*tissue warning* / Alternate Universe
Prompt #36: Elliot asks Olivia to go to joint therapy
From Darkness To Dawn
~oOo~
And here it was, September 11, 2025, the solemn anniversary of a date that had, for Elliot and Olivia Stabler, eventually become a veritable love story. Twenty-four years earlier, on September 11, 2001, they had fallen in love in the shadow of a national tragedy. Elliot, aspiring for fame as a reporter, was covering the attacks of the twin towers, while Olivia, the newest generation of a firefighter family, was battling the fires of Ground Zero. She saw Elliot, across the smoke and the rubble. There was an instant connection. For both of them, in the ruthless days that followed, amid the horror of the national disaster, there was a sense of fate – of meeting someone very special.
As the city rose from its rubble, Elliot and Olivia once again crossed paths at a memorial service for firefighters. They bonded, first as friends, and soon started dating. Elliot gave her the nickname Sparky, as a nod to her feisty personality as well as her profession. Elliot proposed to her on Christmas 2005, and she accepted. They married on Independence Day 2007. On the eighth anniversary of the day they first met, the couple welcomed identical twin daughters, whom they named Camelot and Phoenix. Years later, in January 2016, their youngest son Stetson, was born, completing their family. That same year, Olivia was promoted to Battalion Chief. Elliot is one of the world's most famous investigative journalists, who has written numerous best-selling books, over the years.
On December 13, 2024, 15-year-old Camelot and Phoenix Stabler, along with six of their classmates, were tragically killed in a school shooting. The Stabler home was transformed almost overnight from a home of order, love, and family into a vortex of grief and loss. Elliot was grappling to salvage the remnants of their world. Olivia, the courageous woman of light that Elliot had fallen in love with was a mere shadow of her former self. The girls' absence was palpable. Stetson, only eight, had become more withdrawn. He preferred to slip away into worlds of his own making. He liked to become a big, brave hero. In these imaginary places, he would save princesses from scary dragons or stop evil magicians carousing through the kingdom. He would spend hours in his room developing detailed drawings of these lands that he dreamed up. He'd be a literary author of stories. In his fantasies, he was the hero with the ability to fix all that went wrong: the big, brave boy who could right every wrong by being true to himself, his feelings, and his heart.
Olivia couldn't take the pain anymore, so she started drinking, which really worried Elliot. He'd seen what alcohol could do up close with Olivia's mom, who had a hard time with it for ages. It scared him to think that his wife, who used to be so strong and could handle anything, might be losing herself in all the guilt and sadness.
As the months went by, the gap between Elliot and Olivia just kept getting bigger. They'd argue all the time, their conversations turning harsh and full of blame, with each of them pointing fingers at the other for not making things better. It was like the shooting had stolen their way of fixing things, of finding peace in their hugs like they used to. Being close to each other, really close, had turned into something they just talked about in the past, like it was some forgotten thing from a sad story.
On a day that was supposed to be a mix of happy memories and sadness - September 11th, 2025, the twenty-fourth anniversary of the day they first met and what would have been their daughters' sweet sixteenth - it all just fell apart. The tension between them hit rock bottom, and they said some things that could never be unsaid.
"Elliot, you're giving up on me!" Olivia yelled; her voice full of sadness. "You just stand there, letting me struggle, like you don't even care enough to help me out of this mess!"
Elliot's eyes went big, and he looked like someone had punched him in the gut. "That's not right, Sparky," he said, sounding like he was about to cry. "You know I'm just trying to keep it together for you and Stetson. We all handle losing someone we love in our own ways."
"Don't you dare call me that!" Olivia said, getting really upset. Her face looked like it was about to crack from all the pain. "That name reminds me of who I was before — happy and whole. Now I'm just a wreck, all because of what happened that day — the day we lost our daughters!"
Chest tightened, Elliot watched the woman he loved crumbling to pieces before his eyes. "I know, sweetheart," he said softly, his voice breaking with a sob. "I miss them every day, but we have to learn how to keep going for Stetson, for us."
