The late afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows of Miranda Priestly's townhouse, casting long shadows across the polished hardwood floors. Vannah St. Claire sat on the plush ivory sofa in the living room, her injured leg propped up on a velvet ottoman. Dallas, her loyal German Shepherd service dog, lay at her feet, his warm brown eyes alert and watchful.
Vannah's fingers absently traced the scar on her knee, a constant reminder of the injuries that had ended her military career. She had come over earlier to help Miranda with plans for the twins' upcoming birthday party, a task that still felt surreal. How had she, a retired Marine, become so deeply entwined in the life of Miranda Priestly, the fashion icon?
Now, with Miranda back at Runway for an emergency run-through and Andy picking up the girls from Dalton, Vannah found herself alone in the quiet house. The silence was broken only by the soft ticking of an antique clock and Dallas's occasional sighs.
"Well, Dallas," she said, her voice echoing slightly in the empty room, "I suppose we should get started on those decorations Miranda wanted to review." She reached down to scratch behind his ears, drawing comfort from his solid presence.
Vannah took a deep breath and pushed herself to her feet. For a moment, she stood steady, a small smile of triumph on her face. Then, without warning, a sharp, searing pain shot through her knee. She gasped, the sound harsh in the quiet room. "No, no, no," she muttered, desperately trying to steady herself against the arm of the sofa.
But it was too late. Her knee buckled completely, giving way beneath her weight. Vannah collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud, a cry of pain escaping her lips as she fell.
Dallas was instantly on alert, pressing close to her side and whining softly. His wet nose nudged her cheek, his eyes filled with concern. Vannah tried to push herself up, but her knee screamed in protest, the pain so intense it brought tears to her eyes.
"It's okay, boy," she whispered, her voice trembling as she tried to reassure the dog. But panic was rising in her chest, threatening to overwhelm her. She was alone, unable to get up, and the pain was intensifying with each passing second. The room seemed to spin around her, memories of past injuries and vulnerabilities flooding her mind.
With shaking hands, Vannah reached for her cell phone. She hesitated for a moment, her thumb hovering over Miranda's number. She knew how busy Miranda was, how crucial these run-throughs could be. The last thing she wanted was to be a burden. But as another wave of pain washed over her, she realized she had no choice. She hit the call button, her heart pounding as she waited for Miranda to answer.
At Runway, Miranda Priestly stood in the center of the room, an island of calm in a sea of nervous energy. Racks of clothing surrounded her, and anxious-looking staff members hovered nearby, awaiting her verdict. She was in the middle of critiquing a layout, her voice sharp and precise, when her phone buzzed.
Miranda glanced at the screen, ready to dismiss the call. But when she saw Vannah's name, something in her expression changed. Without hesitation, she answered, "Vannah? What's wrong?" Her tone cut through the bustle of the office, silencing the room.
"Miranda," Vannah's voice was strained, laced with pain and embarrassment. "I'm so sorry to bother you, but... my knee gave out. I'm at your house, on the floor. I can't... I can't get up." The last words came out as a choked whisper.
Miranda's face paled, her usual mask of composure slipping for a moment. Those close enough saw a flash of genuine fear in her eyes before she regained control. Without hesitation, she turned to her art director. "Nigel, take over," she commanded, already striding towards the door, her Prada heels clicking rapidly on the polished floor. "I have to go. Family emergency."
The room fell silent in shock. Miranda Priestly leaving in the middle of a run-through? It was unheard of. Whispers erupted as soon as she left, but Miranda paid them no mind.
"Vannah, listen to me," Miranda said into the phone as she entered the elevator, her voice gentler than anyone at Runway had ever heard it. "I'm on my way. Stay calm. Is Dallas with you?"
"Yes," Vannah replied, her voice tight with pain but drawing strength from Miranda's calm. "He's right here. Miranda, I'm so sorry—"
"Don't apologize," Miranda cut her off firmly. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Less, if my driver values his job."
