I didn't know how to handle everything I had just learnt and seen. I didn't know how to process it. It was difficult to see my family going through something that I knew from personal experience was horrendously difficult and heart wrenchingly painful. It made me appreciate how lucky I was to have the opportunity to change my situation and make sure that this turmoil wasn't a permanent thing for any of my own family. That relief didn't make it any easier to deal with what I saw my parents going through. I didn't know how to deal with it and neither did they. I watched my father scramble to hold them all together, but he was struggling. My mother lay in the darkness for days, while he did all he could for her to lift her out of her mood. Even though I knew that she'd be fine in the end, I still worried about her from a distance. It was a horrific situation to be in, I knew that, and it wasn't any easier to see someone you loved going through it. I wished that I had been there, physically, to help them both. She stopped eating, she stopped talking and she never seemed to sleep. All of this soon took its toll on her and she fell into a fever. Worry and grief kept my father up at night and business kept him away during the day. The doctor was called and our household staff were all told to focus their efforts towards my mother. They were quiet around her, respectful of my parent's privacy and some of them even seemed genuinely moved by what had happened.

For a while my mother was completely resistant to these efforts. She just lay there, staring into nothing. People left food for her that soon went cold. They tried to talk to her- either to talk her through it, or cheer her up. But she did nothing. Various people came and went and her mood did not change. It wasn't as if she was ignoring all them. She wasn't being ungrateful. It was more as if they didn't register with her, as if all those people weren't even there. Perhaps it was more as if she wasn't there. She lay there, seemingly nothing but a hollow, empty shell of her former self for days, weeks, months even. The stress got to my father and I could see him getting ill as well. I don't know how he did it, but he forced himself on. I admired his strength, but I didn't know how long he'd be able to keep it up. The cracks had formed, were deep-set and they were more than showing.

Condolences and support flooded in for my parents. There were those who came to visit just so that they could have something to talk about with other people, some gossip to spread, but there were many who came with good intentions. They helped when they could and left whatever they thought might have been of use to my grieving parents. There wasn't much that anyone could do to help, but it wasn't for lack of trying. The support was there for my parents if they needed it, but there was someone who was tangled up in all of this and needed more support than he was getting. One tiny, little person I saw going unnoticed and completely overlooked.

James.

He was so confused. So thoroughly lost in all of this. He didn't know what to do with himself. He understood what was wrong and why his parents were acting in the way they were, but he didn't understand that it was out of his control. He kept trying to fix it and make it better. He wasn't used to the way that our parents were behaving and he didn't like it. Every day he would try and get in to my mother's room to see her, but every day he never got as far as the doorway when my father blocked him. "Not now, James," my father would say. James would stare at where our mother was lying before our father ushered him out of the room.

"But I want to see Mama," James would say in a small, plaintive voice. Our father was always too tired to do anything but shut the door. James would sit on the other side of it for hours with his knees tucked up under his chin. Sometimes there would be nothing but silence. Other times he could hear our mother crying. When that happened James stuffed his finger in his ears and started to cry himself. But he never moved from our mother's door until someone, usually a maid, would physically remove him from where he was sitting and put him to bed. It broke my heart to see him like that. I sat down beside him, wishing I could do something to help my poor brother.

The ghost of our father sat down beside me, looking pained. I saw his eyes fill with sorrow at the sight of his son in that state. "Poor James," I said quietly. I wanted to hug him. "Poor boy."

"I had no idea," my dad whispered. I suddenly felt angry with him for the state my brother was in.

"How?" I asked. "How could you not see this?" I gestured to where my brother sat sobbing on the floor. Alone and scared. He was terrified because his family were changing, different, falling apart. He was scared that he would never get his parents back and above all he was terrified that it was his fault. It hurt me to see it because I knew that everything James had ever done had been for what he deemed to be the good of our family. It may have been misguided and he may not have made all the right choices, but James had always fought to keep us both safe. He had frustrated me, angered me and made me feel trapped in my own life. I had never been able to make my own decisions, but I had never once thought that James was doing what he did out of anything other than his protective nature. He'd wanted me to be safe and live comfortably, his only mistake had been overlooking my happiness in the pursuit of everything else. I understood why now. I understood why he was so protective of me and I loved him for it. I loved him so much. I had always loved him, but now I felt bad about all the times I had fought with him. All I wanted to do was hug him. I almost started crying myself.

