AFTER

Now you're standing there tongue tied

You better learn your lesson well

Hide what you have to hide

And tell what you have to tell

You'll see your problems multiplied

If you continually decide

To faithfully pursue

The policy of truth

"The Policy Of Truth"

Depeche Mode

May 20, 1952

Worcester, Massachusetts

Gertrude sniffled loudly as she pulled away from Chuck's embrace, reacting quickly to Dr. Woodcomb's presence. He had come down the stairs, along the hallway, and into the kitchen so silently neither Chuck nor Gertrude had noticed.

Chuck turned, startled by Dr. Woodcomb's bedraggled appearance, something he hadn't noticed when leaving his bedroom. Chuck had seen him leaving Jack's house on the night of the suicide, later meeting him at Jack's funeral. The polished composure from before was gone. His hair was mussed, his face streaked with dirt. He wore a small white bandage on the side of his forehead that was stained with blood. His clothes were wrinkled and stained, and torn, Chuck noticed; he could see the hem of the doctor's pants.

"Oh, my God, sit, Doctor," Chuck said before he said anything else, seeing how fatigued and overwhelmed he was.

"Devon," Dr. Woodcomb replied, falling into the chair Chuck had pulled away from the table for him. "Please, call me Devon. To me, Dr. Woodcomb is still my father."

Chuck smiled, remembering the first time someone at Burton Carmichael had called him "Mr. Bartowski" he almost corrected them, thinking of his father and not himself.

"How long has it been since you've rested?" Chuck asked him.

"Too long," Devon sighed, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. "And I think I must have walked the equivalent of a marathon's distance on top of it."

"I can't thank you enough for taking care of Sarah, despite all the chaos," Chuck said with gratitude.

"You don't have to thank me for doing my job, Chuck. When people need help, that's kind of my cue, Hippocrates and all," Devon said.

Chuck smiled warmly. "Maybe so, but walking criss cross through a war zone for 36 hours is above and beyond."

"There's a distinct path of destruction through the city. You can see it from the higher elevations, trace it like a line on a map. I was north of that line when the storm hit. I drove my car until it ran out of gas. There isn't a gas station with gasoline for sale anywhere that I could find."

Chuck shook his head. "It took Morgan and I almost an hour to find one, on the Millbury town line. But we had to go all the way around and then back. All the connecting roads were blocked. I can drive you to get some gasoline, drive you back to your car. It's the least I can do."

"I'd offer you something, Doctor, but we don't have power," Gertrude interjected with regret. "I can make you a peanut butter sandwich. You must be famished on top of being exhausted."

Devon made a curious face, but accepted Gertrude's offer. "I don't think I realized how hungry I was until you said that. Thank you, Mrs. Casey."

"How is Sarah?" Chuck asked.

Devon smiled. "Nothing but good news there. It's a welcome change from all the pain and suffering I've seen." He sighed with exhaustion. "Circling fever. It's bacterial, which is why the antibiotics helped. She was very lucky she contracted it so early in her condition. It can be deadly."

Chuck swallowed hard, sobered by the words. He knew Gertrude had glossed over a bit, partially because she didn't understand and partially because she didn't want Chuck to worry. "But…didn't Casey…have that? He was just…"

Devon nodded along. "Right. It's fairly benign. But expecting women are at higher risk for serious illness. It crosses the placenta, infects the baby. Her early stage, and lack of placenta, protected her. I was worried about sepsis and meningitis, especially because her fever was so high, and because she was on such a long course of antibiotics when she was younger after she had pneumonia. But she's fine. Sarah's fine."

It only confirmed what Gertrude had already told him, but hearing it straight from the doctor made Chuck feel even better.

"She just needs to rest for a few days, to get her strength back," Devon added.

"So she is…expecting?" Chuck asked, unsure of how he should ask.