Olivia's eyes glittered with hurt and rage. "How, Elliott?" she said, her voice quivering. "How can we go on, with our hearts broken? How can we stop this void, this gaping hole in our lives without them?"
Her words lingered there in the air, heavy with accusation. The knot in Elliot's throat was so tight, it was hard to speak. He felt helpless, unable to do anything to stop the chasm opening between them.
"I can't do this anymore, Elliot," Olivia whispered. "I can't live like this."
And with those words, too heartbreaking for her to even say, she turned and left the house, slamming the door behind her so her voice couldn't even be heard, leaving Elliot shivering in cold dread, waiting to see what would happen next.
As the sun set, another of his worlds crashed down around him with a phone call from the hospital: Olivia had been in a car crash. His heart churned with dread as he rushed out of the house, leaving Stetson in the care of a neighbor.
The emergency room was a flurry of white coats. Medical staff were moving fast. Elliot's heart rate was high as he searched for Olivia. Finally, with the help of an orderly, he found her in a private room, still and pale, covered in hospital linens.
He went over to her and looked at her, unable to stop looking at her, wide-eyed, still and beautiful, her cheeks pale, her lips barely parted, her hair a chocolate halo on the pillow. He dragged over a chair and took her hand, so warm. He sat down by the bed and took her hand, the warmth of her skin steadying him in the midst of his fear.
Elliot remained seated, gripping her hand, silently imploring her to move. Hours passed as he ran through their lives together, the good and the bad, and all the agonizing moments leading up to this horrific scene, replaying their fight from earlier, regretting every cutting word they had said to each other.
Then, as the hours passed, Olivia's eyelids began to flutter, and the light of her eyes shone again. Elliot's breath hitched and he leaned his face closer to hers. He looked into her eyes.
"Hey, Sparky," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm here. You're okay now."
Olivia looked at Elliot, and Elliot, for an instant, thought he saw something in her eyes that he knew, then the sobering reality came to her and she felt a sob, tears well up across her cheeks.
"I'm sorry, El,' she said, her voice thick as sap. 'I'm sorry for everything."
Elliot's eyes locked with hers. He could feel the heaviness of the hurt etched in her wet eyes. "It wasn't an accident, was it?" he asked, knowing the answer all too well.
Olivia didn't say anything, just kept looking at him. And in that moment – the silent pause between them – they both knew the truth. Her car crash hadn't been an accident. She had tried to end her own life.
Gently, Elliot took her hand in his, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "Don't be scared, Liv," he said. "We're in this together. Just like we always have been. We've been through a hell of a lot together, and we'll get through this together too."
Olivia shook with silent sobs as she attempted to absorb everything that had happened the previous day: Elliot saying nothing, just standing there with her, was precisely what she needed in that moment. He knew it would be a long, hard road.
But as the light of morning rose and filled a hospital room, Elliot silently made his promise. He would take on whatever demons and darkness they might have to face, with Olivia, to do everything in his power to bring light to her eyes, and to heal their family.
The room closed in on him — the beeping of monitors, the smell of antiseptic, everything was so different from their own home, their own kitchen, the banter and the warmth that had seemed like a life between themselves. The tension was like smoke; it was a sadness everywhere, close to his chest. Elliot felt his chest tighten at the sight of his wife. Here she was, with bruises and bandages, physical reminders of what had just happened.
"Liv," he said softly. "It's okay. I know you're scared. I know we can't get through this on our own, after all that's happened. Let's try some therapy."
Her eyes were red again and her voice trailed off in a sorry shrug. "Therapy? You think we're going to talk to some person we don't even know about this and it's going to make us feel better? I can't, Elliot. I can't do it again. I can't even think about it, about our girls…" Her voice trailed again.