"Isabelle…" father said quietly, looking sorry for himself. "I couldn't… I couldn't do everything. I tried. I couldn't always be here. Work was…" He took a deep breath. "It was a hard time for me. For all of us."

"I know," I whispered, worried that if I spoke above a whisper I would also start crying.

"I can't believe I never thought of James," my father's voice had also dropped to a whisper. "I cannot believe I let him get like this. My poor boy." I couldn't tell which of his boys he was grieving for now. I took his hand. "Your mother… she took it hard. She took it so hard and I had to keep this family afloat. I had to make sure that she and James could keep living the way we did. I couldn't just stop what I was doing. And your mother… your mother… she was so-"

The lump in his throat stopped him from talking anymore. He hid his face in his hands. I watched his shoulders shake and all of my previous anger disappeared. I reached out slowly to put my arm around his shoulders. "You did what you could," I assured him. "You did what you had to." I'd been too hard on him in my anger over my brother's emotional needs being neglected. I'd forgotten that my father was suffering too. "You lost him too," I said, almost in tears. "He was your son too."

My father gave in and leaned towards me. I hugged him tight, trying to assure him that it was alright for him to cry. He needed to be looked after too. James wasn't the only one being neglected. "Yes," he nodded, wiping his tears away. "I did."

The door that we were all sitting against opened and James scrambled to his feet. I could hear the doctor's dulcet tones in conversation with my younger father. The doctor lingered, leaving the door ajar. James slipped through and my father and I followed. The room was dark, dingy, depressing. It was light outside, but the curtains had only been left slightly open. My mother lay in bed, as she always did, staring blankly at the wall. James ducked under the legs of the other two men and made his way over to her.

"Mama," he said quietly, coming to a stop in front of her. My mother didn't even blink. "Mama," James said again, quietly. His wide, frightened eyes were fixed on her. "Mama please!"

My father had noticed that his son was in the room and sprang out of conversation with the doctor. "James!" he shouted and the ghost of my father winced at the harsh sound. James jumped in fright and his fear was immediately heightened.

"Mama!" he screamed. Our father stooped to scoop him up. James kicked out, stretching out for our mother. He managed to grab her hand before our father ripped him away from his wife. "Mama please!"

He was carried off towards the door, kicking and screaming as they went. Suddenly, my mother sat up and looked towards where her son and her husband were near the door. "James!" she called, her voice was hoarse from lack of use, but he heard it. James stopped screaming and my father stopped walking. Slowly he turned to look at her and James slid out of his grasp. He ran to where my mother had held out her arms for him. She hugged him close to her and closed her eyes.

"Hello my darling," she said.

"Mama," he said happily. "What's wrong, Mama? Where were you?"

"I'm here now," she said, as my father wrapped my arms around them both. "I'm here now."

I smiled at what I saw. My mother was a long, long way from recovering. My whole family were, but it was a start.

"It took her a while to get back to normality," the ghost of my father said as the scene in front of us changed. It was replaced by one of my mother sitting up in bad and my father standing in front of her.

"Emile," he sounded exhauster. "You need to get up."

She shook her head. "No."

"Emile!" he snapped. "Move."

She frowned. "Move what, Lawrence? Move on? How can I move on? My son is dead. He never even had a chance at life and he is dead. I will not move on from that."

My father was furious, I could see his face getting red. "Sitting here, wasting your days isn't going to change that Emile! You can't go back. You can't alter anything, so you might as well get up."

"You don't understand," she moaned quietly, piteously, to herself as she buried her face into a pillow. At that my father turned away, slammed his fist into the wall. My mother jumped and began to cry again. I wanted to shake her and remind her that she wasn't the only one in pain.

