Guest 1: Here's another Sunday morning treat (if you can call it that I do tend to have a lot of grief in here). Two wounded bears is a great analogy.

Jaded orbs: The end of the end is here really. Chapters Seven through Eleven are the ones I am most proud of. I hope you've been enjoying the re-read.

Truckee Gal: Not what we wanted for them at all, you're absolutely right. They both need quite a bit of time to grow after this.

Breakfastattiffanygs: Your weekly dose of angst coming right up! Enjoy and I hope to hear what you think.

Guest 2: Update is a little late this week, but better late than never. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter Seven

This is not up for discussion. I will pay you any amount you desire if you concede. Sign the divorce papers. Name your price.

Rhett Butler

Scarlett unsteadily traced the sprawl of Rhett's signature over and over again until the oils in her fingers stained the paper yellow and wore away some of the ink. Rhett had sent the brusque note with a second copy of the divorce papers three months ago in response to her initial, drunken reply. Since then she had received six additional copies of the divorce petition and a number of increasingly heated letters from her husband. Each new message conveyed a fervent enmity that wounded its reader, but somewhere in the dark spaces of her mind Scarlett recognized he, too, was becoming unhinged. The realization gave her little pleasure, but at the very least she knew she was not the only one hurting.

This was not a love letter by any means, but she coveted the script nonetheless. His letters were the only trace of him in the Peachtree house. He had taken his clothes, he had taken his things, and he had taken back his love but he sent her these. It was a morose memento; it reminded her that despite it all it was real.

Scarlett laughed unevenly, trembling as she tucked the letter into a book on her bedside table and reached for the bottle of laudanum next to it. Dr. Meade had prescribed the bitter liquid after Mammy had sent for him during the second week of her self-isolation. The state of Scarlett was enough to concern the doctor; he had never seen such melancholia in a woman.

She had become dangerously frail since Melanie's funeral. Her skin stretched over her bones like delicate wax paper. It looked as though if you touched her the wrong way she would tear in your hands. Her eyes were glossy and Scarlett barely took notice of him while he completed his examination. He inquired into her state and she merely responded that she was tired, that was all. The death of two children and her friend left her with little sleep. When the doctor probed as to her husband's whereabouts Scarlett replied that he was away on business and she did not want to worry him. She was fine.

She was fine.

That is what she told herself every morning when she watched the sun kiss the horizon after another sleepless night. It is what she told Mammy when she force-fed Scarlett eggs in the morning and biscuits in the evening. It is what she told herself when she read her husband's letters. It is what she told herself every night when she stared at the clear bottle of laudanum on her side table and wished for a modicum of peace.

But the truth is she was not fine. She had not been fine for nearly half a year. Scarlett tried in vain to keep her sanity and her O'Hara resolve, but she was exhausted. Scarlett spent sixteen years carrying the responsibility of her family's monetary security and safety but now she was tired. She did not have the strength to think of tomorrow anymore. Every day was a tomorrow and every day felt longer than the last.

Two weeks after Rhett's lawyer posted the initial petition, Scarlett sent a long, gentle letter to Rhett. She swallowed her pride and asked him to please come home and have a civil conversation. He owed her that much. His response was sharp: the time for civility had long since passed. If she was unwilling to sign he had nothing to say to her. All correspondence should be directed to his lawyer.

His words stung. Scarlett hoped that their relationship would have meant more to him; it certainly had for her. They were friends for many years before she agreed to marry him- or at least were as friendly as two people that mixed like oil and water could be. She wanted to fight for the friendship of those early days if for nothing else, but she weary down to her very core. Scarlett knew that if she gave in to that weariness and acquiesced to his requests that some day when she felt less somnolent she would regret her damned weakness.

So she waited.

She counted three months in seconds ticks by the grandfather clock. With each new tick, there were more petitions and more letters. Scarlett eventually stopped responding to them altogether. When a new beige envelope came for her in the post, Scarlett burned it without reading it. She knew she was being evasive, but she needed more time. She felt that if she were mentally and physically stronger she would be able to come up with a plan on winning Rhett back.

