APRIL

In typical Seattle fashion, it's raining when I wake up.

I open my eyes to a window propped open, though I swear I asked Matthew to close it before he laid down. I must have fallen asleep before he did, and it slipped his mind. I was bone-tired last night, and barely had time to say goodnight before I was out.

I feel refreshed now, though. I stretch my legs out straight and make a little sound to go with, then blink at the ceiling for a few beats before moving anywhere. I'm up before the alarm, so I don't have to rush.

I hear the kids' voices from down the hall, talking quietly in their shared room. Harriet is five, and Ruby Saige, three. She goes by Saige now - ever since Matthew's ex-wife died, he didn't want her called a name they had picked together. Her middle name, Saige, had been his idea, not Karen's. Ruby reminded him too much of a past that still stings.

"Sissy, no, no, no," Harriet says. "You're not big enough for the top bunk. You'll fall off and bump your head."

"I get a owie?" Saige asks, in her adorable little voice.

"Yeah," Harriet answers. "And that's bad. That's why you gotta be on the bottom bunk 'til you're six."

I chuckle to myself and roll to face my husband. He's still sound asleep, wearing a frown and a heavy expression. Whatever he's dreaming about must not be anything good.

He doesn't like to be woken up in the morning, not by me and not by an alarm. He's always grumpy, no matter what. So, I keep my hands to myself. Let him get angry with the alarm clock instead.

I run my fingers through my hair and consider the day ahead. It shouldn't be too hectic; I can't think of anything pressing waiting for me at the moment, which is a soothing thought.

I debate closing my eyes again and sleeping for a few more cherished minutes when Matthew stirs. It's rare that he awakens before the clock, so I turn over and watch his face to see what mood he might be in today. With this new turn of events, it might be a good one.

"Morning," I say, right when he looks at me. I offer a smile, and he closes his eyes in return, raising his eyebrows with a stretch.

"Hey," he says, yawning.

"You're up early," I notice.

"Don't know why," he says. "I didn't sleep well."

"Oh," I say. "Why's that?"

"You were all over me," he says. "Kicking. I told you, Ambien will help with those dreams you're having."

"I don't have any trouble sleeping," I say. "There's no reason to take it."

"Your dreams are crazy," he says. "You never stop twitching or moving around. You keep me up."

I sigh. "Maybe I'm going through something."

"Are you?" he asks, pointedly.

"I don't know," I say. "I meant that maybe my subconscious is dealing with something."

"How would that happen without you knowing about it?" he asks incredulously, eyebrows tilted in a way that tells me he thinks it's stupid. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Forget I said it," I say. "Next time I wake you up, just shake me. I can move to the couch."

"I don't want you to sleep on the couch," he says. "Married people sleep together."

"Well, I don't want to keep you up every night," I say. "That's not fair to you."

"Take the Ambien, then," he says. "Compromise. I still get to sleep with you, and you calm down and stop dreaming."

I don't bother responding. It's clear we're not going to agree, and it's not worth the push without an outcome. As usual, we'll go in circles for hours, days, weeks, until someone gives in. Usually, that someone is me.

The girls' voices float in as a quiet moment passes over.

"Is it scary sleeping by yourself in here when I go to my daddy's?" Harriet asks, still conversing with her stepsister.

"Sometimes," Saige answers.

"Why sometimes?"

"Sometimes, I go get Mama," Saige says.

"If you have a bad dream?"

"Yeah. Then I sleep with her and Dada."

"My daddy lets me sleep in his bed, too," Harriet says, a bit boastfully.

I knew that. Jackson is a sucker for his little girl, and he lets her do just about anything within reason. She made his heart soft when she came into this world; he'll go to great lengths to make her happy. And she gets her love of snuggles from him, so it doesn't surprise me in the slightest that he still lets her sneak into his bed.

"I'm going there tonight. So, I won't be here after school, okay? Don't be scared. I'll be back on Sunday after dinner."

"I won't be scared."

Matthew lets out a long sigh; it sounds like he's at his wits' end. I look over with concern and see him massaging his temples, shaking his head while he does.

