I feel as though I am being dragged down by weights; as if I am encased in something solid with no escape, like ice.

Actually, ice is the perfect analogy, because I am freezing cold and shaking although the warm September air blows mere idle winds.

I almost turn around.

I am so afraid that she won't recognize me.

That she won't understand.

That I'll hurt her.

But I open the door to the school, and make my way to classroom 38B—first period Polish. Other parents rush past me, but none enter the room which I am standing outside of, frozen, with my hand over the doorknob.

I am numb.

It would be so easy to walk away.

But before I know what I'm doing, my hand is turning the knob.

And I don't quite know where to look first, but familiar red hair, in two perfect braids, is just visible over a computer screen at a desk.

My presence has gone unnoticed. My heart is pounding, and it takes everything in me to sit down instead of doing two things on impulse.

One of those things is running out the door.

The other…is running over to that desk.

I sit behind a couple who I vaguely recognize. I'm fairly certain I've seen the father at some school board meeting, although for the life of me, I can't remember his name.

Anything to distract myself, I clutch the paper where all of my daughter's classes are mapped out, reading the schedule over and over again: gym, pre-calculus, biology, history, orchestra, and the very first is Polish, of course. Polish, Polish, Polish, Polish, in room—

"—38B. I hope everyone is in the right place."

My heart pounds faster. Is that even possible?

Her voice, with its distinct accent (although not quite as strong as it had been before), fills the room. But I can't bring myself to look up.

Is it because I'm terrified? Or because I'm terrified that it's not real?

"And I know that this is a high school class, and we're here to talk about your students and what they'll be learning. But in the ten minutes that we have together, I'd like you all to introduce yourselves and share something about your kids. Sometimes the best way to understand someone is through those who are closest to them."

I can't breathe. I'm shaking so badly I have to fold my hands on top of one another and place them under the desk so that I don't cause a scene.

And I count the parents; there are about fifteen until I'm going to have to speak.

Fifteen, until I will be forced to face what I couldn't before.

Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven…

Three. Two. One…

The room is silent.

I look upwards as the gaze—her gaze—shifts to me.

Her eyes widen slightly, but she says nothing.

And that terrifies me more than anything in the world.

But once I meet those familiar, beautiful blue eyes, I can't tear myself away. Instead, my mouth seems to speak on its own accord…

"My name is Elsa. My daughter's name is Anna. She's sixteen years old—"

…And then, it seems, it never wants to stop. Because as I picture my daughter in my mind, and envision everything she's done for me; how valiantly she stood by me and…guided me when I was at such a low point in my life…I know no amount of words can relay just exactly how wonderful my daughter is. But the least I can do is try.

"She is extremely talented. She always puts others before herself. She has an unfaltering ability to make everyone around her smile. She is courageous. Brave and wise beyond her years. And she is beautiful, in every way imaginable."

Just like you.

I desperately want to say that, because I realize—I realize that every word I've spoken can be said about her, too.

But I don't. Because when my whirling thoughts manage to catch up with my spoken words, I cannot even believe what has already come out of my mouth, although I regret none of it. If I had the chance to do it over, I'd say nothing differently. But even so, I am the one who breaks off our silent staring contest; our first connection in God knows how long.

And I can't bring myself to look at her again as she listens patiently to the rest of the parents who are completely oblivious to what has just transpired.

When it's all over, I have lost my nerve—all I want is to slip out the door as painlessly as I've been able to enter; inconspicuously, unnoticed. But my wonderful plan of sitting in the back forces me to be the last one to leave the classroom.

And before I can, a hand grips my arm.

And this is everything I have ever…

Hoped for.

Prayed for.

Dreaded.

I turn around, and our eyes meet again, and I wonder how I've managed to live without seeing that face, and the million little freckles that adorn it.

Beautiful, in every way imaginable.

"Hey," she says finally.

"Hi," I say, noticing that her hand still hasn't left my arm.

