This three-part collection of words came from a suggestion from a good friend. I asked for a prompt, because I had no inspiration to write at the moment. (Don't worry...The Look and Favorable Optics will return very soon.) She led me to revisit Adele's Hello, which took me further into other selections from her 25 album. Cue feels.

Each part will be labeled from a song lyric. I encourage you to read the lyrics before you read. I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think.

Song inspiration: "Hello"

Everything she wanted, she finally received. She's now the big dog. The director. The one voice that needed to be heard. The final say. It was all coming together. Years spent convincing, writing, taking the cross-country trips, hearing and giving the lectures. Even with the dirty deeds under her belt, she finally catapulted herself to this place in time. She was the one. As the President's right hand, she was at her zenith. It felt good. It felt right.

But when she laid her head down, all the confidence fell away.

Lost. Confused. Alone.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. She risked everything to get here. But at what cost? Was it truly worth giving away her conscience?

The copious amounts of espresso that lived in her veins would not suffice. Emptiness was a great word to describe how she felt. Whenever she was asked, shoulders would lift and a ho-hum response followed. But there was a reason for this void.

He wasn't here. She wasn't in his arms. They weren't talking.

For weeks, she avoided any conversation about him. But she still wore the ring. There were reminders throughout the White House, including his portrait on the wall. She kept her gaze forward, as if glancing at his painted stare would convict her of well-aware truths.

At work, she was on. Stomping the pavements, being the boss she knew she could be. Getting shit done. But when she returned to her apartment every night, that switch turned off abruptly.

It was affecting how she viewed herself. Stubborn as she was, Olivia knew she needed to talk to him. But she didn't have his number. How embarrassing. The most powerful woman in the United States who had access to so much at the drop of a hat, didn't have a way to contact the most important person in her life.

A quick scroll down her list and she found the number that could lead her in the right direction.

"Marcus? Hi. How are you?"

"I'm doing well," the familiar voice answered. "How are you?"

"We're good over here. Hey, are you busy?"

"Not at the moment."

Olivia bit her lip as she sat down at the couch. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Would you be able to forward me President Grant's new number?"

"He never gave it to you?"

Of course, her former employee would emphasize this interesting factoid, in that fake-surprised, judgy, oh really tone. Trying to save face, she blurted, "No, the transition went by very quickly. I haven't had a chance to follow up."

"Sure," Marcus commented, with a little skepticism, before relaying the digits. "That's his office line."

After another minute of cordial dialogue, Olivia hung up, staring at the numbers she wrote down.

There was a possibility he could answer immediately. Or he could be like everyone else, busy with work and real life.

Taking a sip of her beloved red, Olivia tapped on her screen, slowly entering the area code, then the remaining digits.

She waited for the dial tone.

Four slow rings.

Hello-

The greeting was rushed. "Hi!"

You have reached the office of Fitzgerald Grant. Please leave your name and number, with a detailed message, and I will contact you shortly. Thanks.

Disappointed, Olivia waited for the message to finish. On the bright side, it gave her relief that she had the correct number. Any kind of nerves could dissipate if she left a voicemail. Being a pro at elegant and rehearsed speeches, she vowed to state her peace and hang up.

"Hi. It's me. I know it's been a few months and it's no excuse. But I wanted to know how you were doing, seeing how Vermont life is treating you. Anyway. Call me back when you can."

As she disconnected, she began to think. How happy they were during the last four weeks of his presidency. So much happened, but they could return to each other and shut the world out. Remembering of the days just being happy, even while they were in the shadows. But there were other areas of their relationship that made her wince. The wasted moments arguing over the dumbest shit that didn't matter. Fights and silent treatments. Going behind each other's back. Not fighting for their love.

An hour passed. The phone never rang.

For whatever reason, she was feeling needy, incapable of being patient. Maybe he hadn't checked the messages. Or he returned from a meeting and got busy. The courtesy she wanted from others, she wasn't giving to Fitz. He had a life too. But she needed him.

Another round of wine and she hit redial. As before, after four rings, the voicemail started. She breathed deeply, then began to speak.

"Hi again. I didn't explain myself well the last time we talked. I know we've had our differences. There's still a lot to be said. I was - I am allowing my career to get in the way of us. I don't know where to go from here. But I don't want to lose you again. If we could talk sometime, listen to each other to find out what could work. Just… call me."

It reminded her of the times she had to use the burner, hoping that he'd call. Waiting for the phone to buzz, leading her to do the absolute most to answer. Digging in the trash, racing back inside her apartment to find the phone. Losing sleep. Interrupting other conversations. He was her all-consuming fire. The flicker of light that burned in her had blown out.

Now that they were "free" to have a relationship, there was a tendency for implosion. Depending on the scenario, the blame could be pinpointed to a specific moment. Usually, she was at fault. She was the overthinker, the pessimist, the runner. The problem usually began or ended with her. Their relationship had flaws; unsightly bruises on the surface and deep wounds inside. The work to pull away the bandages, recognize the problems that were dormant, was overwhelming.

Why couldn't she have something good and not let it destroy her? Through circumstances, bad influences, and fear, life with him could never be a possibility. It didn't have to end up like this. But she was still broken, unwilling to work on herself. Just masking her shame and unresolved issues, to climb walls, shatter ceilings, and break hearts in the meanwhile.

Olivia began to seethe. He deliberately wasn't calling back. She wasn't dumb, she knew him. He was stubborn too. Why hadn't he reached out to her since January 20th? Their last conversation was painful; she tried to put on a good face. She wouldn't have forgiven herself if she allowed him to leave while she fumed in silence and pride. When she ran to him on the South Lawn, Olivia let the world know that she was breaking her resolve of hiding, and also shedding that layer she kept on for eight long years.

But then again, he knew her. Her mindset changed so often, he couldn't trust anything anymore. After his missteps, he worked on giving her space. They learned the hard way.

Figuring out a strategy wouldn't have been hard. But her goals were higher than any relationship. Clearly, there was no normal when it came to her and Fitz, but they could have worked something out. The flight to Vermont only took an hour, but she was certain of their true distance; they were worlds apart.

It was a "light" day at the office; returning around 8pm was rare. So the nightly ritual of finishing a bottle and crying began early and was in full force. She needed to get to bed; there was no point to wait for him tonight.

But typical of her previous career, the phone rang at that moment when she was about to walk away. A number she hadn't saved was popping up. Maybe it was the President, calling from a secure line, but the area code wasn't familiar either.

"Olivia Pope."

"Hi."

Part two will arrive tomorrow. xo