They've done it.

These memories.

They've destroyed me.

And…I've done something that can never be taken back.

Something unforgivable.

"You never loved Papa."

Her voice—it kills me. She hasn't called him that in years.

And Anna's words are harsh and accusing this time. They are an arrow, straight through to my core, where every little shard I've managed to salvage has suddenly shattered, flinging this way and that.

And one, if not many of them, has pierced my enraged fifteen year old daughter. Right in the heart.

What have I done to her? All because I couldn't handle it anymore.

All because it wasn't what I wanted.

I have the urge to scream; I bite down on my lip.

I have the urge to release a torrent of curses; I can't.

I can't say things like that.

Not in front of my daughter.

And because she wouldn't want me to.

I am breaking.

I am broken.

Why, oh why, could I not have kept up the façade for Anna? My beautiful daughter whose life I have now wrecked.

It wasn't enough for me to just go ahead and wreck my own; I've destroyed hers too.

And I don't have an answer for her—I don't have an excuse.

"Anna," I whisper, holding back tears, "It's complicated."

"You never loved him. You never loved him!" she screams, "Why else would you get divorced!?"

I couldn't.

I just couldn't.

It was too hard to conceal, knowing where I should be. Want to be….

Knowing, and faced with the constant, agonizing reminder of what could never be.

"Do you even love me?" she seethes.

My tears are pouring now, as are hers.

We are both broken.

But I fight on. Fight to remain calm.

I almost laugh at this.

Calm.

It's something I may never feel again.

"Anna, of course I love you. And there was a time when I loved your father, too. Sometimes…a person's heart is large enough for everyone—anyone. And other times…it's not. For a long time, mine was big enough. I made it big enough…" I offer meekly, knowing it's far from enough.

Far from what she deserves.

Because no amount of words can change this.

Change it.

We're at a restaurant for dinner.

Some Italian place.

Her other friend was supposed to come. Kristoff. But something came up, and he's not here. I'm fairly certain it has something to do with a so-called reindeer currently running loose on campus—information I know courtesy of a text from my RA.

But she makes no mention of the situation.

And neither do I.

It's a little awkward, I guess.

Dinner, a fancy place.

Just the two of us.

She seems…nervous?

But when we start talking, she seems to ease up.

And somehow, I find that the conversation turns to me.

And my…eventual fiancé.

'What's his name?' she asks.

'Hans.'

'How long have you known him?'

'Since elementary school. Family friend.'

'Is he…nice?'

'Yeah. He is. We get along. He takes me to his friends' parties. He takes me to dinner…'

Dinner.

That's where I am right now.

But with her.

And somehow…it seems…

Nicer.

'Do you like him?'

It's a simple question.

'Yes,' but… 'I…don't know.'

Her blue eyes are soft. Understanding. But her words are forward and harsh. They make me face what I know I never could bring myself to ask, 'Can you see yourself spending the rest of your life with him?'

I can't look at her.

I don't know why this is making me so uncomfortable.

But it is.

Coming from her…it is.

'I mean, what if he snores. Or he's lazy and he expects you to do everything for him. Or you don't like the way he talks to you. Or what if you don't like the way he eats?'

She's crazy.

She really is.

And I can't tell if she's angry.

'I've been to dinner with him plenty of times. So I don't think that's a concern.'

She narrows her eyes, and I think she's going to continue to berate me, but she says the last thing that would come to mind, making me wonder if she ordered her drink from the wine list and I missed it, 'What if you don't like the way he picks his nose?'

Now she's smiling.

And I can't tell if she's joking because she's trying to rebound from what happened, or if she's just…joking.

But frankly, I really don't care.

Because now I'm laughing.

And she's not done. She sticks her chin in the air, as if she's proud of what I'm sure is going to be another quite absurd assertion, and adds, 'And eats it.'

By now I can't even breathe, I am laughing so hard.

And she's laughing.

And I love it.

I love it.

It.

Her.

What?

I freeze, but my world is spinning.

I am stunned.

And I am no longer laughing, but I am staring.

At her.

And she notices.

And I know.

I know.

That I like him.

But it's not the same.

We connect.

But not the same way I connect with her.

He makes me feel happy.

But she makes me feel…

Wonderful. Joyful. Free. Confident. Strong.

And…protective.

Nervous, yet fearless.

Loved.

She makes me feel loved.

'Does he ever tell you he loves you?'

Her voice, although quiet, rings loud and clear across the now silent table.

My own voice is a whisper, 'Sometimes.'

She draws in a breath. And I can tell she's thinking.

About what, I don't know.

But I hear her voice again and it's soft; it seems distant, 'You should change it. Come back with me.'

And it startles me.

Where had that come from?

Then her blue eyes grow wide.

And she speaks again, 'Did I say that out loud?'

'Yeah.'

And she blushes so much that it matches her red hair.

Her beautiful red hair.

That I love.

I love.

I love her.

But I can't.

In front of me, my world is blurred by my tears.

Like ice coating a window, everything I see is fuzzy; distorted.

Unknown.

Anna's eyes narrow. And at first I think she's going to scream again, but she looks pensive, and a long minute passes before she finally concludes, "This isn't about me. Or Dad. This is about you. Your Annika before me."

I let the words ring in the air for a while.

I can't deny it.

"Yes," I whisper.

One word.

One word, and I've suddenly confessed my life's struggle to my fifteen year old daughter who should be infuriated.

But instead…she envelops me in a hug.

How and why am I so lucky to be blessed with the most beautiful and selfless daughter?

"I'm sorry for what I said," she tells me, "I know you love me. And I understand—I understand now what you meant all those years ago. And I love you, too, no matter what."

"Anna," I say, "I'm sorry, too. So sorry—that I've put you through this. For being so selfish. I put myself before you, and there is no excuse for that."

"You've put me before yourself for fifteen years. It's okay."

All the years of being unsure. Of being scared. Of being told by everyone—especially my own parents—how I should live my life. How I had to live my life. How it had to be the way they wanted it to be, and nothing more.

And now here, telling me otherwise, is my own daughter.

How both uncanny and beautiful it is at the same time.

"Mom," Anna whispers, still holding me tightly, "I've given some thought to it, and when I get to high school, I want to take Polish."

And I know she can't see it, but through my tears, I smile.

A/n: Well….Elsa's finally taking a step in the right direction. Bonus points if you noticed that this memory is linked to one of the memories in chapter 1 :)

Also, I wanted to take a moment to say thank you to everyone who has followed and reviewed so far—especially to my anonymous reviewer, what you wrote honestly made my day when I read it!

And, as always, thanks for reading!