"What?" I ask.

He shakes his head some more. "I can't stand it when she talks like that."

"What?" I say again, missing the point.

"Harriet," he says, emphasizing her name. "It gets on my last nerve when she talks about her other life to Saige."

"What do you mean, 'her other life?'" I ask, grating.

"The one with your ex," he says.

"You mean her father," I correct, eyes narrowing. "She's not allowed to talk about her father? What's wrong with that?"

"She alienates herself from this family when she does it," he says simply, like he's stating a fact. "It sets her apart. When she wants to be different, she pulls the Jackson card."

"Okay," I say, sitting up with wide eyes. "You are totally off-base. You know you're talking about a five-year-old, right? A little girl who, I don't know, just happens to love her dad?"

"It's not that," he says. "She rubs it in Saige's face."

"Rubs what?" I say, eyebrows lowering. "What does she have that Saige should be jealous of? Parents who are divorced?"

"Both parents that are still alive," he says, and I recoil.

"You don't have to insult Harriet to say you miss Karen," I tell him.

"I'm not," he says. "I don't. Well, of course I do. But that's not where that thought came from."

"Too bad," I say, getting up. "Because it might have been somewhat excusable if it was."

I walk into the girls' bedroom in my soft pajama pants and t-shirt, peeking my head around the corner to look at them before they know I'm there. Both of them are sitting on the bottom bunk, Saige's bed, backs leaned against the wall with their knees bent. They're still talking, albeit quieter, looking very seriously into one another's faces.

I smile to myself and then say, "Good morning, my babies."

They both look up in happy surprise. "Mama!" they chorus.

I walk in the room and they bombard me with hugs, little arms wrapped around my neck and legs around my waist, too. "Oh, goodness," I say. "You guys are getting too big for me to do this."

But I do it anyway. I pick them up, both at the same time, and laugh as they cling to me.

"What are we gonna wear today, my ladies?" I ask. "It's pretty rainy out. So, rain boots are definitely a must."

"I'm wearing a dress!" Harriet announces, wriggling to be put down.

"Me, too!" Saige says. "Me, too! Me, too!"

"Alright," I say. "Head to the closet. I'll help you with tights once you find them."

They giggle together once they go inside their small walk-in, and I wait on a beanbag on the floor of their bedroom. Harriet comes out first, carting a checkered dress with long sleeves and white tights - one of her favorite combinations. It gets worn at least twice a week.

"Great, lovebug," I say. "Sit down and we'll get those feets into these tights."

She giggles at my use of words and lies flat on her back, assisting me by shoving her feet into the cloth tights. There's an animal face on the butt, as well as the feet. They're precious, but pretty soon they won't be long enough for her anymore. She's been growing like a weed.

"Tell Daddy he needs to take you shopping for new clothes," I say, as she stands. "You're getting too tall."

Saige comes out next, holding a light pink dress with polka-dotted tights. The two don't come close to matching, but it doesn't really matter. "We go shopping, too?" she asks.

"We can," I say.

"I wanna go with you guys," Harriet says, a bit whiny.

"Come here, beanie," I say to Saige, beckoning her with one hand. "Let me help you into those." I look back to Harriet. "What's wrong with Daddy taking you? You know he loves to shop."

"Yeah, but he only likes boy stores," she says. "He always wants to buy me sneakers and zip-up outfits. Not fun stuff."

I snort. It was always Jackson's dream to dress our child like a mini version of himself.

"I'll talk to him, lovey," I say. "Don't worry."

…

We pull up in front of the school where the drop-off is, and Harriet opens her door so they both can slide out. I turn around in my seat and look at them, touching my cheek with my pointer finger so they'll both drop a kiss there. And as usual, they do.

"Bye, mama," Saige says. "Bye, dada."

"Bye-bye, honey," Matthew says, shooting her a smile in the rearview mirror.

"Bye, baby," I say. "We'll be here to pick you up like usual after school. And you," I say, raising my eyebrows and pointing to Harriet, who's smiling. "You know who's coming to get you."