"Don't understand?" he repeated. "You think I don't care that our son is dead, Emile?! Because what you don't seem to understand is that he was our son. Ours. I lost him too." He made to storm out, echoing the very words I had said to his ghost only moments before. He turned in the doorway. "And we have another one," he said. "James. And he is alive and well and he needs his mother. Or does he not matter to you anymore?" My mother didn't answer, but her crying had either stopped or gotten quieter. The silence hung in the air. My father regained his composure in that classic upper-class British way that could not be healthy. His voice levelled out. "You're getting up. We will not be having this conversation again, Emile."

The door slammed shut and the silence in the room seemed heavier than normal. After a moment my mother sat up and looked at the door. She sat up. Within half an hour she'd got up, left the room and walked into the nursery where my father was sitting with little James. When my father saw this he looked surprised, she did not look at him and no smiles were exchanged. My father went silently to lock the room. I knew it would never be opened again. The painful memories were locked away with it and my parents re-located to another part of the house and to a room which I recognised to be the one I remembered them having.

"It took us even longer to recover as a family," the ghost of my father said quietly as everything around us seemed to speed up. I watched James grow up and my mother regain her strength. My father was seldom there. Then everything stopped and the ghost of my father and I were left standing in an empty hallway. I looked at him for guidance as to what was going on. He looked happier now. "And then you came along."

Right on cue, I heard the sound of a baby crying. I realised that baby was me and I felt incredibly odd. Then I heard footsteps and eight year old James came running through the house at full speed. Another set of feet followed him and my cousin, Fitzwilliam, ran in after him. The two boys were roughly the same age. James heard my cries and stopped. "We need to go and see my sister," he said.

Fitz frowned, "Why?"

"Because she's crying," James said simply and ran off. Fitzwilliam hesitated for a moment before following suit. They ran to the Nursery, where my mother was cradling a tiny, tiny baby I could only assume was me. I couldn't have been more than a few days old. My mother looked exhausted. James approached them both slowly.

"Can I hold her?" he asked. My mother laughed and nodded. James held out his hands and took me from my mother. He looked at Fitz. "You have to be careful. She's very small." He was showing off his big-brother knowledge to Fitz. "She can't talk yet, but one day she will."

Amazingly, I'd stopped crying in his arms. James was smiling down at me. Fitz stepped forwards. "Can I have a go?"

James looked almost offended by the very idea. "No."

I laughed, recognising his tone from the many, many times he'd said it to me. Fitz stepped back again, looking sulky. "What's her name?" he asked.

"Isabelle," my brother said and I watched my mother smile. It was a smile that none of us had seen in a while. I saw that James noticed it and his own smile widened.

The scene froze and my father stepped forwards. "Well," he said, sighing happily at the sight of his family. "That's it. I've taught you about your birth, but what I wanted you to learn, darling, was about loss. Remember, please that it affects everyone. Lives are changed, things are broken, people are broken, but they do heal. In time. In time happiness can be found again. It's difficult to see it sometimes, but things aren't bad forever. And happiness isn't just something that happens to you. Sometimes you have to work to claw your way back to it. Things are never the same, but they can be good again. And they will be good again… you'll see."

I wasn't sure whether this was a lesson that I needed to help me cope with life after death. Or one that Jack needed. If I couldn't get back to him I didn't want him to fall apart. I gulped, wishing he could hear this and praying that he'd be alright.

Hello my darlings, thanks for reading! Leave a review if you can.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last one, you guys make my day every time.

Review Replies:

GoTeamSkipper- DRY YOUR EYES. PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER. I really love wee baby James, not gonna lie. I'm glad you'd rather find out things in the chapters. I hate learning and giving away spoilers. Thanks for reviewing!

PirateNinjaCJS- Haha, don't worry about it, we all forget things from time to time. I know, poor James :( Sorry it took me a while to update. Then again... when did you last update... HMMM? Just kidding, I know you're busy.

Sookdeo- Oh dear, I am so sorry you were tearing up at work. I hope you don't have the kind of job were anyone would have seen you. That could have been awkward.

WulfLuvr22- PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER! CONTAIN THOSE FEELS.

Eponine Sparrow- It is quite a shame for both of them... finger's crossed she'll get back :P Thanks for reviewing!

AdaYuki- Thank you :) I'm glad you enjoyed it. Thanks for leaving a review and sorry it took a while.