"From what Sarah explained, I can't run the test until the beginning of July. I can tell you by that point, every woman I've ever tested was already certain they were expecting, but…we still need the test. It's very early, but there are so few other things that can cause the physical changes I can detect with direct observation, I can say it is highly probable. Especially since this isn't her first."

The casual way Devon blurted it stunned him.

Good thing I already knew. He couldn't imagine how he would have felt if the doctor had inadvertently told him Sarah's secret.

We're married and she's pregnant, Chuck reminded himself. The aberration was the manner in which Chuck and Sarah had been together, not Devon's assumption that Chuck, and Gertrude, would have known.

Devon must have seen something on Chuck's face, the shock, because he started stuttering, "Oh…Chuck…I just…I mean. That was quite unprofessional of me. I apologize."

"It's ok, really, Devon," Chuck added hurriedly. The man was beyond his ability to endure and thoroughly depleted of energy. A minor slip like that was understandable, especially because he was talking to Sarah's husband.

"Dr. Woodcomb," Casey announced as he hurried into the room. Casey grunted his greeting at both Chuck and Gertrude. "No offense, Doc, but you look like I feel."

Gertrude spun, placing Devon's sandwich on the table in front of him. Looking at Casey but addressing the others, she said, "I tried to tell him he's not a young man, you know. Lugging trees like he's Paul Bunyon. He's lucky he didn't break his back," she grumbled.

"Is Sarah still doing ok?" Casey asked.

"Yes," all three answered.

"Is that all there is to eat? Peanut butter and jelly?" Casey grumbled.

"A cold muffin or dry cornflakes…or peanut butter and jelly. I don't dare open the refrigerator and let the cold out. Everything in there is going to spoil," Gertrude said.

He grunted. "PB and J it is." He kissed Gertrude good morning on her cheek as she started making his sandwich.

"We should have power back by tomorrow morning, they said," Casey offered. "There is only one block north of us without power. A tree fell on an electrical substation, blew out all the transformers. Half of the city went out with that."

A loud series of knocks echoed down the hallway from the front door.

"Who in the blazes is that at this hour?" Casey asked testily.

"Go answer the door and find out," Gertrude shot back as she was still working.

"I'll get it," Chuck offered, rising to his feet and moving to the door.

When he opened the door, three nuns were standing on the doorstep. The one in the front was the oldest, her white hair visible under the black veil and coif. Behind her were two younger nuns, another in an identical uniform but with brown hair. The third nun was young, looking about the same age as Chuck, with long black hair and the brightest emerald green eyes he had ever seen. Her veil was black only, which meant she was an apprentice of sorts, not fully professed to her order. Gertrude and Casey had explained all about the nuns who had raised them at the orphanage.

"Good morning, Mr. Bartowski, I'm Sister Agnes…from St. Ann's. This is Sister Mary and Sister Katherine," the oldest nun said, gesturing to the other two as she made introductions. Mary had brown hair; Katherine was the postulant. "Father Davenport from Our Lady of the Angels has been making the rounds in the neighborhood, checking on everyone. He enlisted our assistance."

"Come in, come in," Gertrude called, as she leaned out of the kitchen doorway. "Nice to see you again, sisters."

Chuck stepped out of the way, allowing Gertrude the space to host her company. Dr. Woodcomb stood as he was getting ready to leave. The nuns walked past them, smiling kindly. Sister Katherine's smile was genial, but her eyes lingered on Chuck, intense for a reason he couldn't discern, making him feel strange.

"Come on, I'll take you to get gas," Chuck reiterated to Devon.

"Wait, Chuck."

Everyone in the room turned to see Sarah, who had come down from her bedroom fully dressed, and entered the kitchen from the adjoining hallway. She had showered and dressed, though without makeup she still looked ill, fatigued and pale.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Chuck asked, moving towards her in distress. "The Doctor said rest."

"I did," Devon admonished her.

Sarah was wobbly, but she reached for Chuck's arm. "I had no idea…the storm was that bad…until Dr. Woodcomb explained." Sarah's eyes searched Chuck's face desperately. "Is everyone alright?"