"Daddy!" she sings.

"Yes," I say. "Be good. We'll see you Sunday."

"Mama," she says, urgently and seriously. "Don't forget to tell him about shopping."

"I won't," I say. "Promise. Have a good day, you two. I love you!"

"Love you, mama!" they call, shutting the back door and bounding towards the school with backpacks bouncing against their backs.

I turn around in the passenger's seat as the car starts to move, pulling out my phone as I do. Matthew doesn't make any attempts at conversation and didn't say a peep while the girls were in the car, so I don't see a reason not to call Jackson right now.

Luckily, he answers on the second ring. Most of the time, he's not great at picking up the phone and does better with texting. But today, I wanted to talk - if only for a second.

"What's up?" he says, casually.

"Hey," I respond, a habitual smile on my face. "It's me."

"I know," he says, a laugh in his voice. "Contrary to popular belief, I have this number saved. And come on, you think I don't know that voice after a million years?"

I chuckle to myself. "Right," I say. "I wanted to call and talk to you about this weekend. You know you've got Hattie, right?"

"Yes, April," he says.

I roll my eyes lightly. "Just making sure. She really needs new clothes, and I was hoping you could take her shopping."

"No problem," he says. "Yeah, of course."

"She specifically told me she doesn't want to go to 'boring stores,'" I say. "She called you out on your love of sneakers and tracksuits."

He laughs, loud and boisterous. I knew that would get him. "Ah, shit," he says. "Damn it. She's getting too old. I should take Saige off your hands instead. She's little, she'd probably still let me dress her."

"She would," I say, smiling. "But yeah. Hattie is really into dresses at the moment, so take her to Gap Kids or something. Target has good stuff, too."

"April," he groans. "Target? Come on."

"I don't want you spending hundreds of dollars on our five-year-old's wardrobe," I say. "She goes through clothes like nobody's business. Target is cute and affordable. Just trust me on this, oh ye of little faith."

"Don't get all churchy on me, church girl," he says. "Me and Hats will go shopping. She'll stay fly if I have anything to say about it. Thanks for the heads-up."

"Uh-huh," I say. "Alright. See you Sunday."

"Gotcha."

I hang up the phone and slip it inside my purse, and Matthew is somehow pricklier than before. With furrowed eyebrows, I look over to try to read his face, and his jaw is set as he faces forward and grips the steering wheel with both hands.

"What's going on with you?" I ask, resting an elbow on the window ledge.

He rolls his eyes quickly, so quick I almost miss it. "Nothing, just the fact that you talk to him like you're still married."

"What?" I say. "Who, Jackson?"

He widens his eyes in a sarcastic manner and says, "Yeah, who else?"

"No, I do not," I say. "I talk to him like he's Harriet's father, which he is. And I don't know what's up with you trying to erase that. It's not my life anymore, and I don't want it to be. But there's no reason to erase it."

"Whenever you talk to him, or talk about him, you're so buddy-buddy," he says. "Do you sound like that when you talk about me?"

"I don't understand where this is coming from," I say. "Why does it matter? Jackson is my friend. He's been my friend for years; it's not like that's just going to stop because you're insecure."

"I didn't say anything about being insecure."

"You didn't have to," I note.

He's quiet for a minute before blowing up again after the light turns green. "You don't see me sitting here talking about Karen like I wish she was still here!"

I frown. "Well, do you?"

He's quiet for a minute. "Are you saying do I wish my wife hadn't died? Of course. That's Saige's mother."

"I don't mean it like that," I insist. "Would you rather be married to her right now? Is that what you're implying?"

"Are you implying you'd rather be married to Jackson?"

I take a deep breath, frustrated with his refusal to comply with the conversation. It always has to be a battle. "If I wanted to, I already would be," I say, very slowly as I try to convince him. "But if Karen were still alive, you wouldn't be with me. Simple as that."

"Don't put it like that," he says. "God brought you and I together again."

"And I think that, too," I say. "So, why are you convinced that I want to restart a life with Jackson? He's my friend. He was my everything for years. You should know how that feels - it doesn't just go away."