I try to read her face, but I can't decide what she's thinking. Her eyes seem questioning, confused.

"So you were just going to leave?"

Her words sting me, and I can't tell if she's angry, or hurt.

"I…" I start, "I wasn't…Well, I was going to…" I stop short.

How can I explain everything to her when I don't even know how to explain it to myself?

But to my surprise, her eyes only soften, and a small smile comes to her face, "Cat got your tongue?"

And while I know she's only trying to make me feel better—trying to get me to lighten up—all it makes me do is remember.

Cat got your tongue.

That idiom.

I never taught her what that meant, like she had asked me to. She had to learn it on her own. Because I left her.

I wasn't there for her.

And I know the guilt is visible on my face, and I watch as she takes in the unintended effect of her words, and she tells me, "Let's forget about the past. Okay? It's time to let it go. And…to stop running."

"I don't want to run," I say, "I never wanted to. I…I just don't want to hurt you," the statement I've now admitted for the second time, just now years later, floats through the classroom.

"Elsa, the only way you could hurt me is by shutting me out again. I completely understand that you had to do what your parents wanted. And…Anna…your daughter…you named her after me, didn't you? She's beautiful. A wonderful student. And she's the reason I've finally found you again."

Brave, and wise beyond her years.

"Yes," my voice is no more than a whisper as I answer her question and continue on to apologize, even though I know it will never be enough, "God, Anna, I'm so sorry."

But before I can say anything else, she wraps her arms around me; an embrace so distantly familiar.

"Don't you dare apologize for anything. I found you, and I couldn't ask for anything more."

And then she pulls away, but not before pressing a kiss to my cheek.

And it's enough to melt that ceaseless worry, denial, anger, and longing that have raged inside of me for so long—enough to replace the icy dread with a spark of something I haven't felt in a long time: hope.

"You haven't changed at all," I breathe.

"Neither have you," she says, "Except…"

She stops mid-sentence, reaches behind my head, and pulls the braid so intricately twirled inside of the rigid bun free, letting it fall over my shoulder.

"That's better," she says.

We continue to stare at one another; I am determined to memorize the location of every single freckle on her face. Maybe it's from this overwhelming fear that this is too good to be true—that I may never see her again.

The clock ticks on.

I am missing my daughter's next class.

Class.

Right, that's why we're here.

I speak for the first time in minutes, "Don't you have another class?"

She blinks, "Well, lucky for you, Polish isn't that popular. So I only teach during first and last period."

Lucky for me.

I do the math—four classes between first and last period at ten minutes each, along with the fact that second period is now almost over—we have somewhere around thirty minutes before her next group of parents comes in.

Lucky for me.

Do I even deserve this?

A second chance?

I still don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive myself…

But she said she wanted to let it go.

Leave the past in the past.

But…I don't know what to say to her.

Because all I know—all I've ever known and worried about was, indeed, the past. And now…now what?

"I feel so old," she says finally, shaking her head in wonder and amazement, and laughing, although it's not her usual laugh. It's empty and far away, and as distant as the words that follow, "Where the hell has the time gone?"

And while her words are deep and contemplative, all I can do is stare at her in shock, and say, "Oh my God."

"What?" she asks.

"You…you cursed," I say, my voice incredulous.

"Yeah, well," she mumbles, "Don't get used to it."

I smile at this, "Don't worry. I don't think I could."

I find myself staring at her again, still somewhat in denial.

I take in the perfectly ironed black pants, paired with a long-sleeved green shirt that ruffles slightly at the bottom. She wears no jewelry whatsoever. And she doesn't have on a stitch of makeup—which is exactly how I remember her.

I, on the other hand, have just thrown on a pair of jeans and an old shirt, and it makes me feel the slightest bit self-conscious.

"Well," she says eventually, "Why don't we sit down?"

"Okay," I say.