As Miranda's town car sped through the streets of New York, breaking more than a few traffic laws, she made another call. "Andrea? It's me. Your mother's had a fall at the house. I'm on my way there now. Can you meet us?" The worry in her voice was palpable.
Back at the townhouse, Vannah lay on the floor, Dallas pressed against her side. The dog's warmth and steady presence helped keep her grounded as waves of pain washed over her. She closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing, using the techniques she'd learned to manage her PTSD. In, out. In, out.
But beneath the physical pain, a deeper ache throbbed. Feelings of uselessness and vulnerability that she thought she'd conquered came rushing back. She was supposed to be strong, a protector. Instead, here she was, helpless on the floor, disrupting Miranda's work and worrying Andy.
The sound of a key in the lock made her eyes snap open. "Vannah?" Miranda's voice called out, tinged with an urgency that few had ever heard from the fashion maven.
"In here," Vannah responded, relief flooding through her even as embarrassment colored her cheeks.
Miranda appeared in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically disheveled. Her iconic white hair was slightly mussed, as if she'd been running her fingers through it. She rushed to Vannah's side, designer heels discarded at the entrance, and knelt beside her without a thought for her expensive outfit.
"Oh, Vannah," she murmured, gently brushing a strand of hair from her friend's face. Her blue eyes, usually so cool and assessing, were warm with concern. "Let's get you up. Where does it hurt?"
With Miranda's help, and Dallas providing support on her other side, Vannah managed to get to her feet. The pain was still intense, radiating from her knee through her entire body, but the fear of being alone and helpless began to subside.
"I'm so sorry," Vannah began, tears of frustration and pain welling in her eyes. "I didn't mean to pull you away from work. I should have been more careful, I—"
Miranda cut her off with a gentle squeeze of her hand. "Don't you dare apologize," she said firmly, but her tone was warm. "That's what friends are for. Work can wait. You cannot."
The front door burst open, and Andy rushed in, her face etched with worry. "Mom! Miranda! Are you okay?" She was slightly out of breath, as if she'd run up the stairs.
As Andy fussed over her mother and Miranda called for a doctor, Vannah felt a wave of emotions wash over her – gratitude, love, and a deep sense of belonging. Her knee might be unreliable, but she could always count on the strength of the family she had found here.
Miranda perched on the arm of the sofa, her hand resting lightly on Vannah's shoulder. "You gave us quite a scare," she said softly, her usual sharp edges softened by genuine affection.
Vannah looked up at her friend, seeing the worry behind the composed exterior. In that moment, the always-in-control Miranda Priestly looked almost vulnerable. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "For coming. For everything."
Miranda's lips curved into a small, but genuine smile. "Always," she replied simply, the word carrying the weight of a promise.
Andy sat on Vannah's other side, holding her hand tightly. "We're here, Mom," she said, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Whatever you need."
And in that moment, surrounded by the people she loved, with Dallas's comforting weight against her legs, Vannah felt a shift within herself. The vulnerability she had feared, the weakness she had tried to hide – they weren't signs of failure. They were bridges that had brought her closer to this unconventional but fiercely loving family.
As they waited for the doctor, the three women sat together, their usual roles and facades stripped away. They were no longer the fashion icon, the ex-Marine, and the promising journalist. They were simply Miranda, Vannah, and Andy – friends, family, bound by love and the understanding that true strength often lies in allowing others to help when you fall.
Vannah knew that her recovery would be challenging. There would be doctor's appointments, possibly surgery, and undoubtedly more frustrating moments of dependence. But looking at Miranda's concerned face and feeling Andy's supportive grip, she also knew that she would never truly fall – not with this incredible support system to catch her.
In the fading light of the afternoon, as the doctor's car pulled up outside, Vannah felt a sense of peace settle over her. Her body might be battered, but her heart was full. Whatever challenges lay ahead, she would face them – not alone, but surrounded by the love and strength of her chosen family.
There will be a few more chapters (next one includes a time jump). Once CtA is finished, it will be edited in it's entirety.