"Except when it does," he says.

I don't miss a beat. "Our situations are different. Jackson is still alive, and he'll always be a part of my life. You knew that when you married me. I won't apologize for it. I won't apologize that Harriet still has a relationship with her father. I just won't." We're both quiet for a moment, staring out the windshield. "We should probably bring this up in therapy on Monday."

"Probably."

We finish the drive with no resolution. Unfortunately, that's how things usually go around here. There's no tie-up, no fix, one of us just gets tired of fighting and concedes. There's a lot of agreeing to disagree. Except without the agreeing.

We never fight around the kids, at least. It's not always happy and shiny, but we keep it civil. We don't scream or throw things, I don't cry and he doesn't storm off in a fit of rage while they're present. If we need to get through an issue, we wait until they're asleep. The last thing I want is for them to be affected by our rocky marriage.

I think about the same thing almost every day: did we rush into it? Was it staged, forced, and too-soon, just like the first time? Was it the right choice to say yes, or should I have thought it over first?

Do I really love him? Did I ever?

When those thoughts sneak into my mind, they're always partnered with guilt. I shouldn't be thinking such derogatory thoughts about my own marriage, the marriage that glued together our kids who adore one another. Harriet and Saige are blood sisters as far as they're concerned - Harriet barely remembers her life from before, and Saige doesn't at all. All she's ever known is Harriet by her side, and that warms my heart over anything.

I make it through the work day absently with my mind stuck on the argument from this morning. I go through the motions; smile when I should, treat people with cordial kindness, but when the day is finally over, I couldn't be more thankful.

Matthew and I pick Saige up from school together, parking the car so we can stay at the playground for a bit while she plays. She's wearing a big smile, holding her teacher's hand while coming out of the doors, and I wave excitedly.

"Hi, Saigey!" I squeal, enveloping her in a big hug. I kiss the side of her head - she smells just like Harriet - and look up at the teacher. "How was she today?"

"Perfect," Miss Katie says. "Did you tell Mom about the maps we colored?"

"I colored the whole world!" she announces.

I gasp playfully. "The whole thing?" I say. She nods. "I can't wait to see. You'll have to show me when we get home. You wanna go play on the playground for a while, beanie?"

She nods and rockets off towards her friends who are already there. Matthew and I walk slow; I have the urge to slip my hand into his, but I resist. I don't know what I'd do if he denied it, and I'd rather not try at all then feel rejected.

We sit on a bench and watch Saige play with a couple other girls for a while without saying much. He buys her an ice cream cone, and it drips all down the front of her dress, which makes her giggle. When it's time to go home, it's nearly dinnertime and she's already talking about what movie she'll pick tonight.

"It's bath time first, little miss," I say, and she doesn't put up a fight.

When she and Harriet are together as a united front, baths can be torture. But when they're alone, it's not so bad. Thinking about her makes me wonder how Harriet is doing with Jackson tonight, but per Matthew's outburst earlier, I don't call or text to check in. If she misses me, she'll contact me. And Jackson is perfectly capable of taking care of her on his own.

When we get home, Matthew is still brooding. I've given up trying to knock down that wall and get through to him; instead, I let him fester. When he wants to talk, he will. It's not my job to thaw him out. I'm tired of it.

"I'm gonna get this one in the bath, then we can order a pizza and pop a movie in?" I say, hitching Saige on my hip as we walk in the door.

"Whatever you want," he says. "I have some calls to make. I probably won't join you."

"But Daddy," Saige says. "You have to. You always do."

"It's family movie night," I say, a bit confused. I'm not sure what the 'calls' he has to make could possible be about. It's a strange excuse.

"I know," he says. "I'm just not feeling up to it tonight. I'll be in the office."

He walks away, leaving Saige and I stunned in his wake. We watch his back until he disappears, then she turns towards me - our faces just inches apart. I'm so close, I can clearly see her crystal blue eyes, mile-long eyelashes, and wispy blonde eyebrows.

"Where's Daddy going?" she asks.