Scarlett never got better, however. With each passing day the circles under her eyes became darker and her trembling hands became less steady. The waves of melancholia hit with renewed strength with every memory Rhett's letters brought back. Eventually, Scarlett resigned herself to her bedroom where she spent the passing of her days in a drug-induced haze and the nights wandering the mansion. Occasionally she would greet the stars in the wee hours of the morning, wandering the streets by moonlight until the laudanum started to wear.

The drug dulled the throbbing ache in her chest and made it tolerable. It made her feel light. It made her feel real for a few fleeting hours. The opium tincture pulled at the corners of her consciousness and played tricks on her faltering mind. Sometimes she felt sharp and others dysphoric. During her flashes of laudanum induced euphoria she continued her correspondence with her aunts Eulalie and Pauline, Aunt Pitty, and her children. She sent money to Suellen for Wade and Ella- careful to add more than she knew necessary. She brushed her own hair. She paced the room. As soon as the effects started to wear off, Scarlett would descend deeper info a profound melancholia that would last for days.

News of Scarlett becoming a recluse circulated Atlanta. They called her the Ghost of Peachtree- a nocturnal beast that prowled the town throwing shadows in her wake. No one had seen her by daylight since her return from Clayton County and the town allowed their minds to wander. There was a rumor that Scarlett was pregnant and on bed rest, another claiming that God finally saw to her wicked countenance and turned her mad, some even speculated that divorce from her husband was imminent. Aunt Pitty tried to call with Beau a number of times but was turned away. After a month and a half Aunt Pitty ceased her visit attempts and instead penned her niece long, fretting letters asking Scarlett to please confirm or deny any of the town rumors. Scarlett ignored it. She was tired of answering to the genteel militia. She just wanted peace to work through her own thoughts.

And solitude she had until Uncle Henry Hamilton began calling in the spring of 1874. The first time Henry called, he brought his nephew, Ashley, and his son Beau with him in hopes that an old friend might coerce Scarlett out of her home for a leisurely stroll. Laced with laudanum, Scarlett declined outright bidding Mammy to send the three of them away immediately. Hearing Ashley's name alone was enough to send her into a self-destructive spiral. She lashed out at herself, replaying every mistake she had made in her head ad nauseum until she became physically ill and curled into herself on her bed shaking for hours. Henry tried again two weeks later to the same treatment. The third time he refused to leave until he saw his niece even if it meant staying all night.

"Scarlett," Mammy said quietly, pushing open the bedroom door of Scarlett's bedroom. The stale air lay thick over the room like an unwashed blanket. "Mr. Hamilton is downstairs and says he will not leave until he sees you."

"Let him sit then," Scarlett murmured, rubbing her temples, "I am tired. Did you explain to him that I am ill?" She was coming off laudanum high and feeling the effects in her body. She felt heavy and weak simultaneously and her hand tremors increased tenfold. A migraine settled behind her eyes and made her so lightheaded she could barely stand.

"Yes, but he is adamant. He said he would wait as long as it took to see you." Mammy began rifling through Scarlett's dresses before pulling out her mourning blacks. "I think it would be good for you to see your uncle. You haven't seen anyone since you've been back to Atlanta and it's no good. You can't keep to this room forever."

"It's not forever, Mammy," Scarlett said quietly, her voice hoarse from disuse. "I just need more time. I just need more time to get myself right again, that's all."

"More time won't do you any good. Get yourself up and let's get you dressed."

Scarlett had no additional say in the matter. She sighed, nodding absentmindedly. "Alright, Mammy, help me please." Scarlett numbly allowed Mammy to manipulate her body into her dress. Scarlett brushed her hair while trying to steel her emotions. The garment hung precariously loose on Scarlett's withered frame despite Mammy's best efforts to cinch it at the waist. With each tug of the stays, Scarlett breathed deep, summoning any strength she still possessed. Uncle Henry was no fool. He would see through her immediately if she did not assemble her composure thoroughly and she was not ready to answer any questions. Not now. She just needed more time.