I follow her over to her desk, where she sits down behind it and I pull up a chair to sit across from her. And I'm not exactly sure how to ask the question that I want to ask, but decide to just ask it as is, short, simple, and to the point: "So how did you…end up here?"

She doesn't seem to mind how straightforward it is.

"Well, when I got back I gave everything a lot of thought. I finished school, and found a teaching position not too far away from home. I wanted to move out, get an apartment, live on my own…but the pay wasn't good at all. And then…" she stops here, and picks up one of the pens on her desk, idly twirling it around in her fingers as she continues, "Things got really hard for my family. My father lost his job. And they had to sell the farm and move in with my aunt and uncle in the city.

"And I didn't have anywhere to go, really. All I had was the money I'd saved. So…I had two options. Either I could find a place there, and continue to just scrape by. Or, I could come back here, and see what kind of a life I could make for myself. So, I decided to come back. And that's how I ended up here. I did manage to get my own apartment, even though it gets a little lonely sometimes. You'd be surprised—three little rooms seem incredibly large when you're the only one in them, but it's something I've…managed to deal with. As far as work, I was in and out of a few different schools around other districts. I was actually teaching math, of all things. But then this district decided to expand its language program. And that's how I ended up here. At this school."

"So you just…left? Everything that you knew, you left it all behind?" I ask.

She sighs, "I did. I mean, how much different could it be from being an exchange student? I knew I'd have a better life here. And…" she trails off again, looking down to the pen that is now oscillating between two of her fingers at a speed so fast I think it's going to fly from her hand. But then it slows down. She doesn't look at me when she speaks, her gaze instead following the path that her hand takes to set the pen back alongside the others, "I never really stopped thinking about you."

Her words hit me hard. I am floored, "You sacrificed the opportunity to stay with your family for the chance to see…me?"

She looks at me now, "It's only part of the reason. But…yes."

"But how did you know? How did you know that I'd be here?"

"I didn't. I just took the opportunities that were given to me. It was an open door, a new chance, and…I took it," she says with a small shrug, "Now I know it was certainly worth it."

I'm not entirely sure what else to think. Or what else to say. But luckily, I don't have to, because she starts talking again.

"But enough about me," she says, and then she switches the topic with the most random question ever, "Did you ever get yourself a cat? I know I said you seem like a cat person, but I want to know if I'm right."

"I was thinking about it. But actually it was a dog," I tell her.

I avoid any mentions of 'we' or 'our' in my answer, because I'm not exactly certain how to tell her what has happened in the past couple of years. So I need to choose my words carefully.

"Was?" she asks. Her response is calculated, hinting at the one word that has betrayed me; the one word that is out of place.

And it seems as though I haven't selected my words carefully enough.

But then again…if I didn't know how to tell her before, I guess now is my chance, "He has the dog now."

When I say 'he', I can see her grow slightly more alert; sit up straighter in her chair.

"Oh?" she says, and although I can tell that she has intended for that single syllable to come out as haphazardly as possible, I can hear the blatant anticipation in her voice.

"Yeah," I say, "Part of the agreement. We're…divorced."

"Oh," she says again, and this time, the word is filled with shock and a bit of…excitement. "How…how come? If you don't mind me asking, that is?"

She says it innocently, looking down at her hands, and then back up at me, and I know what she wants to hear; the confirmation of what she already knows.

I look at her.

Really look at her.

And I don't look away when I say it, "I guess…for the same reason. I never really stopped thinking about you."

And seeing her in front of me, I realize how true my statement really is.

I haven't stopped thinking about her.

No matter how hard I had tried.

Because staring back at me is much more than beautiful blue eyes that are now filled with hope.

They are blue eyes that reflect everything, no matter how painful it is to remember…

Wonder and amazement; trips to a mall; Poland; calculus and equations; Italian restaurants; cheesesteaks; snowmen, snow days, and the cold; but warmth, too; movies I've watched thousands of times on repeat; abandoned airports; talking without thinking; chocolate; dresses, and laughing, and dancing, and spinning.