"He has to do some work, I think. So, just me and you are gonna have movie night. How's that sound?"

She smiles. "We can watch Barbie 'cause Daddy doesn't like Barbie!"

"Perfect," I say. "Let's make our bath super quick."

Of course, the bath doesn't go quick. Neither of my girls know what fast bathing means, so I end up sitting on the floor by the tub while Saige plays in the water and splashes around with her toys, telling me stories I can't begin to keep up with. I try, though, nodding along and encouraging her plotlines with interest.

While her hair is shampooed and up in a big, sudsy spike atop her head, Matthew peeks his head in the bathroom. "I'm going out," he says.

"Where?" I ask, totally confused.

"I'll be back later. Just out for a ride."

He starts to walk away and I scramble to my feet, following him while standing in the doorway with my back to Saige. "Matthew," I hiss. "Are you going out on the motorcycle?"

He sighs deeply. "I need to clear my head."

"Take the car then," I say. "Don't take that thing. You know how I feel about it."

"Yeah, I know," he says. "But I need something for myself around here, and that's all I got right now."

"What does that mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything," he says. "I'll be back in a while. Might be late, depending on where I stop. Don't wait up."

"Matthew," I urge. "God, just talk to me. Why are you acting like this?"

"Everything will be fine once you give me some damn breathing room!" he says, shooting me a nasty glare. "This is what I need to do, or else I'm gonna explode. So, I'm going."

I have no words left. Nothing I say will stop him, so I have to let him go. As he begins to descend the stairs, I turn back around after painting a hard smile on my face and rejoin Saige in the bathroom.

"What Daddy said?" she asks.

I pick up a cup and fill it with water, signaling for her to tip her head back. "Just that he's gonna go see some friends," I say. "So us girls get the whole house to ourselves."

…

I put Saige to bed by myself tonight, lying next to her on the bottom bunk while using one hand to support my head and the other to tickle her arm. Her eyelids are heavy as she blinks those blues at me, a soft smile on her lips.

"Whatcha smilin' about?" I ask, nuzzling her temple with the tip of my nose.

"I'm flying," she whispers, voice slurred with sleep. "Fairy wings."

She's already in a dream. My heart swells with warmth for my daughter as I kiss the round of her cheek and linger there for a moment, breathing in her clean, sweet scent.

"I love you, beanie boo," I say. "I'll see you in the morning, alright?"

She doesn't get a chance to say it back before she's fully asleep, mouth open and eyes shut. I lie in bed with her for a little while longer before gently crawling out, turning off the light, and heading down the stairs where I expect to see Matthew, but I don't.

The house is quiet and empty, save for me and the little one sleeping upstairs. I glance at the clock and discover it isn't even 9; I have no reason to be worried. It just feels later. It always does when there are kids to put to bed. When they're sleepy, so am I. It's contagious.

I turn on the TV and pour myself a half glass of wine. Matthew doesn't like to spend money on the expensive stuff that I got used to, and I'm not a huge fan of the grocery store brands. Still, though, I stomach it for the calm it'll bring me. It's worth that much.

I switch between shows for a few hours, getting lost in a movie after a while. I finish my wine and, once I set the empty goblet on the coffee table and relax, it's lights out for me. My head lolls to the side and my eyes drift shut, and I miss the end of the movie I'd been so interested in.

I'm awoken some time later by the brash sound of the phone ringing. I squint against the light in the living room and the sound still coming from the TV and sit up, neck aching. I'm too old to fall asleep like that anymore.

"Who is it?" I call out, still half-gone. I shake my head a bit to wake myself up, and the ringing stops only to start again.

I stand up and rub my eyes, trying to find where I left the thing. I eventually find it on the kitchen island next to the fruit bowl, and stare at the screen with a number I don't recognize flashing across it. The ringing stops again, light fading right in front of my face, before starting for a third time. This time, I don't wait to answer. It's obvious whoever's on the other end isn't going to stop.

"Hello?" I answer, eyebrows up in attempt to wake myself.

"Is this April Kepner speaking?"

