(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 3: "Gotterdammerung"

"Good," I say into the phone, swallowing the last mouthful of coffee. "Have the jet ready. We'll be there within the hour." The call ends and I drop the handset into the receiver. The jet is fueled and the flight plan to Sunset Beach is filed. I look up and frown, realizing Olivia still hasn't moved. She's sitting in the armchair, gazing out the tall windows that overlook the harbor. She's barely spoken two words since yesterday when the doctor released her from the hospital and I brought her here. I sigh and cross the room, reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Olivia?"

She doesn't even flinch and her pale flesh glows in the golden sunlight falling in through the glass. Slowly, I crouch before her, but she doesn't see me and I know the appeal of the Mediterranean view is lost on her. I don't know what worries me more: that she tried to kill herself or that she's withdrawn to the point of catatonia. When we arrived at the hotel, she immediately crawled into the bed and pulled the down duvet up to her chin. She didn't eat dinner yesterday evening and she's barely touched her breakfast now.

My hand grazes her knee and I stand with a deep sigh. Leaving didn't heal her. Perhaps being home with the children will.

There's a knock at the door and I turn, glancing at the luggage stacked in the corner. The Italian doctor cleared Olivia to fly, so the sooner we leave, the better. This unexpected excursion in Italy couldn't have turned out more differently than our honeymoon all those years ago. I open the door, expecting a bellboy with a luggage cart. "Annie?"

The young redhead takes off her sunglasses, her eyes dancing as she looks in. "I came as soon as I heard about what happened to poor Olivia." I catch her arm as she attempts to pass me, keeping her at bay. "Gregory-"

"What the hell are you doing here?" I frown as she brushes her hair back and I can't quite figure out the nervous chuckle she gives in response. "Annie?"

"I was worried about you!" she exclaims, her eyes wide. "You just ran out of your office and I didn't know where you went!"

I drag her out into the hall, holding my hand out to catch the door from closing completely and locking me out. "Are you out of your mind?" I hiss, throwing her arm away. "This is a private matter between my wife and I. It has nothing to do with you."

"Oh, really?" Her face hardens as she folds her arms across her chest. "After you left, I went to the house to see if you were alright. Caitlin and Sean were there and they were a wreck." I wince, content to only imagine their devastation. I called them yesterday evening, but with Olivia asleep, they weren't satisfied with my claims to their mother's well-being. Reuniting the three of them was my only priority. "Caitlin told me Olivia tried to kill herself. Is she alright? Has she remembered something about the day the baby died?"

"Annie, this doesn't concern you," I repeat, irritated.

"But, Gregory, it does! I- I feel so close to you and your children, especially Caitlin. We've become such good friends and our friendship is something I treasure, especially since I don't have any real family of my own."

"And, I'm sure Caitlin appreciates it too. However," I say, my gaze hardening when she opens her mouth to interrupt, "you and my wife have never gotten along, so I find your concern for her hard to believe."

"But-"

I shake my head, my glare intensifying as I turn back to my suite. "Enjoy your stay in Naples, Annie," I say, pushing open the door. "Hopefully, you'll get something out of this trip." I close the door, ignoring her frantic call for my name. The young woman's determination to ingratiate herself into my family is nothing short of bewildering. I scoff, staring at the solid door for a long moment before I turn. Olivia's standing in the middle of the room, her brow furrowed. Her blue eyes crinkle in a glare, their intensity crackling in the space between us.

"What is she doing here?" Whereas in previous days her voice was broken and dejected, now it's strong and ringing with ire.

"Annie? I have no idea," I reply, watching as she rolls her eyes.

"Has she been here this whole time? Did she come here with you?"

"No. Why would I bring her?"

She turns back to me, her eyes blazing. "Well, it would certainly make it easier for you to continue carrying on with her once you've hidden me away somewhere."

I shake my head. "You're not making any sense."

"Aren't I?" she hisses and I finally see a lick of color rise in her complexion. She lowers her arms, her hands balled into tight fists. "You're having an affair with her, aren't you?"

I exhale deeply, watching as her eyebrow arches, daring me to refute her accusation. She's never let this idea go, not since the car accident all those months ago. "Olivia, we've been over this," I begin, not willing to go down this road. Again. She cries out, disbelieving, as I continue, "I am not having an affair with Annie."

"Don't lie to me!"

I move closer and reach for her shoulders. "Sweetheart, you're not thinking straight."

She shrieks and flings my hands off, spinning away from me. "I have never thought clearer in my life! Three months of solitude has given me absolute clarity! Why is that woman here?!"