"Morgan and his mother and Carina and Roxanne are all fine. I was planning on checking on work once I get Dev–uh, Dr. Woodcomb some gasoline. Sarah, please, you need to rest," he implored after he hurried through the assurances.

"What about the orphanage? And the church?" Sarah asked, disquieted. Chuck could feel her fingers digging into the flesh of his arm.

Gertrude and Casey were chatting with the nuns, but Sister Katherine quickly looked up from the table. "Everything is fine, Sarah," the young nun assured Sarah. "Everyone is fine. We were lucky."

Chuck was confused for a moment, wondering how this nun knew Sarah's name, until he realized she must have known Sarah from her volunteer time at the orphanage.

His wife sagged against him with relief. He caught her around her waist as her legs almost gave out. She was forcing that strength to come down here, he thought. She had overexerted herself.

"Come on, Sarah, back to bed. You need to rest," Chuck insisted. He expected more argument, but she complied silently. She was so wobbly on the stairs, he almost scooped her up in his arms and carried her. Upstairs, he undressed her and put her nightgown back on, tucking her under the sheet once more.

"Please, just rest," he whispered as he leaned down to kiss her. Thankfully, her skin was still cool against his lips.

"I'm sorry. I was so worried," she admitted.

He hadn't thought about it last night, so overwhelmed with everything else, but her frantic worry made sense. All of that time at the orphanage had been a healing process for her, an outlet for the emptiness her daughter's death had left behind. Of course there were children she must have cared about, children who could have been hurt in the tornado.

"I'll be back soon. I just have to help Dr. Woodcomb get some gasoline," he told her, stepping away from the bed.

"Oh…Chuck, wait," she called. She had rolled on her side, reaching for something on the nightstand out of her reach. "Can you…" She let her flailing hand finish the sentence.

She was reaching for her locket resting on the edge of the nightstand, its silver chain heaped beside it, as if placed there with care. She almost never took it off, he knew. Gertrude must have removed it for her when she was sick, protecting it from the violent movements of Sarah's thrashing.

He picked it up, letting it dangle by the chain, arranging it in midair so he could place it around her neck. It spun, catching the sunlight and sending silver flickers of light onto the wall across the room. He noticed the clasp on the locket was undone. Gingerly, he laid it flat in his hand, opening it across his palm. His single strand of dark brown hair was there, as it had been for six years, since she had placed it there on her birthday.

But she had added something.

A single, faded lilac blossom, pressed flat as if in a book. And another strand of hair, this one like spun gold, lighter than even Sarah's hair.

Her daughter's hair….

He looked up from his hand to her face. Her eyes were full, one blink sending the tears down her cheeks in rivulets. He didn't speak, simply closed the locket, then leaned forward and clasped it around her neck.

She laid her hand over it, pressing it against her skin, the way he had always seen her do. She closed her eyes, resting her head peacefully against the pillow. His lips lingered at her temple.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He knew it was multi-faceted, her gratitude–for placing it back on her neck, for understanding what it was and why she wanted it, for not questioning anything at all, for accepting the truth, all of it, the truth she had been frightened to tell him. And his loving her anyway.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{

Driving in daylight this time had been enlightening. The wake of destruction left by the tornado was visible, like a giant inside-out river. Almost every road had either a wood chipper, electric company truck, or telephone company truck parked while making repairs. Chuck saw license plates from out of state, from as far south as Virginia and as far west as Iowa. Police officers and firefighters were out in droves. The landscape was still wounded, but everywhere he looked there were signs of healing and repair.

According to Devon, there were at least 90 deaths, and still a handful of people unaccounted for. Over a thousand people had been injured, most with minor injuries, but some critically. Devon's roaming house calls had been a strategic plan to help keep people from overwhelming the emergency rooms at the four local hospitals, ensuring only those in desperate need of high level care actually had to go to the hospital.