Scarlett was so acutely aware of the heavy pounding of her heart in her chest as she descended the stairs to the library. It reverberated in her throat and ears, bouncing off her ribs in every direction before settling in her stomach creating a pit of nerves so deep she wondered if she had ever felt stable. The shock waves of her heartbeats seemed to shake her at her very core. She focused on her shaky breaths and her steady steps. She would face her uncle like she faced the war, head-on and unafraid. He was her uncle, after all. There was nothing to be afraid of.

"Scarlett," Henry exclaimed, standing as she entered the room. The sight of her took him aback. He was aware that she had been ill these past months, but nothing prepared him for the withered sight of his niece-in-law. She straightened her shoulders and offered a weak smile. The defiant woman he had seen six months ago at Melanie's funeral was no more. This whisper of a creature before him seemed an utter shell that threatened to disintegrate at any moment.

"Uncle Henry," Scarlett forced a smile. Henry noticed that it did not meet her eyes. She continued softly, "It's wonderful to see you. My apologies for not receiving you sooner- I know the family has called. I have been quite ill these last few months and have not been in a place to accept visitors. I hope you understand." She gestured to a chair, inviting him to sit. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Of course. I wanted to make sure you were all right. I had heard from my sister that you had taken quite ill." Henry lowered himself down into the high-backed chair. He eyed her warily, allowing his gaze to linger too long at her sunken eyes. "I pray you are regaining your strength."

Scarlett bowed her head and grimaced slightly before catching herself. Henry noticed the vacancy in her blazing green eyes. She took a seat across from him and seemed to sigh into every bend of her body, "Uncle Henry, is this your way of telling me that I look a fright?" The corners of her lips ticked upwards in jest and a hoarse sound escaped her. When Henry watched her, unwavering, she sighed, touching her cheek. "Slowly but surely. Every day is a new day."

"However ambiguous, I understand the sentiment," Henry retorted, reaching across the table and taking his niece's hand. She glanced down at the liver-spotted valleys of his skin over hers. She realized that this was the first time someone had touched her since coming home to Atlanta. Tears threatened the corners of her eyes and she blinked them away forcefully. "You may drop whatever pretenses you feel you owe me. In all seriousness, Scarlett, how are you?"

Her response was mindless, slipping out of her like water, "I am fine, Uncle Henry." The corners of her mouth faltered in its forced grin.

"Scarlett," he warned, squeezing her hand gently.

"Really, Uncle Henry," she whispered, clearing her throat to cover the burning lump accumulating at the back of her mouth. She breathed shakily, burying her thoughts deep into the bends of her mind. She would not cry. Not here, not now. "I am fine."

"You look anything but fine." When she did not respond, Henry sighed. "Alright, the children then? Also fine I presume?"

Scarlett nodded slowly, her eyes drifting in and out of focus before landing on Henry's face. "Yes, they're with my sister, Suellen, at Tara. I heard from them yesterday. Wade has taken strongly to life on the plantation. My brother-in-law, Will, has him working very diligently. I'm so proud of him for taking after Pa. Ella is enjoying time with her cousins. I think they needed some time away from Atlanta after Melanie passed."

"I think we all felt the need to escape after my niece's death," Henry said quietly. "She was the best of us. Taken too soon."

Scarlett inhaled in a shaky breath; "I would give anything to see her one more time. There are so many things I wish I could say. So many things I wish I could do over again."

He nodded, squeezing her hand a second time. "It does not do us a service to dwell on the things we cannot change. We can only aspire to say the words we wished we could have and be better people to the ones we love in the future."

"That's very profound, Uncle Henry. Who knew you could be so thoughtful?"

"Yes, well, learning to lose people becomes an art at my age. I've buried more loved ones than you can imagine and lost more friends than I care to admit. You have as well. We are survivors, you and I, and that is both a blessing and a curse."

"More curse than blessing, to be sure."

They stared at each other for a long moment. Scarlett never felt particularly partial to her deceased husband's uncle until now. The small kindness he was showing her made her want to throw her arms around his neck and embrace him. It had been so long since anyone had shown her kindness.

