gazes, cigarette burns and hunger pangs. Never forget…the sun and the moon… Mary remembered lying on a mattress in the basement too weak to move as she struggled to breathe. She didn't see the sun or the moon for weeks. She thought of little brass bells.

"You pushed your luck too far," she whispered, resolve set as images of a pink shirt flashed before her eyes. Mary carefully placed the letter into the flames and watched the edges crisp and smolder. "You finally crapped out, Daddy."

The sight of the curling, burning pieces of paper released something inside of her and Mary began to sob. Years of frustration and anger worked their way into her tears and she allowed herself to let go of every shred of self control. The sleeve of her sweater became her tissue until she stumbled to the bathroom to retrieve a roll of toilet paper at some point. She continued to reach into the box and retrieve letter after letter, burning the envelopes also. Each letter was opened to reveal a snapshot in time, reviewed and found wanting, then suffered a slow death as flames consumed the words. They echoed in her head as she worked backwards through the years.

Baby girl, I watch you walk with your head held high and feel a sense of pride. I always knew you had a strength about you. Knew you'd make it through. Mary didn't know why he should be allowed to feel pride in her strength. She only became strong because of his weakness. There was no pride in being the daughter of James Shannon; her strength was her own.

She added a log to the fire as it began to die. Mary wanted every scrap to burn. Wanted the fire hot and hungry. Her initial uncertainly had been extinguished by a fierce need to erase every lie she had ever believed. Her fingers were dirty with soot as she fed the letters to the flames and her face was hot with tears. She stripped down to her tank top as she began to sweat in front the hearth.

I know your sister can be challenging. She was like that at birth. Please watch out for her as you've always done. Make sure she is loved and protected. I know I can count on you to keep her from trouble. Repeating the commandment from so long ago. The words that a little girl chanted to herself as she frantically hid her baby sister from monsters that were only too real. Watch out for her…protected…keep her from trouble. Who protected her? No one. He never asked if she was all right. Never wondered if the scars from all the years of protecting Brandi and Jinx were healing. There were no kisses and bandaids for her wounds. She was on her own.

Mary burned the pages with more haste as the night progressed. Their worth faded as the words on the pages no longer made her feel wanted and safe; instead provoking anger with their veiled attempts at laying blame at her feet and putting responsibilities on her shoulders that she should've never been asked to bear. Telling her he was sorry for her troubles; that he felt for her burdens and understood her tasks. Lies.

The box was nearly empty and the words on the page she held blurred with tears. He had known about Mark. My darling girl, I was so sad to learn that you moved out and married that Mark. Sad? Why? Because there was no one left to pick up his slack? Didn't he know she would do anything to escape the life he had handed her at that point? Did he think she would remain the little girl who held up her arms to be picked up forever? He didn't know her at all.

She cursed James Shannon. Cursed the Marks and Roberts of the world and the ruined lives they left in their wake. Cursed the sun and the moon with a ferocity that allowed her to tear the cardboard box to shreds. Gasping with sobs, Mary threw the entire mess into the fire and lay her head on the brick hearth to watch it burn. A smoldering scrap caught her eye and she reached in quickly to grab it. Blowing on the burnt edges, she read the words. …and remember that you are so special. And know that I love you more than anything in this world and will hold you close in my heart forever and always. Stay sweet and warm and kind and funny and do great things…

"I'm sorry, Daddy," Mary murmured. "I couldn't do what you asked." She crumpled yet another remnant of her past in her fist as her eyes wandered back to the flames. The flickering light continued to reflect off her face even after her eyes closed in exhausted sleep.

***Cathartic at the least...life changing at best. Not much else to say...but please REVIEW! ***