Getting gasoline and then driving Devon back to his vehicle in northern Worcester took almost three hours, enough time for Chuck to have driven to Boston and back. Devon had apologized again for blurting out the information concerning Sarah's previous pregnancy. Chuck had assured him it was alright, but did ask one additional question.

"She told me she had…complications. That was why she needed surgery during labor. Is that something that could happen again? Like..like something that she's prone to or something?"

Devon's answer had been concise, once he knew he had already said more than was appropriate or professional. "Complications can happen at any time, even when everything before labor begins is normal. What happened to Sarah was random…and maybe wouldn't have happened at all if she had been in a hospital. There's no reason to believe she'll have anything go wrong again. Although, because of the scar tissue, she will almost certainly need another surgery to give birth. But that's…a long way away. No need to worry about it now."

"Were you there? When Sarah was admitted to the hospital?" Chuck asked curiously.

Devon only nodded, not elaborating. Chuck thought perhaps his grilling was making Devon uncomfortable, so he stopped.

Once he had bid farewell to the doctor, Chuck decided he needed to check on his business. Compared to the wellbeing of his friends and family, the factory was not a top priority. But now, his business needed attention. They had been in the process of fulfilling the orders due to ship at the beginning of June. Any setback meant late shipments and possible inventory overload in the factory. And potential lost revenue, which Burton Carmichael couldn't afford after all of the recent financial difficulties.

The phone lines were still non-operational, so Chuck drove downtown to the factory. With no power and no phone, he thought he would find the place empty, but it was just the opposite. All of the workers were there, under the direction of Morgan. His head of accounting seemed to be acting as the manager, although of what, Chuck wasn't sure.

Everyone was outside; tables and chairs were lining the street on both sides for almost 100 feet in both directions. He found Morgan quickly as his friend stood in front of the door in casual clothes, not his usual suit and tie.

"Morgan, what's going on?" Chuck asked as he approached.

"Good to see you, Chuck," Morgan said in greeting as he directed his attention away from a worker he was speaking to.

"According to the last update we got from the electric company, we should have power back by tomorrow morning. The phone later, maybe another two or three days. As you can see," Morgan said, gesturing behind him at the building, "no major structural damage."

"What is everyone doing?" Chuck asked, gesturing down the street at the rows of tables.

"There are hundreds of volunteers who rolled into town to help. The electrical technicians are rigging wires, but the downed poles and debris to clear…they asked for laborers. All the guys who could volunteered, even Big Mike. They figured the faster they can get the power back on, the sooner they can get back to work. As long as the machines are running again by tomorrow morning, we don't miss any deadlines and everything goes off without a hitch."

"Wow, Morgan, I'm impressed," Chuck grinned.

"And did you notice our friendly neighborhood mafioso?" Morgan added under his breath, tilting his head to the side, trying to act inconspicuous.

Chuck followed Morgan's gesture with his eyes, noting the sleek black sedan on the opposite side of the street, a man in a suit behind the wheel of the parked car.

Cipriani acted fast, Chuck thought. How had he even gotten word back here after the storm?

"Did you see the guy he said he sent to watch your house?" Morgan asked.

Chuck shook his head, realizing the man might have been there and Chuck didn't see him. Chuck would check when he returned home.

"How's Sarah?" Morgan asked. Chuck filled his friend in on everything he had learned. His friend was full of sympathy and understanding.

"How's Carina?" Chuck asked with a slight grin.

Morgan blushed. "Good. Very good," he said softly. "Uh…it's not what you think, so check those thoughts at the door," Morgan teased.

"Please, Morgan, this is me," Chuck reminded him.

Morgan laughed at that. "Right. Of course. But in all honesty, we're good. She's telling Shaw they're done. She wants to get her life in order and it has to start there. I told her…well, I told her I'm here. And I will be. For the duration. Annnd….she kissed me." Morgan took a deep breath. "Wow," he gushed as he remembered the kiss.