Elliot's heart dropped at the sound of her voice; he could hear her pain; he knew this suffering all too well. He sat beside her and placed his hand on hers lightly. "It's OK, Liv, I understand. It's scary to let someone else in, after all that we've kept to ourselves. But we're not complete anymore, and we're not going to fix this ourselves. We've been through so much, and I can't lose you."
Olivia recoiled as if she'd just been attacked. She raised her hand as if she were preparing to sock the whole damn world in the jaw. "I'm fine, Elliot. I'm a person, not a pinecone with a million sharp edges. I'm going through some stuff, I need to decompress, give myself a second, get some room, before I can run into your shrink's office and say: "Okay, Doc, let's solve my problems," with a happy face.
Elliot could feel his own frustration escalate, but he also knew he had to stay calm for her. "I'm not asking you to pretend, Liv," he said, taking a breath. "I know it's not exactly perfect. But we can't keep drifting apart every single day, all the time. I see you're swimming in that sadness, like, with your head half under the surface and all, and it's killing me that I can't do anything about it. Therapy is not about pretending everything is fine."
Gradually, as Elliot continued talking, Olivia's eyes were softening too, conceding, accepting, relaxing, letting down her guard little by little. She knew deep inside that he was right, that this was really not helping. "I don't know if I am ready for it, Elliot. I feel so lost, so… smashed. What if we try and it still doesn't work? What if I am just not able to..." Her voice trailed off again.
Elliot was looking at her with those big, hopeful eyes, and you could totally see how desperate he was. "We'll do it in stages, baby. We'll find someone to talk to – someone who understands us. And if that doesn't work, we'll find someone else. We have to. For each other, for Stetson."
Then a single tear leaked out of Olivia's eye and began to roll silently down her face. She was used to putting on a front that kept the rest of the world on their feet. But here she felt exposed. "I'm scared, Elliot. Scared of sorting out all the crap in my head and scared of letting you down again."
Elliot dabbed the tear from Olivia's face with the tip of his thumb and she could feel the softness of his touch. "Olivia, you can't let me down," he said, and his voice was warm. "The fact that you want to think about it means you've taken a huge step forward. We'll face our fears together. If getting you to talk feels like too much of a stretch, we'll find another way. We'll go at whatever pace feels comfortable for you."
And for a few minutes they sat there, silent. Elliot's brain was racing, trying to figure out their next step. How important it was to find a therapist who could unravel their feelings. His daughters, Camelot and Phoenix, whose memories would lead the way to healing. Their son, Stetson, who needed his parents to be whole again.
Olivia's mind returned to the day that altered her life forever, the school shooting that killed her daughters and wrenched her heart into a million shreds. The guilt and loss almost drowned her.
"Alright," she said after a moment, her voice only a little quieter than it had been. "I'll try therapy. I'll do it for you and for Stetson. But I need you to promise me that we can take it slow. That you won't ask me to do too much, too soon."
Elliot, pulling her into his chest, breathed a sigh of relief. "I swear, Sparky. We'll take it the slowest pace you need to. I'll be there beside you every step of the way – somehow. We'll figure out how to remember Camelot and Phoenix and make it work together again."
Holding on to each other, the pain of their mutual loss was slightly less unbearable. The love was still there, and shared love strengthened them to do whatever was now ahead. Their recovery was just starting, and it was going to be long and hard, but Elliot felt more reason to hope because the love of Olivia was with him.
In the ensuing weeks, Elliot set out to find the best therapist he could. The road back would have its ups and downs, but he was prepared to ride the rollercoaster with Olivia: to share her fear, her sadness and pain, and to fight it out until the end – which would come when they would find their way back to one another and to their family.
At last they decided on Dr. Taylor Clarkson, a therapist with a soft manner and a knack for listening. Her office was quiet and candlelit, with a soothing scent of lavender, a container of tissues, and a stuffed buffalo named Tubby. She made them feel heard.