I'm still, watching her gesture wildly as she paces around the sun-filled room. "Olivia, I'm not having this argument with you. I can't."

"And, why not?!" She whirls around, her eyes wild as her hands fly to her hips. "Why? You've never had a problem arguing with me before!"

"I'm not indulging this paranoia," I say sharply and she scoffs. "It won't help you get better."

"Better? You don't care about making me better! You blame me for the baby dying!"

I look away, her cry echoing in the suite. She's breathing heavily and my stomach turns, listening to the contained hysteria in her voice. But, she's right. I do blame her. She's not given me any reason not to blame her. The mysterious trip to San Francisco, her inability to remember, the cremation order, the liquor receipts. Three months later and the pain of losing that child is just as raw as the moment when Dr. Brock broke the news. The gut-wrenching pain was only compounded by the revelation that the stillbirth was caused by Olivia's drinking.

"You see," she sighs, her voice dropping to a wounded whisper, "you can't even deny it."

"The only way," I begin, speaking over the lump in my throat, "that we can move on is for us to go home and get you the help you need."

Her jaw drops. "The help I need?" Slowly, I turn back to her as she continues, "You need just as much help as I do, if not more." I stiffen as the blood flushes in her face. Her finger jabs my chest, ice dripping from her words as she says, "You've let your grief and pain fester, like you always do. Then, it turns to anger and you lash out."

I take a deep breath and remind myself that she was only released from the hospital yesterday. "What would you like me to do?" I ask, my voice low. "Fall apart and go to pieces like you?"

She smacks me in the middle of my chest, her face twisted in agony. "At least I feel something!" she retorts, ignoring my glare as she smacks me again. "You have been running from your feelings for so long that I'm not even sure you know how to feel! You are so desperate to blame someone so you can do something with your anger, to rail against someone because it's easier than admitting you are hurt! That you are in pain!"

"And, what good does that do?!" My bellow makes her recoil and I move closer, suddenly seething. "Does it change anything?!"

"At least you wouldn't blame the one person you should be grieving with!"

"Your convenient inability to remember what happened makes me blame you! The medical file makes me blame you!" She falters and her head goes back like I've struck her. And, even though my hands are at my sides, maybe I have. Bette once accused me of hurting her more with my words, bullying her into submission, than any episode of physical violence ever could. But, I plow on, irritated with her self-indulgence and denial of the truth. "The liquor receipts make me blame you!"

Her eyes blossom with pain and a vein pulses in her neck as she screams, "I never would've drank! We were happy! I came back to you, to our bed!" My eyes narrow, listening as she scrambles a plausible denial together. But, she's had years of practice to weave a web of tales around her binges, cloaking them in shadows and deception. "Why would I drink?"

Grimly, I suggest, "You're an alcoholic, Olivia. Why wouldn't you drink?"

Like a house of cards, she implodes. The fire goes out of her and she pales rapidly, holding her trembling hands to her face. Slowly, she looks away and I sigh, searching for the words to reason with her. But, before I can even move, she whispers, "I can't do this."

I watch as she reaches up, pushing her long hair behind her ears. Her throat is working and for the first time, I notice the tears sparkling in her eyes. If there was one thing in this world I couldn't stand, it was the sight of my wife's tears. They cut through me quicker and more efficiently than any dagger. "Can't do what?" I ask, my anger deflating.

"This," she gasps, half-heartedly gesturing between us. "I can't go through this again. My pain and your anger nearly destroyed us the first time and it's destroying us now. Destroying me." With a shaky sigh, she turns back to the window and is framed perfectly in the center. "I want nothing more than to remember what happened, but I can't. And…I hate myself for that."

"Olivia-"

She turns suddenly, her hair flying out around her head. "I forgave you for Caity nearly dying, for the car accident, for that sick plan of yours." Her shoulders collapse and she asks softly, "Why can't you forgive me?" Her simple question nearly knocks me off my feet. I cringe, turning away from my wife as she painfully bleeds out. "You don't know how to forgive," she concludes when the silence becomes too much to bear.

There's a quick succession of knocks and I glance over before I turn back to Olivia. But, she's already turned back to the window and I go for the door. It's the bell boy this time and I gesture to the luggage in the corner. "Is our car here?"

"Si," he says, neatly stacking the suitcases and bags onto the luggage cart.

I take Olivia's purse and turn back to her. Her spine is ramrod straight, but the tremor in her hands is unmistakable. "Olivia?" I say softly and she flinches. "Let's go home."