Chuck guffawed at his friend's tone. "Are you sure that's all?"

"Please, Chuck, I was a perfect gentleman. In fact, she told me I was the only guy who ever said no to her. Do you believe that?"

Chuck wasn't sure what he meant…that Morgan had said no, or that he was the only one who ever had.

"Well, I'm happy for you. Both," Chuck answered.

"Don't go sending out the wedding invitations yet. I don't think Carina is the kind of girl who wants 2.4 kids and a house with a picket fence, even if she is trying to get her life in order. We're taking things one day at a time."

From all of the conversations Chuck had had with Sarah in the past about Carina, he believed Carina's dreams were closer to that than Carina ever wanted anyone to know. Her life had sidetracked those dreams, to the point where Chuck was sure she had convinced herself they weren't possible.

Just like Sarah had.

It might take a good man like Morgan to show Carina she was worthy of love and devotion as much as anyone else.

"I'll head home, seeing as how you seem to have this under control," Chuck said in parting.

"Oh, one last thing. Montgomery was looking for the release form or something. He couldn't find Agnes. He said he thought you had a copy at your house. I wasn't sure where you were and I couldn't reach you, so he was on his way there."

"Ok, thanks, Morgan," Chuck called as he walked away. Gertrude and Sarah, and maybe Casey, were all home to answer the door for Roan.

Thoughts of Roan reminded Chuck of another conversation he needed to have before he went home to his wife. He could take a detour that would bring him to Diane's office.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

The road to Diane Beckman's office, also downtown, had been cleared. Chuck could see the large chunks of tree trunk, cut and piled on the side of the road as he drove past. He realized he had passed an obvious line of demarcation, several streets over, where nothing looked disturbed in the slightest. He could see lights on inside the buildings. Good. Diane would most likely be here.

Chuck parked his car, walked into Diane's office, and asked the receptionist if he could speak with Diane. Diane's secretary, Melissa, seemed irritated that Chuck had no appointment; she became even more irritated when he told her to just tell Diane it was Charles Bartowski and there wouldn't be a problem. Her irritation was complete when, apparently, Diane did exactly what Chuck had told her secretary she would do–ask him to come in immediately.

Chuck's emotions were jumbled, a mixture of anger, indignation, and curiosity. All along as he had suspected what Sarah had confirmed last night, he had also suspected Diane had been Jack's number one accomplice in the elaborate plan of deception about Sarah's being sent away. He didn't want to explode–it wasn't fair to her, taking out his wrath on her because Jack was deceased. But he did want her to know that he knew she had lied to him all this time, that he finally knew the truth.

He strode purposefully into her office and closed the door behind him. He stood, his shoulders back and chest out, using the full advantage of his height to tower over Diane, petite when standing, miniature in appearance when seated.

She took off her glasses, seeming to shrink into her seat as he moved towards her. "What can I do for you, Chuck?" she asked blandly, even as she seemed to cower before him.

"I know."

Clear, sharp, precise. Anything more would have betrayed too much emotion.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose in defeat. "Chuck–"

"I'm assuming it was you. Running that interference. How many times did you drive all the way to Wellesley just to mail the letters that she was writing in the convent that was four miles from her house?"

She kept her eyes closed when she answered, like she couldn't bear to face him and say it. "You know how many letters she wrote to you. Two…three times a week. Jack paid me…until he couldn't. And then I kept doing it. They kept her so…isolated there. She told me sometimes I was the only person she would even see for days at a time."

Diane's words seemed to bore a hole in his chest. He had assumed Sarah's loneliness had amplified in her confinement, but he hadn't heard the words out loud like that, and they hurt.

"She was so…sad," he said, his voice breaking as he recalled the overall feel of the letters she had written him from the convent, while she was pretending she was at school. "How could you let him do that to her?"