Henry cleared his throat and shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "I am sorry to admit, Scarlett, that checking up on your well-being is not my only motive for calling today."

Her brows furrowed leaving a delta of lines at the bridge of her nose. "Is everything alright, Uncle Henry? It's not Beau is it?"

Henry extricated his hand from hers and bent to retrieve his worn leather briefcase. He clicked the brass-mounted spring lock open and pulled out a sheaf of paper. His eyes met hers and he issued a sincere apology with his steady gaze. "This was sent to me by a law office in South Carolina. It was addressed to you by way of my legal services." Henry placed the petition before his niece, sliding the paper slowly to her across the table. "Were you made aware of the petition?"

She let out a breath, sharp and staccato, and it hung in the air between them for a long moment. Scarlett knew what it was before she looked down. The room spun around her as she trained her eyes on Henry, not daring to glance at the divorce paperwork for fear that her carefully crafted appearance would instantly crumble. She kept her wide eyes on her uncle's face as she reached a trembling hand out to retrieve the paperwork. She swallowed hard before slowly lowering her eyes.

For a long, heady moment Scarlett stared down at the petition. She knew Rhett had been serious about divorcing her since she received the first summons, but the real weight of his desire finally settled in her chest and a tear rolled down her pale cheek. She knew he had a tendency to be cruel when wounded, but she never expected him to bring others into their mess. She had foolishly thought that if she waited long enough to gather her thoughts and emotions she could handle the situation on her own. Never in a million years did she believe that he might entreat her family to do his bidding. Their marriage was really over. She wasn't sure there was ever a chance to come back from this.

She took a deep breath and a quivering laugh tumbled out from between her teeth. She locked eyes with her uncle and blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, "I'm sorry, Uncle Henry." She managed to whisper before her eyes stung.

Scarlett handed the paperwork back to her uncle before beginning to wipe away her tears. "So you knew." It was more a statement than a question.

"Yes."

"How many petitions has he sent?"

Scarlett did not even try to cover her face as the tears fell silently down her hollow cheeks. She felt cracked open, exposed, and too overwhelmed with shame to hide it. "Six. They came with a number of letters from Rhett."

"Please tell me you did not reply to any of his correspondences." Scarlett sat silently before him for a long moment before nodding gently. Henry groaned, running a hand down his face before stopping at his bearded chin. "What was in those letters and what were your responses?"

"Rhett sent me a letter when I was at Tara and asked that I return home immediately for urgent business. When I came home I found the first petition. I wrote back that I didn't know dissertion could be defined so loosely and if he wanted to discuss this civilly then he knew where to find me. He offered me money if I signed. I refused and begged him to reconsider and come home. I've since received a number of letters from him to which I have not responded."

"Have you saved any of them?"

Scarlett shook her head. "I burned them. I thought that if I put some time between us that he might eventually change his mind. That I could change his mind."

Henry sighed, long and deep through his nose. He began chewing the inside of his lower lips as he rubbed the stubble of his beard. "We've fought before." Scarlett went on, "he has always come back. Why won't he come back now?"

"He is trying to bait you." Henry said, plainly. "They are claiming desertion, which I think is utter nonsense and, frankly, cowardly. What they are likely doing is saving and documenting all your correspondence showing that you acknowledge that he is in South Carolina, but are refusing to go to him yourself. They are hoping that eventually they will wear you down and you will sign. If not, this could be a very long and very arduous process."

"How long?"

"Georgia divorce law is very sparse and desertion principles are only granted if there is willful and continuing desertion by either part for a period of three years, but it could be longer than that. There is also no guarantee that the divorce grant will be total. More likely it will be granted from bed and board in which case you're legally separated but neither of you may marry another person. You will still technically be married."

"Oh, God. Three years?" Scarlett whispered, burying her face in her hands. Three years. She could not imagine feeling like this for the rest of her life. She would be tethered to him forever but he would be so far beyond reach. She wanted neither to be separated indefinitely nor to lose him forever.