The sessions at first were grueling, and it took Olivia a while to let her guard down. She spoke in a small voice, about the fear she felt in letting go, that it meant abandoning Camelot and Phoenix. Elliot squeezed her hand, his thumb moving circular patterns on her palm as he watched her wrestle with her demons.
Dr. Clarkson was gentle, her tone soft, like a lullaby. She wanted Olivia to talk about her daughters, to remember the good things instead of the bad, to think about the things they had loved, the things that had made them laugh, the pictures they'd drawn, the little notes they'd left around the house. Make a memory box, she suggested. Put in it all the things that remind you. A way to keep them with you, without letting grief take over.
Elliot had seen Olivia's curiosity creep across her face as she went from being a skeptic to a little interested. It was a step, and that was all that we could ask for. Dr Clarkson suggested that we start the therapy sessions together as a couple but that it would be helpful to each have individual sessions to examine our personal grief journeys. Olivia wasn't happy about the idea, but Elliot knew it was a good one. They wouldn't be any good to each other if they weren't whole first.
The first time Elliot walked into Dr Clarkson's office alone he felt like his grief had attached itself like a heavy cloak and was pinning him to the floor. He talked about how scared he was to lose Olivia, how their relationship no longer felt solid and invincible like it had been before but was fragile as a spider's web in a storm. Dr Clarkson listened attentively, nodding her head, her eyes fixed on Elliot's. She helped him realize that his anger and frustration was not at Olivia but at the situation, at the injustice of the world.
He mentioned the shooter many times, never by name. Just as 'the shooter,' not assigning any humanity to him.
With Dr Clarkson's encouragement, Olivia began to talk about her guilt in the individual sessions. She'd been off shift the day of the shooting. But still, she couldn't shake the feeling that she should have been there, that maybe she could have saved them. Dr Clarkson led her out of the haze. Grief is often accompanied by guilt, she told her, but guilt can't change the past. She suggested that Olivia write letters to her daughters, full of love and regret, then burn them.
Elliot built on that, fashioning a small memorial in the backyard, where they could go together to talk to their daughters, and to leave the letters to be burned. The first time they did this, Olivia's fingers shook as she placed her letter into the fire, and they both watched together as the flames engulfed the words, her face first a mask of agony and then a look of relief. The grief that had permeated their lives for nearly a year had released its hold at last.
Stetson started to mend, too, going to the family therapy sessions again, creating his own imaginary adventures and fears. Clarkson encouraged him to draw his feelings, creating a safe space for them, and he gradually started to express his anger and sorrow.
One evening, while helping Stetson with his homework, Elliot found a drawing Stetson had made during one of his alone times. It was a picture of the two of them standing together as a family, though the drawing had a wall of flames in the background, the same flames Olivia had extinguished all those years ago. Elliot's heart broke, but he was glad that Stetson was finally communicating. He stuck the picture in his pocket and planned to show it to Dr Clarkson during their next session.
In therapy, the three of them sat around a small table, the room filled with the warmth of their collective tears and the hope that maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back to each other. Dr. Clarkson had introduced them to various techniques to communicate without the barriers of accusation and blame. They learned to listen with their hearts instead of their ears.
In one particularly intense session, Olivia spoke of her immense guilt, how the shame seemed to 'burrow inside' her like a second skin. "I think it's my fault,' she said, her eyes lowered. 'I think if I had just been there, if I had done something, they wouldn't have died."
Elliot got frustrated. "That's bullshit. It's not your fault, and when you say it is, it absolves the shooter. The shooter who is sitting in a prison cell, awaiting trial for eight murders, when he should be dead himself!" Olivia was surprised by Elliot's anger, but Dr. Clarkson wasn't. In Elliot's sessions, he had been mentioning the shooter often. Olivia, on the other hand, had never mentioned him.
"Elliot," Dr Clarkson said softly, "I understand you are upset, but yelling at Olivia is not the answer." Elliot looked down. "I wasn't yelling..." Olivia raised an eyebrow. Elliot sighed. "I just don't understand why she puts the blame on herself, rather than on the boy who killed Camelot and Phoenix."