…And Anna.

And I know that my daughter is my Anna, but she is my Anna, too.

Annika.

Anna.

I know how important it was for her to hear those words; how much they mean to her. And although I know I've made her beyond happy with that single sentence, I think I have an idea that will make her even happier.

"So," I say, "I was thinking."

"Were you?" she smiles, teasing me, "You do an awful lot of that."

"You'll like the outcome," I tell her, "I promise."

"Well, go ahead then," she crosses her arms and leans back in her chair, teasing smile still on her face, "Tell me what you've been thinking."

"There's a particular restaurant, not too far from here. It's called Oaken's. And I've heard that, of all things, they're known for having the best chocolate cake. I never really found out for myself if this was true, because a certain someone years ago changed my perspective on all things chocolate. Commercial brand is way too sweet. But…since she's sitting here with me right now, I figured that it would only be appropriate for us to maybe go together to see if this chocolate cake could possibly live up to our standards?"

My heart is pounding in my chest.

God, did I just ask her out?

On a…date?

I watch as her eyes fill with delight at the idea, and a smile spreads across her face, "Well, in that case, she will gladly accept the invitation."

"Are you free on Saturday?"

"Yes," she answers without hesitation, and her smile only grows.

After all these years, I am so glad that I can once again be the cause of something she is excited about. Her joy is contagious.

An unfaltering ability to make everyone around her smile.

And while I think I could spend the rest of the night smiling back at her, I remember the reason we're here, and turn (reluctantly) towards the clock. When I see the time I say, "But now if I recall correctly I think that you've got another class of parents to introduce yourself to in about ten minutes."

She nods, "Yeah. I guess I do."

Both of us stand after she says this, and we're about to walk over to the door, when she, being her infamous self, trips over the wires of the computer.

I am quick to react, catching her by the shoulders before she can go down.

And suddenly, her face is so close to mine.

So, so close.

And she's not looking up at me, but I hear the pattern of her breathing shift from steady, to slightly quick and irregular, and something tells me it's not because she almost fell.

My own heart pounding as erratically as she seems to be breathing, I tilt her downcast chin upwards with one finger, and press the lightest kiss to her lips. It's an impulsive action, yet it feels just as natural and instinctive as it had to catch her before she could fall.

When we separate again, a small blush appears beneath the freckles on her face, which matches the one that I am sure has spread across my own. Her hand flies to one of her braids—her nervous habit that hasn't gone away—and she says with a small laugh, "Guess I'm still the picture of sophisticated grace."

But, despite the blatant sarcasm behind her comment, there is something about the way she says it that makes me realize.

She is.

She is the picture of sophisticated grace.

My state of grace.

In which I am…

Whole.

Safe.

Free.

I don't need to worry about what is wrong, because it is right.

I can breathe.

I can feel.

I can love.

I love her.

I know I do—I always have.

And she knows it.

But I tell her anyway, because I can.

"I love you," I say.

And I don't know what is more beautiful—the fact that I am finally free to say it, or the way she says it back.

A/n: So yep, there's the significance of the title—directly linked to the meaning of Annika's name :)

I know that not all questions regarding their future together are completely answered, but I really do feel like the ending fit with the style. And because the heart of this fic was the memories of the past, it just didn't seem right to embark on a whole new journey in the present. But I think we can all infer, though—Elsa's divorced, Anna's single, they're going on a date…it really is Elsa's second chance. And one that we now know she's not going to take for granted.

However, that being said, I'm actually considering the idea of a possible sequel—but nothing too extensive. Most likely, it'll be a one-shot. But nothing is definite, and if it happens, it probably won't be for a little while.

I also have another Elsanna fic in mind that I've kind of already begun writing, so you all can look out for that as well. And I can promise that it will be much longer than this one.

So, aside from all of that, thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! Writing this has been an amazing experience, especially since it was my first fanfic. And I can't thank you all enough for all of the support :)