"This is she," I say, brain clearing as the person sounds serious and urgent. "Who's this?"

"Kepner, it's Bailey. You need to get down here now."

"What?" I say, flashing back to getting paged in the middle of the night when I worked there. For a fleeting moment, I can't help but wonder if I'm dreaming. I pinch myself just to make sure. "What are you talking about?"

"It's an emergency," Bailey says. "It's Taylor. He's…" She doesn't finish the sentence. "You just need to get down here."

My stomach drops and I almost lose the phone. I tighten my grip before it can drop, though, and hold it with both hands. "Wh-what?" I say. "What happened?"

"We'll tell you everything when you get here," she says. "Avery's here. Everyone's here. You just need to come as quick as you can."

"O-okay," I say, then hang up. For a static moment, I just stand there in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the kids' drawings on the fridge. They were made with fingerpaint, both equally colorful and sloppy. I can remember the day they were crafted so clearly, but suddenly can't remember the way to Grey Sloan.

I fall forward so my hands hit the island and support my weight. I breathe heavily, staring at the grains in the wood, and let my jaw hang open. This can't be happening. I told him not to go out on the motorcycle. That thing is definitely going on Craigslist as soon as he's better, no questions asked.

I feel like I might throw up. I have no choice but to wake Saige up and bring her with me; I can't leave her here alone and my mind is too cloudy to think of anyone to call. So, I shove my rain boots on and head up the stairs in my pajamas - no bra - and burst into my daughter's room, followed by the squishy sounds of my galoshes.

"Honey," I say. "Honey, wake up."

I shake her shoulders slightly as she rises to the surface. She squints through the darkness while wearing a confused expression, reaching to wrap her arms around my neck. "Mama?" she rasps.

"We gotta go, babe," I say, scooping her out of bed without bothering to change her clothes, either. I get downstairs and grab my purse, and it's only once we're in the car that I notice I forgot to put shoes on her. She's in button-up pajamas and socks, that's it.

"Mama?" she peeps from her carseat, bedhead crazy. "Mama, what are we doing?"

She rubs her eyes with the backs of her hands and watches me with fear in them. "Just go back to sleep, sweetie," I say, backing out of the driveway.

"But I'm too scared."

"I know," I say. "We just have to go somewhere, don't be scared. I promise, everything is okay."

She chews on her fingers, something she always does when she's nervous, and looks out the window with wide, round eyes. She doesn't ask any more questions, and I'm glad. Because I don't have any more answers.

I park haphazardly and scoop Saige out of her car seat when we get there; she's fallen back to sleep and is limp and heavy in my arms, so I tote her with a hand braced on the back of her head as we hurry inside.

I'm met with harsh lights once I go through the doors that are still so familiar, and my daughter stirs on my chest, tightening her legs around my waist. "Mama…" she groans, pushing her face into my neck.

"I know, baby," I say, absently.

I'm just about to call out for someone when I see the best face I could possibly see - Jackson's. He comes around the corner, wide-eyed and shaken, and stares me down. He hurries towards us and just stands there for a moment, not saying a thing, before I speak.

"What's going on?" I ask, hitching Saige higher as she'd begun to droop. "Is it bad? Is he okay?"

"It's…." he begins, but doesn't finish. It doesn't seem like he can. "I need to bring you to Bailey. She's on the case, not me."

He leads me by the small of my back through the halls like I don't have them memorized, keeping me close like I might do something rash.

"Just tell me what happened," I say.

He looks at me and shakes his head. My stomach churns and twists with a sickening feeling; I know that look in his eyes. I know him better than anyone else, and I can tell that whatever news I'm about to be met with isn't pretty.

When we find Bailey, she's standing in the middle of the hall without a lab coat on. I stop dead in my tracks too far away from her, frozen in place, unable to take a step forward.

"April," Jackson says. "Let me take Saige."

I look up at him, desperation in my eyes. I rub Saige's back and wake her, and when I set her down, she wobbles from how sleepy she is. Jackson takes her hand and leads her away, leads her out of range from whatever life-altering news I'm about to receive about her father.