The room fell silent. Dr Clarkson nodded, 'Grief comes out in so many different ways. It's very common for survivors to experience guilt, no matter what happens. It's our way of making sense of the senseless.
Elliot nodded. "I understand that, but another thing I don't understand is, Olivia hasn't went to a single hearing of the shooter. His trial is literally months away, and she hasn't cared at all about that aspect of this." Olivia sat quietly listening to Elliot's words. That wasn't true; but Elliot didn't know that she had visited the shooter before.
Olivia had gone to the jail to look into the eyes of the monster who had stolen their daughters. The visit had been a secret she'd kept to herself, fearing Elliot's reaction. But now, she felt the weight of his accusation. "Elliot, it's not that I don't care. I just can't handle it," she said, her voice cracking. "Looking at him, it's like looking into the barrel of a gun that shot down our world."
Elliot looked over at her. "Looking at him? You have seen his face?"
Olivia drew a deep breath. Her eyes glistened. 'Once,' she said. 'I wanted to know why. What was the boy behind it? But there was nothing. Nothing but a void.
Elliot's grip on her hand tightened. "You went alone?"
Olivia nodded, looking away. "I needed to."
Elliot's anger turned to sadness: he hadn't realized that Olivia had been harboring so much pain, carrying this secret around on her own. "Why didn't you tell me?" he said, his voice breaking.
Olivia looked up at him and he saw regret in her eyes. "I was afraid," she said. 'I didn't want you to think I was losing my mind completely. I wanted to stay strong, at least in front of you and for Stetson."
A hard lump came to Elliot's throat, his own guilt ballooning. "Liv, you don't have to do this alone. We're in this together. You can tell me anything."
The revelation of Olivia's jail visit had shattered the marriage that had already been so damaged. There was so much to process, so much hurt to unpack. Clarkson asked each of them to prepare a letter to the shooter, not to send, but to read out loud in the safety of the therapy room. It was a way to engage with the anger, to figure out how to keep it from turning into poison.
For the next two sessions, Olivia and Elliot read their letters out loud to each other. Most of the words were full of rage and pain, but also a ceaseless attempt to make sense of the nonsense. You could feel the tension in the room grow thicker with every word read until it was like you could touch it with your hand. But something was happening. As they spoke, the anger was giving way to a shared sorrow about being separated, about the sense that they were both grieving for someone and it was all okay.
Stetson's drawings became brighter and more colored. He gave himself a role in the family scenes, and while fires still appeared, they were relegated to the background, less a focus. Dr Clarkson called this a success. "I believe the art is helping him to modulate the emotions and find a new storyline, where he's not stuck being a bystander to his own story," she said.
To their surprise, Elliot and Olivia's relationship began to heal up, too. With the barbed wire of accusations gone, they were able to describe to each other their anxieties and resentments with no obstacles. They realized that, in their grief, they had dug a hole between them; but that the love they still felt for their daughters was the ladder they had been looking for to climb out of it.
With the one-year mark of the shooting coming closer, when they knew that Elliot and Olivia would be 'over the hump', as Elliot put it, they were afraid that the work they'd done would be undone.
The night before, they had sat in the silence of their living room, the house thick with the fear of the day to come. The clock on the wall had ticked and tocked, each second an agony as a new moment passed without their daughters.
Olivia was the first to speak. "Tomorrow, Elliot, it's going to be hard. I don't know how we're going to get through it," she said, looking down at her knotted hands.
Elliot drew breath. "We will," he said, determined. "We'll ride it out, together, like we always do. And perhaps – just perhaps – it'll be an opportunity to recall the light, not just the shadow."
Olivia nodded, tears still welling up in her eyes as she took a napkin and wiped them away. "I hope so, Elliot. I wish I could be so sure," she sighed. "But there's a monster in my heart and it won't stay dead."