She turns and I notice the way her white blouse swallows her slim frame. All of the pregnancy weight is gone and I remember just how small she is. But, time has moved on and so must we. With a frown, she snatches her purse from my hand and stalks past me, leaving the suite. I sigh as the bell boy stacks the last bag on the cart and follows my wife out. Leaving me alone in the suite, standing at the foot of a seemingly insurmountable mountain and not seeing a way to start my ascent.

I stand next to Gregory in the elevator, clutching my purse to my chest. My arms cry out and I realize, not for the first time, that they were mourning the loss of the baby too. There's nothing worse than a mother's empty arms, crying out in desperation for the heft of her child. I close my eyes and lower my head, suddenly tired. Our arguments always take so much out of me. How can he not see that?

A shudder goes through me and I gasp, hating the feelings coursing through me. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I wasn't supposed to be here. A moment later, I feel his eyes on me and I turn my face away, not wanting him to see my disappointment. Life used to be something I cherished; now, it is a prison and my death penalty has been commuted to a life sentence. There's no escape from it, though I desperately tried to control my destiny and plan my exit.

His eyes are inching over me and years ago, it was a feeling I cherished. Knowing he was watching me from across a crowded room, undressing me with his eyes. Feeling my skin tingle, from my toes to my scalp, was only one step away from ecstasy. Waking up in his arms, his gaze gently nudging me awake. I used to relish it. Now, I just want him to stop looking at me with nothing but anger and blame.

I hear him clear his throat and I open my eyes. The sealed doors are made of polished metal, an almost mirror. I can look nowhere but at him, even if it's only him through a reflection. Our eyes meet and I remember how he used to say he knew what I was thinking just by looking at my eyes. I realize I don't know if he can say that anymore. How can he look at my eyes and know, when I can't do the same?

My eyes flicker and I look at my own reflection for the first time in days. It was easy to avoid in the hospital and when I stepped out of the shower this morning, the mirror was fogged over. There's a woman in the elevator door's reflection, but I don't recognize her. Her hair is a mess, long and limp over her shoulders. Her face is pale and free of cosmetics, every fine wrinkle out on full display. There's puffs beneath her dull eyes and I watch her swallow hard, her collarbone rising sharply from her skin. She might as well be a stranger because she's not me. She can't be.

I look back at him and I see his mouth moving. When did he start talking? I blink, still watching his reflection as I focus and hear him say, "-rest on the plane. Once we're in the air, we'll be home in fifteen hours."

Home. Back to everything. Our lives. Our children. Our home. No, a house, not a home. He moved me out of our home. Our mess awaited us in Sunset Beach. Nothing would be different once we returned to the land of sun and sea. He would still blame me when we got back. That little tart would still be chasing him when we got back. The children would still look at me with nervous and apprehensive gazes when we got back. Our grandson would be there waiting when we got back.

My arms tighten around the purse as the elevator slows and grinds to a stop. The terrifying reflection disappears as the doors open. Beyond the elevator, I see an opulent crystal chandelier scattering golden light over the polished marble floor. There's the sound of a piano drifting through the air and I freeze, hearing the soft notes of "Stardust". I close my eyes and lean back against the wall, feeling his hand on my shoulder a moment later. "Olivia?"

Nothing ever changes. I tried to kill myself, but I was still here. Agony courses through me with every beat of my heart. Gregory will never forgive me because I will never forgive myself. I can't remember what happened. All I know is that my child is dead and the man I love says it is my fault. If it were you, would you want to return to that? Can you blame me for preferring death to that kind of hellish existence?

"Why don't you wait in the car while I check out?" I hear him suggest as his hand slips around my arm. He leads me out of the elevator and my heart begins to pound. I grimace, biting the corner of my lip as my eyes dart from side to side. "Excuse me?" he says, getting the attention of the concierge as he drapes my blazer over my shoulders. "Would you please show my wife to our car?"

I watch him turn to the desk, reviewing the bill that the clerk already has ready for him to review. Things work out smoothly for Gregory. They always have. Except for me. I've always managed to turn his perfectly managed world upside down. I lost two of his children. I challenged him where our living children were concerned, preferring their happiness to his need for omnipotent control. I slept with other men. I drank myself into oblivion more times than I could even count.

I push through the revolving door and onto the busy sidewalk, nodding blandly to the concierge. An explosion of Italian surrounds me as he begins directing several cars full of arriving tourists. A marina is across the street and I listen for a moment to the horns from the boats and watch their sails billowing in the morning sun. The Mediterranean is a deep shade of blue, leaving me to marvel at the seamless blend of sea and sky on the horizon. I could have been out there for all eternity were it not for Mario's resourcefulness. I look back at the curb and see a bell boy packing my luggage into the back of a chauffeured car.