"Jack didn't have a choice, Chuck. Bryce was deployed. If he had been here, Jack would have insisted he marry her–"

"Damn it, Diane, she tried to get in touch with me! She didn't love Bryce–"

"Bryce got her pregnant!" Diane shouted, then flinched, afraid she had been too loud. "He had a responsibility that he couldn't fulfill."

"You know I would have come back here for her. For God's sake, I would have married her then," he shouted back.

"Carrying someone else's baby?" she asked, her lips curling in disgust.

He put his hands down on her desk, leaning towards her for emphasis. "I loved her."

Diane's defiance waned, her green eyes soft with compassion. "I know you did. That you do. Jack knew that too, which is why he never wanted her to tell you. He never wanted anyone to know Sarah had a baby out of wedlock."

"How did Shaw find out?" Chuck demanded. He remembered he needed to report back to Cipriani, something he had forgotten in the chaos of the storm.

"The amount of money Jack asked Iaconi for. It trickled down through the ranks, from what he said. He followed Jack around until he had enough proof to blackmail him."

More with that large sum of money. Babinska and Cipriani knew what it was for. Did Diane?

"Why? Why so much money?" he asked.

Diane looked at him, bewildered. "What?" she asked, like she couldn't believe he was asking. "I thought you said you knew…"

He pounded his fist on the top of her desk. "What was it for?"

"The hospital bill. For Sarah," Diane said softly, like she was explaining something simplistic that Chuck should already know.

The amount from the ledger was astronomical compared to what Chuck had expected. His eyebrows furrowed as he thought.

Diane, sensing his confusion, decided to elaborate. "Chuck, Sarah almost bled to death. She was in a coma for four days. One of the doctor's told Jack he was wasting his money because…there was no way she was ever going to wake up."

He felt like someone had grabbed him around his throat and squeezed, like there wasn't enough air in the room, in the world, to fill his lungs again. He staggered backwards, almost tripping on a leg of a chair before he fell sitting into it. Tears burned in his eyes as he looked at her, her shape blurred through his tears.

Growling low, like a wounded animal, he asked her, "Was anyone ever going to tell me?"

Diane winced again, red with shame. "Chuck–"

"For God's sake, Diane, she was dying! In a hospital only five miles from my house…and Jack never said a word to me?" He was shouting, not concerned with Diane's secretary or the office next door.

In a pitiful voice, softer than he had ever heard her speak, she said, "I'm sorry, Chuck." After a long silence, she added, "For what it's worth, I told Jack pretty much the same thing while it was happening. He stuck to his guns, sure the most important thing was that you never found out." She let out a long, shuddering breath. "He knew how much you loved her. That was his…angle. You. His ace in the hole. He even called you that once. It sounds sick…because it is."

Chuck could feel his anger, caustic, like acid, searing him on the inside. A slow, seething, simmering rage that threatened to consume him. He had lived with his disdain for Sarah's father for more than half his life, but this…this was hatred, black and ugly.

If only I had somehow been able to get her away from Jack…how different things might have been. How much pain could she have been spared…

"It means next to nothing, but Jack did figure it out…before he died. A day late and a dollar short, as they say, but…I know that he knew how badly he failed her. And he knew you were the better man, infinitely the better man. It was weak of him to leave you to clean up after his disaster…but he did love Sarah, Chuck. He loved her enough to know she needed you…and not him. He could not love her the way you did, the way she deserved to be loved. Jack was…twisted. And so his love was twisted too."

It took a long time before his anger calmed to the point he could be verbal again. He changed the subject. "I just got back from New York…and a meeting with Salvatore Cipriani that Dominic Babinska set up for me. About Shaw's blackmail. He wanted me to find out what Shaw's leverage was. Is that all he has?"

"Is what all he has?" she asked cautiously. She sat up, leaned forward. "What exactly did Sarah tell you, Chuck?"