Elliot lowered his face, his gaze hard. "We'll get there, Liv. We just need to keep moving."
The anniversary arrived. They went to the school that Camelot and Phoenix attended. The sight of the building brought tears all over again, but Elliot and Olivia walked hand in hand, their silence holding each other together.
As they walked up to the memorial — nothing but a small garden containing two cherry trees planted side by side and a plaque with the names of each student lost that day — Olivia felt the emptiness of their daughters' absence more keenly than ever. But, if she was surprised by her emotions, the sense of peace that came over her was anything but placid. It was almost like the blooms that would fall and rise with the seasons somehow told her, gently: "Yes, life does go on."
Elliot placed a bouquet of white roses at the foot of the trees. "Girls," he said, "we miss you so much."
Olivia placed her hand on one of the tree trunks. The bark was rough under her palm. "We love you," she said. The word came out sheepishly, as if she had just remembered it.
They sat on a nearby bench watching the leaves dance in the wind. The gusts sounded at times as if they could be hearing their daughters laugh.
Stetson was with them, and he stood a few feet behind them, his letter to his sisters in his hand. He read it out loud, his voice breaking. "I miss you both every day, Cami and Nix," he said, then looked up at his parents. "Sometimes, it hurts so much…"
Elliot put his arm around his son's shoulders, and Olivia put her hand on Stetson's other hand. His letter was raw and heart-breaking, the most open they had seen him since the shooting. When he was through, they sat, the three of them, side by side, hugging each other, each lost in their own thoughts of what might have been.
He and Olivia had gone through a lot in their months of therapy, but now there was light creeping back into their darkness. They weren't who they'd been before the shooting, but they were learning to live with that.
One night, Olivia found a new drawing from Stetson, tucked under his pillow when she put him to bed. This time, they were all in the picture – the five of them, smiling. The flames that once framed them had become an all-encompassing golden light. She drew in a breath, her chest spreading warm. Progress.
When Elliot came in to say goodnight, he saw the drawing and he took Olivia's hand, and the two of them bent down over their son who was already sleeping, and Elliot said: "We'll get through this. We're going to make it."
Olivia nodded, her eyes shimmering with hope. "For them," she murmured. "And for us."
The weeks got longer, then the months, and the therapy sessions grew less frequent. There were still the tears and the anger, but there were also the giggles and the moments of calm. They'd learned to live with the grief, to carry it without it crushing them.
The trial of the shooter was still to come, another storm over which they needed to huddle together. Dr Clarkson had helped to prepare them for it, with tools to brace themselves against the pain that would come to the surface. But for Elliot and Olivia, the worst was over. They had lived through the longest night. They had one another, their son, and the promise of a new dawn.
And so they kept going, one step after another. They kept their love, their memories, their commitment to honor their daughters' lives by living theirs as fully as they could, even through all the pain, even through all the beauty, even with both of their daughters' spirits right there beside them.
The trial arrived, and it was harder than they had feared, but it was easier perhaps because they were going through it together – and the love they had for each other, and the strength they drew from that love, was a kind of shield against the horror of revisiting that day. The verdict was what they'd hoped it would be, but it didn't fill the gap, and nothing ever could.
Afterwards, they returned to their therapy, to the memorial garden as well as their memory boxes, and to one another. They turned to the commonality of their pain, to a kind of wisdom born of having walked through hell and come out the other side, hand in hand.
Life was never going to be the same, but it was life. And, in the end, that was all they could give their daughters: life, their memories, and a way to keep living it. Together.
The months leading up to the trial were a punishing pace of therapy appointments and legal preparation; the weeks after the verdict were a hushed sprint toward a 'new normal'. "You did what you were supposed to do as a survivor, as a witness," Dr. Clarkson told them. "But now it's time for you to take care of you." She suggested that a way to do that might be through volunteering, giving back to the community that had lifted them up when they were at their most vulnerable.
