This is the story that's flowing right now. I needed some sort-of sappy, tragic romance right now. So, here you are. Let me know some thoughts.

Chapter 1

Charity saw him fall.

It was a moment she would carry with her to the grave, like the moment she said yes to Phinn during their spontaneous marriage or when she first held Caroline, and then Helen. Some memories, she'd learned, are more than just recollection. They are burned into a person, branded onto the fabric of who we are.

It was hot in the circus that night. Even after opening every possible door and handing out hundreds of paper fans, Charity could still feel rivulets of perspiration running down the inside of her satin dress. She'd worn her best for tonight, wanting the debut of Phinn's newest trick to be a blazing success. Over the years, she'd watched him introduce a lion tamer who would slip his head inside the beast's mouth without flinching, a set of triplets who juggled fire with terrifying flare and finesse, and a tiny woman from South America who could hang by her teeth from a rope. All of them were spectacular, inciting exactly the response Phinn had hoped for - excitement, wonder. On this sweltering night, however, Phinn had been inspired to fly himself.

He'd talked about it for weeks.

"I need a grander entrance, Charity," he'd said with a light in his eyes she knew too well. "I want to fly like the rest of them."

With a raised eyebrow, she'd started, "Don't you think you're a little-"

"Don't call me old," he'd shot back with a wry smile.

So on this night, when the heat lingered like a heavy blanket and the audience buzzed with anticipation, Phinn strapped himself into his newest invention. Based on something he'd seen in the theaters in Europe, he'd found a way to harness himself and fly hands-free on the thinnest of ropes. He had proudly demonstrated to Charity a few days before how it used a system of counterweights, controlled by stagehands, to lift any of the performers from the stage to the top of their tent and back again. She had to admit, it was quite impressive. So, tonight, she had kissed him backstage and joined the girls to watch the debut of his newest trick.

The first entrance went perfectly. To a chorus of awes and applause Phinn descended from the rafters, the bright lamps obscuring the audience's vision so that he appeared to descend from heaven itself. The show was a raucous success, riding on the excitement of Phinn's entrance and bookended by a dazzling performance by the acrobats. From the midst of them, Phinn rose in his new invention, arms spread, smiling like a boy who'd realized his greatest dream as the show concluded.

Charity clapped wildly, eyeing the girls beside her. They watched their father ascend, each of them older now. Caroline was on the cusp of adolescence, Helen not far behind. As their father rose higher and higher, they beamed with pride. Charity's heart was full.

A million dreams, she couldn't help thinking.

Then it happened. The moment she would remember with harsh clarity for the rest of her life. There was a sharp crack, like the sound of a whip against leather, and Charity's eyes locked on her husband high above the floor. For a second, he was still. Then, he started to fall. Phinn, who was more agile than most realized, seized the frayed end of the broken rope above him for the briefest moment, barely the length of a heartbeat, and then he lost his grip. Charity's heart fluttered and her whole chest tightened, so tight she couldn't breathe, and it was so quiet it felt like the very air had been vacuumed from the cavernous space.

Charity's eyes never left him. She watched him fall for what felt like eternity. And when he hit the ground with a dull thud, raising a cloud of sawdust around him, her scream felt like it came from outside herself. Then, she was frozen, unable to leave her seat, with her hand held tightly to her chest.

The audience finally reacted, gasping and crying out. Parents took hold of their children and began to escort them away from the scene. Phillip rushed the stage first, followed by several stagehands and Lettie.

When Charity finally came to herself, she clamored down the bleachers to the sawdust floor and out onto the performance arena. She pushed through the small crowd, her terror pushing her forward and keeping her tears at bay.

Please, she begged silently, please let him be alive.

Pushing past a large man whose name she thought to be Igor, she finally stopped. Phillip was on his knees, trying to find a sign of life. Charity looked over her husband and something in her snapped, like the ropes that had been holding Phinn, and she felt like she was falling with him, unable to catch herself.

He lay perfectly still, his right leg bent at an unnatural angle. He was ashen, with a dark bloodstain forming beneath his head. Phillip was yelling his name now, trying to get a response as he held two fingers to his partner's neck. But Phinn did not respond.

Charity felt the world spin. The urge to vomit was overwhelming and she reached for something to steady herself. Caroline, who'd grown taller over the past two years, took her mother's hand. Charity took a deep breath. She refused to faint, like so many frail women out there. If these were her husband's last moments, she wouldn't spend them lying on the dirty floor. Then, her heart broke, because that's where he was.

Someone had fetched the doctor, who shoved people out of the way to get to Phinn. Charity watched, her whole body trembling, as the same man who had come to see Caroline and Helen after their births now checked their father for signs of life. The doctor, whose name was John, finally turned and said, "He's alive. Barely."

Charity flashed back two years to another moment. She could still smell the smoke. She remembered the same two men on the ground. And she could still hear Phinn say, "He's alive. Barely."

This time, it was Phillip who carried Phinn out of the circus.