"That her daughter died at birth…and that she's buried with Emma…and that you ran interference when I paid for the relocation because there were two caskets and you didn't want me to see…"

Diane regarded him, her eyes narrowed. She tapped her finger on her pursed lips, like she was contemplating what to say. "Chuck…I don't know how to tell you this…but…"

"But Sarah didn't tell me everything, I know. She was sick…and she's recuperating. I wasn't trying to push…"

She leaned forward further, her torso angled over her desktop. "Chuck, you need to talk to Sarah again. She didn't tell you everything. And I…I have to let her tell you. I can't…I can't tell you, not like this."

His stomach started twisting inside him again, his heart constricting when he thought of what else Sarah could be keeping from him.

What else could there be? Chuck thought in exasperation.

She tried to tell me, he reminded himself. They were merely interrupted.

He needed to go home and talk to his wife.

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When Chuck arrived back at home, Casey was out again, clearing trees and debris.

Gertrude was sitting alone in the living room, in her chair with her hands folded in her lap. Was she praying? He thought. She was so stiff, so stern, he was afraid to address her.

"Mr. Montgomery left papers on the kitchen table for you to sign. He said you can bring them to your office tomorrow. That he'll be there with the copies of whatever it was he needed from you. Some disclosure form he was looking for."

Her affect was strange, troubling. He walked past her, thinking about the paperwork, but distracted by her behavior. "Is Sarah alright?" he asked, worrying.

"She's upstairs."

Not asleep, not resting…just upstairs. Was he reading too much into it?

"She slept, but she came downstairs to get something to eat when Roan was here. She helped us look for what he needed."

He tried to ignore the unexplained behavior, intent on getting upstairs so he could talk to Sarah, and finish the discussion the doctor had interrupted in the morning. He lept up the stairs, two and three at a time with his long legs. He turned the handle and walked into their bedroom.

Sarah was dressed in what she had worn when she came downstairs that morning, before Chuck had helped her change. He thought she must have changed back when she came downstairs and Roan was here. She was sitting up on the bed, on top of the covers, her legs curled underneath her. She was looking out the window, over the top of their headboard. Her eyes were outside, in the distance, her face unreadable.

"Sarah?" he asked, feeling like she was ignoring his presence. She had to know he was in the room.

She turned to look at him slowly, her facial expression still mysterious. Her blue eyes were dark, flinty. As she turned her body, he saw a letter, clutched in her hand.

Jack's suicide note. Oh, God.

His eyes widened and his mouth hung open. Guilt and dread flooded him. She had to have found the letter in his desk when she was helping Gertrude search for the papers Roan had asked about.

"What is this?" she asked, her voice tight, controlled. She knew what it was, he thought. Answering would sound almost condescending, so he didn't try. After a moment, she continued. "How long have you had this?" This time her voice was less controlled..

"Morgan…found it in your dad's desk…the one we donated to the Salvation Army. So…a few weeks ago."

She huffed angrily, shutting her eyes for a moment. "And you didn't tell me?" She shook her head violently side to side, torn between anger and pain. "I know, I know…I am the last person in the world who has any right to lecture anyone, especially you, about keeping secrets. I have no right to feel the way I do…but…my God, Chuck!"

He could see the hand holding the letter shaking, her knuckles white as she clutched the paper.

"You have a right to feel…how you feel," he assured her. "I'm sorry, Sarah. I should have told you–"

"My father offered me, my body, as payment to that monster! Shaw was on his way to my house! So he could…rape me…while my father listened downstairs?" she whispered, the whisper as forceful as a scream. "How could you not tell me that?"

He closed his eyes tightly, regret and remorse flooding his insides. He took a deep breath and started to explain. "Because he was your father."

She jumped off the bed, stomping towards him. "No, he was not. How dare he ever call himself my father!"

He extended his hands toward her, a plea. "He was all that you had left in the world, Sarah, as pitiful as he was as a father. He still loved you."

"Don't you ever tell me that again!" she hissed. "I don't know who is worse…my father or Shaw." She turned away from him, crossing her arms, crumpling the letter in a fist. "You should have told me the truth. You were keeping your word to him? Like he asked you in this letter…to not tell me?"