Elliot found a local organization that offered support to families of gun violence victims. He started spending a few afternoons a week there, listening to other parents share their stories and offering his own when asked. It was hard, but he discovered a strange kind of peace in being able to help others navigate the same hellish path they had been forced to walk.
Olivia, on the other hand, decided to return to work. She had taken an extended leave, but the call to serve was strong in her blood. She knew that getting back to the job she loved, the job that had defined her before the shooting, would be a way to honor her daughters' lives. Plus, she missed the camaraderie of the firehouse, the sense of purpose that came with saving lives.
The day she put on her gear again was a mix of trepidation and triumph. As she climbed into the truck, the weight of her daughters' loss felt heavier than ever. But she also felt the warmth of Elliot's hand on her shoulder, the pride in Stetson's eyes. They were her reasons to keep fighting.
Stetson grew quieter as the trial approached, his drawings more somber, but he also found solace in the quiet moments with his parents. He had started to write his own stories, tales of heroes and bravery that seemed to mirror his mother's valor. Elliot read them to Olivia, and together they watched their son find his voice again, his imagination a beacon of light in their darkened world.
The first call came in a week later, a kitchen fire in an apartment complex. As Olivia donned her mask and climbed the stairs, her heart hammered in her chest. But she felt a new kind of strength, a determination to keep going for the two little souls who could not. The flames raged, but she pushed through, guiding the team with a firm hand and steady voice.
When they emerged, the family they had saved was in tears, clutching each other tightly. Olivia felt a pang of envy but also a spark of something else. Maybe she couldn't save everyone, but she could still save some. And in doing so, she was keeping her daughters' spirit alive.
The months rolled by, and the scars of the past began to fade. Stetson started making friends again, sharing his drawings and stories with a group of kids at school who had also suffered loss. They understood each other in a way no one else could, and it was a balm to his soul. Elliot and Olivia watched from a distance, proud and hopeful, knowing their daughters' legacy lived on in their son's resilience.
Elliot had been writing a new book in secret, a book about his daughters and their mother. When Olivia opened the finished manuscript on September 11, 2026, exactly twenty-five years on the day they met and also Camelot and Phoenix's 17th birthday, she was astonished.
Her eyes moved across the pages, and he saw her relive the moments of their life he knew were buried down deep by the gunfire, but here the pain was mixed with love, with happiness, with the essence of their daughters that he'd tried so hard to capture.
Olivia gazed up at him, her eyes wet. "You did this for us?" she murmured.
Elliot nodded. His eyes were watering, too. "For us, for them," he said. "So we don't forget the good times."
Olivia traced the lines of his palm with her thumb. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you for reminding me who we were before…"
Elliot gave her hand a squeeze. "And who we still are." He finished her sentence. They sat together for a few moments, the book between them like a warm stone. A stone that had started to thaw.
Stetson had poked his head into the room and noticed the book on the table. "What's that?" he asked.
Olivia inhaled. 'It's a story written by your dad. About us. And about Cami and Nix. And, of course, you."
Stetson looked at his parents. "Can I read it?"
Elliot and Olivia exchanged glances, the unspoken question hanging in the air. Was their son ready? But the hope in Stetson's eyes was undeniable. He had been so brave, so strong. It was time to let him in.
They decided to read the book together as a family, starting from the very beginning. Each page turned was a step back in time, a gentle unearthing of memories that had been buried under the rubble of their grief. Stetson listened with rapt attention, his eyes glowing with wonder as he heard tales of his sisters' laughter and the adventures they had shared.
The nights grew longer as they read, the words painting a picture of a time before the world had gone wrong. It was a bittersweet journey, but one that brought them closer together, knitting their family back together with the threads of love and hope.
As the final chapter came to a close, Olivia felt something within her shift. The anger and guilt had not disappeared, but they had been diluted, replaced with a gentle acceptance that maybe, just maybe, they could find happiness again.
Elliot looked at her, his eyes full of empathy. 'Ready to keep writing our story?' he asked.