"You do not wish for a divorce?" He asked, gently.

"No, not at all." Scarlett exclaimed, croaked between her silent tears. "I love him, Uncle Henry. We have had troubles for quite a while, yes, but I love him. I wish the bastard…" She paused, "excuse me. I wish he would allow me the courtesy of a conversation so that we might be able to discuss some of the issues in our marriage. I do not want his money. I do not want his malice. I just want him. I want peace." She looked up at her uncle pleadingly.

His eyes softened as he shook his head, "I am not sure that you can have both."

Her uncle's words felt like blows. She felt the air leave her body and all the emotions she had been trying to suppress for the last six months opened within her like a dam. She had known that he no longer wanted her, but she had hoped beyond hope that he might reconsider. Here, laid before her plainly, her uncle told her there was no peace. There would be at least three more years of torment. Three more years of divorce petitions. Three more years of angry, impassioned letters. Three more years of feeling like she was drowning. Three more years of drowning him in turn. They were torturing each other.

"What do I do?" Scarlett asked quietly.

Henry shook his head. "You don't have many good options, Scarlett. You can ignore the divorce packets or have me legally intervene on your behalf, but if you do that you bolster his argument for desertion. Unless he can prove that you were mentally incapacitated at the time of marriage, were adulterous, or habitually intoxicated, I see this dragging on for years. This will most likely end in a separation of bed and board no matter what course we take."

"I have made so many mistakes. So many. I have been foolish and impetuous and I cannot take that back despite how much I wish to but I want to try. I want to be a better person. I want to be able to love him the way he deserves."

"You deserve to be loved too." Scarlett shook her head slowly refusing to look at him. "Look at me, Scarlett." Henry had always defined his niece as headstrong, defiant. Now there was no determination in her eyes. The rebellious willpower she had had as a young girl was gone. She sat before him, a deflated husk of a woman. She was desperate in her unrequited love and it had whittled her down to nothing. "What the two of you are doing right now in unhealthy. You are torturing each other for the sport of it. I know you do not want a divorce, but you cannot force someone to love you.

"What I am about to say is not commonplace, but something you need to hear. I do not believe love can altogether disappear, but sometimes it is not as beautiful as we think it might be. Sometimes two people with the best intentions are lethal to one another. The purest form of love occasionally means allowing someone the time to breathe without the other."

"But, I love him." Her voice cracked precariously. "Uncle Henry, I love him so much."

He nodded. "But is this the life you want? Do you want to love a man unable to love you in return? It will be a solitary life, one with little joy and eventually all the love you think you have for him will turn to animosity in your heart. Look at yourself, Scarlett. Look at what this is already doing to you. I cannot speak for you, but I can speak from experience. You may love him, but he is no gentleman. You have all the legal recourse to divorce him yourself if you desired. I will help you in every way that I can, but the most humane thing may be to let you both go for now. If he is meant for you, you will find a way."

Scarlett turned her gaze away from Henry and bit the inside of her lips. He was right, she knew, but his words broke the last bit of resolve she had held tight to. Her shoulders convulsed in silent sobs and she felt the edges of her reality crumble. She had wanted someone to tell her to never give up. She had wanted someone to tell her to fight for her marriage, but even her uncle and lawyer was telling her to give in.

He was right. She was refusing Rhett's divorce because she was selfish. She wanted to love him the way he had always wanted, but the reality was that he no longer wanted it. Forcing him to receive her love would breed even more animosity between them. She could not bear the thought of him hating her forever. She could hardly bear it now. Perhaps if she let him go now they could be friends again. Perhaps someday he would forgive her. Perhaps someday she could forgive herself.

"It's really over, isn't it?" Scarlett said softly to herself. Henry had the grace to act as if he hadn't heard her.

Scarlett nodded softly to herself. She wanted Rhett to be purely, unabashedly happy even if that meant he was no longer hers to love. Perhaps setting him free meant she loved him the most. She'd bounce back. She always did.

"Would you please set up a meeting with Rhett's lawyer for me, Uncle Henry?"