As I move to the car, a chill sweeps over me and the hair on the back of my neck stands at attention. I don't know why, but I turn and give in to the odd sensation. Through the revolving doors, I see Gregory talking to Annie in the lobby. She's standing close to him and her hand dances against his as he leans closer, saying something to her. It kills me to admit that I'm jealous of the little whore and have been since the moment I found out she was with Gregory when Caitlin and I were in the accident. Ever since then, she's danced around him, toying with suggestive innuendo and obscenely short skirts.

My stomach turns, hating the sight of them as she reaches up and touches his arm. But, it can't compare to what I've already lost. My husband, my family, my baby. All I'm left with is my miserable excuse of a life. Of course, that's the one thing I don't want, but can't seem to get rid of. Cruel irony.

I turn back to the curb and go to the chauffeured car. The bell boy looks up and smiles, about to close the trunk, when I shake my head. "Un taxi, per favore," I say, reaching in for my bags. "Hurry!"

"Si, Signora." He turns, waving urgently as I set my bags on the street and close the trunk. Gregory can keep his luggage. My own are coming with me.

I told him in the hospital there was no point to it. I meant it. Going home won't fix us. Our little episode in the hotel room just now proves it. He'll never forgive me and I would rather try and kill myself again then live with his unending ire every day. That would be a hell on earth.

A small taxi jerks to a stop and I stand back, watching as the bell boy loads my luggage into it. A hand clamps down on my shoulder and I find myself turning around, staring straight into Gregory's dark eyes. "What are you doing?" he asks.

I sigh, my heart pounding as I admit, "Leaving."

"Olivia, there's no need for a taxi. I told you I arranged for a car to take us to the airport."

Gently, I push his hand from my shoulder and step back. Realization flickers in his eyes as I shake my head. "I'm not going back to Sunset Beach."

"What are you saying?" he says flatly and I wince. Of course, he would make me spell it out for him.

Behind me, the taxi driver honks the horn impatiently and I glance over my shoulder, holding up my hand. As I turn back to him, I see Annie coming out of the revolving door, watching us intently. My eyes turn back to Gregory, who's fixated on me. "You and she deserve each other."

His face turns and he grabs my arm, dragging me back onto the sidewalk. "Olivia, for the last time, there is nothing going on between me and Annie. Now, stop this. Let's go home."

I rip my arm away, my heart racing. "I am leaving you, Gregory! I told you, I can not do this again." His jaw is tight, a fine line of bone as his throat works. "I would rather die than return to Sunset Beach and since that didn't work out for me-"

"Running away didn't solve your problems either!" he shoots back and I can't help but hear the panic in his voice.

I shake my head and shrug helplessly. "I wouldn't have had to run if you had been there for me!" I retort, vaguely aware of the small crowd of nosy tourists and passersby forming around us. What a thoroughly American spectacle this is for them to witness. He stiffens and I lower my eyes, brushing my hair back. "But, you can't be there for me when you blame me in the first place."

"Olivia-"

"If I come back to Sunset Beach, I will die." He looks away and I continue, "It will kill me to be there, living every day and thinking about 'what could've been'. And, I don't think you want me back, not as your wife. You just want me there so you can have someone to blame. But, that's not what I want. It's not what I married you for."

"Signora! Il taxi!"

"If you won't - or can't - forgive me," I ask softly, ignoring the bellboy and hoping for one last chance, "then what's the point?"

"I-" he says, his voice low and my eyes narrow, fed up.

"I can't wait around for the day to come when you finally find it in your heart to forgive me! You didn't wait for me! You demanded that I forgive you for what you did to Caitlin! You wouldn't take no for answer!" I jut my chin, laying all my cards on the table. "So, tell me! You tell me right now! Tell me you can forgive me!"

I meet his eyes as he looks up and I sigh, tired. Tired of all of this. He says nothing, his expression ashen as his lips set in a grim line. Nothing will ever change, I realize as he looks silently at me. The tiny part of me that hoped he would give me his forgiveness dies and I inhale deeply. The taxi driver honks the horn again and I tear my eyes away from Gregory. I step off the curb and slide into the back seat of the car, blinking back tears.

I feel his eyes burning into me, watching from the curb as the taxi pulls away. It slips seamlessly into the morning traffic, the hotel falling away behind me. I lower my face, crying into my purse as I clutch it against my chest.