Olivia nodded, a smile ghosting across her lips. "Together," she said firmly. "Always together."
The three stood, the book bearing witness to what love had got them through, and once again went to the memorial garden, the cherry blossoms at their peak, as if rising from the ashes, budding and blooming.
Stetson pressed a palm against one of the trunks. 'I love you, Cami. I love you, Nix,' he said.
Olivia and Elliot put their arms around him, their touch like a promise that whatever lay ahead they would face together.
Their lives would never be the same, but here, under the blossom trees, it seemed as if the girls were present, woven into the web of their lives. The flames of their love shone bright; they would follow them into the future.
And they would keep doing it, they said, one day at a time, one moment at a time, for as long as they lived, because there was a story to be told, a gift to be given, in honor of the girls they had lost. They knew the road ahead would be rocky, but they had come through the storm of grief and, now, they felt more steady, more resilient than ever. They had each other, and this, in itself, was everything.
Elliot returned to his reporting, Olivia to the firehouse, Stetson to school. They had learned that love did not die with loss, but rather rose up, stronger than ever, alive and breathing; it was part of them now. They had found a new mission in sharing, in helping others to heal, to know that it was okay to hurt, to cry, but most of all, to live once more.
Life could journey forward in a rut. The autumnal equinox gave way to the vernal equinox. The nights were growing lighter than the days. Stetson's stories were starting to have happy endings. Elliot's book was greeted with an outpouring of love and support. They were healing — not in a way that made the pain go away but in a way that made it possible to carry it differently. They were learning to live with their grief, not as their identity, but as their reason for being.
And so they went on, Olivia and Elliot, hand in hand, with Stetson by their side, their hearts transformed but their love unbroken, having found a way to keep the light of their daughters shining in the hearts of people they had touched, in the lives around the world they had saved, in the pages of Elliot's book, in the warmth of their home, and in the still, quiet moments of remembrance, having turned the tragedy of their lives into a beacon of hope, a mirror that reminded them how, even in this darkness, love could guide them home.
Olivia had worked her way up through the ranks, becoming Chief, and she had brought many of the same qualities to the job that she'd had as a young girl: strength and empathy. Every time she put on her firefighter's gear, the girls were with her. They whispered in her ear: Be brave. Do it for us.
Meanwhile, Elliot had transformed his book into a blueprint for families struggling with similar loss, a chance for himself to become an advocate for gun control and mental health, and a vehicle for the sale of some 25,000 copies so far, enough to fund the scholarship in the twins' names for a decade. Money aside, the impact of their work is incalculable – Elliot's book has become a way for him to help other families find a path out of their dark place.
And over the years, the two cherry trees grew into giants, love lost and then won. The anniversary of that day continued to be a date of mourning, but it also became a celebration of the lives of Camelot and Phoenix, a day to remember them, to remember their spirit, their laughter, their love.
Years later, Stetson graduated from high school. His valedictorian speech was on hope and courage, on the strength of his family, and the legacy of his sisters. It rippled out across the auditorium. Elliot and Olivia watched, swelling with love and pride and grief. Stetson's flames had not been extinguished. They had fashioned something new and strong. They had forged the young man who knew what it was like to lose his life, but who would not let that stop him.
Following graduation, Stetson entered the social-work field with the same motivation that had inspired his mother and father to help others in need. He wanted to offer a hand to those turned suffering following tragedy, making his family's safety net available to others. His parents witnessed their son take flight with a mix of pride and trepidation, as they turned him over to the world full of hope and worry. He would take Camelot and Phoenix, and the lessons of love and courage they had taught him, into the wider world.
The Stabler family had discovered a new kind of normal – a life with grief and a life with love, a life that honored the resilience of the human spirit. They had learnt that love is not something that you cling to but something that grows in the spaces, something that blooms even after the most heart-wrenching loss.
The author of this SVU - Autumn in New York story will be revealed in November