He reached for her, pulling her into his arms from behind. She was stiff, resisting, still upset. "I never wanted you to know that he…did that. Because I didn't want you to feel…the way you feel now. I wasn't doing it out of respect for him but love for you, Sarah. You were the reason. Always."

"Even if me not feeling like this…was a lie?" she sobbed, leaning back against him.

Jack had worried she would blame herself, if she knew the truth, the reason why her father had committed suicide. Keeping the secret had seemed prudent, merciful. Now, it was only hurting her. So many secrets, so many lies had invaded their lives, nearly destroyed them. He was done being a slave to secrets.

"Sarah, I know it was a shock, reading that. But he explained. He never intended to allow that to happen to you. He killed himself to keep that from happening. That was his reason, Sarah. You. Not his debts or his coming indictment or the mafia. You. He did that for you…because it was the only way he could fix all the damage he caused. Or at least try to fix it."

"How was he so sure? How could he have planned it so well, to know for sure…that Shaw couldn't claim what he wanted anyway…even if my father was dead?" she demanded.

He sighed, pulling her closer, relieved that she didn't resist. "Because he knew…how much I loved you. He banked on that. That I would never let anything happen to you, even if it cost me everything. That's how he knew for sure. And he was right. He got so much wrong but he got that right."

She spun slowly around to face him, studying his face. Her anger slowly subsided as his words registered. She stretched to wrap her arms around his neck. All of her weight shifted against him, but he held her, held her up as she leaned into him, the lean speaking her forgiveness and trust. "I'm sorry…I got so angry…"

He kissed the top of her head gently. "I understand, Sarah. You were right. I should have told you. I didn't want to hurt you anymore. No more secrets, no more lies, Sarah, okay?" He said the last firmly, with finality. They stood like that in silence until he thought perhaps she had not heard him.

Then he felt her nod against his chest. She lifted her eyes to his, apology and resolve showing in her gaze, all the flintiness gone. "I have to finish…what I was trying to say this morning."

She took his hand, tugged him back to the bed. She sat, then patted the mattress beside her for him to sit beside her. As he did, he watched her twist her hands in her lap nervously, her gaze cast down and away from him, as if she were summoning strength.

"The rest…it's what Shaw's blackmail is about…all of it, isn't it?" he asked.

She nodded, her eyes still fixed on the floor. "Chuck, the reason Eleanor…didn't survive…was because…I was pregnant with twins…and no one knew until I was in labor. But Eleanor's sister survived. My other daughter is alive."

A/N: Thanks to Zettel for prereading once again. Historical/scientific notes: Circling fever is an old name for listeriosis, caused by the bacterium Listeria monocytogenes.It was not scientifically proven to be a source of bacterial food poisoning until the 1990s (that blows my mind) even though it was known to exist in the 1930s. The bacteria thrive in cold temperatures, so refrigeration does not protect contaminated food. It is mild, but pregnant women are 30% more likely to become ill if exposed. It can cause sepsis and meningitis in the mother and fetus, and can cause miscarriage and stillbirth if untreated. In 1952, there was still only penicillin readily available. Devon's sharing Sarah's medical history with her husband so nonchalantly was also commonplace--no HIPPA, which protects patient confidentiality, and no privacy among familiy members. Ultrasound use during pregnancy was not even available until the 1970s, and wasn't commonplace until the 1980s. Twins, triplets, etc, were often a surprise unless a doctor definitely could feel more than one head, etc. Nowadays, multiple births are routinely performed by C-section. In the 1950s, even breach babies were delivered without surgery, feet first. Her lack of prenatal care would have meant--the first baby was delivered fine, and a fraternal twin (in a separate amniotic sac) would be a surprise until the first baby was out. That caused the complications explained here, lack of oxygen and hemorrhaging in the mother due to prolonged labor with the second baby.