"Kepner," Bailey says, walking closer instead of forcing me to move. "April."

"Bailey, don't," I say, trembling and shaking my head. "Whatever you're about to say…"

"We should sit," she says, leading me much in the way Jackson had towards an empty group of chairs. I fall into one like I've been on my feet for hours, suddenly beyond exhausted, and lean forward with my face in my hands. She keeps a hand on my back, in the middle of my spine, as she talks. "He was in a bad crash," she says. "A sharp curve, the road was wet, he hit a tree. He wasn't wearing a helmet."

My mouth drops open as I let my eyes flutter shut, all the breath stolen from me. "Oh, my god," I murmur, then lift my head. "Is he okay?"

She meets my eyes with a solemn expression and slowly reaches to squeeze my hand. "He didn't make it," she tells me. "He went quickly, though. He probably didn't feel any pain. He didn't suffer."

I stare at her for a long moment, wondering how this could be happening. It can't be. It doesn't make sense. Just a few hours ago, Matthew and I were talking outside the bathroom. And before that, we were arguing in the car. We were doing what we always do; and now, we're not. Now, we never will again.

"I need to see him," I mutter.

She makes a small sound in her throat. "You don't want to," she says.

"I do," I insist, frowning. "I need to make sure it's him."

"We're sure," she says. "He had an ID on him, a full wallet. Everything was in there."

"Why can't I see him?" I ask, pushing the topic.

"Because…" she trails off, swallowing hard as she rests her eyes on mine. "There was a low-hanging branch. It nearly severed his head. He's not in fit condition to be seen, or to have an open casket. He's… his body is very broken."

Before I realize what's happening, I pitch forward and vomit all over the linoleum floor.

…

I'm nearly catatonic by the time Jackson arrives with Saige, holding her sleeping form on his hip. Her head rests on his shoulder as she's sound asleep, and he gently sets her down on a chair so he can tend to me. The vomit has already been cleaned up, but I'm far from okay. The last rug I'd been standing on was just ripped out from under me, and I have no idea how to react.

"Hey, hey," he says, kneeling in front of me and trying to catch my eye. "I'm right here. Look at me. April, hey."

As my whole body trembles, I do my best to meet his eyes. He lifts his hands and holds my cheeks, steadying the rattles of my body, and looks at me solidly. His eyes are an anchor, they let me know I'm not drifting off anytime soon. I have to stay here. I have to take care of myself. I have to take care of my daughters.

One of whom's father is kneeling on the floor, trying to comfort me. The other, lying on a slab without a head.

As that thought crosses my mind, I let out a long moan and collapse into myself. Before I can crumple, though, Jackson steadies and holds me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders to awkwardly rock me as he sits in the chair beside mine.

"I know," he murmurs, holding tight.

I open my eyes to Saige, who's sleeping peacefully two chairs away. She doesn't know. How will I tell her that both of her biological parents are dead? I cry harder at the thought, burying my face in Jackson's chest as I clutch him with claw-like fingers.

"I don't know what to do," I sob, finding it hard to breathe.

What do I do now? Go home, where all of Matthew's things are? Wait here for something else to happen, even though nothing else will? The coroner will take him away and the next arrangements to be made will be with the funeral home, nothing more to do with the hospital. I have no more business here, but the last place I want to be is the home we shared.

I sit there with Jackson for a long time even after I've stopped crying, just staring. He doesn't make me move, doesn't say anything, he just stays with his arms wrapped around me. I don't know how long we remain like that, but it's long enough that when I sit up, my bones creak.

"I can't go home," I say, very quietly.

His face is full of pain, secondhand sympathy. He takes a deep breath and holds my hand, patting it once before saying, "Why don't you and Saige stay with me tonight."

…

His house is about the same size as mine, but furnished much differently. More modern, whereas mine is homey and more akin to farmhouse decorations, which is what I know. He lets the nanny go once we arrive with a curt thank-you, and I hover in the entryway with Saige still sleeping, limp as a ragdoll on my chest.

"I can put her in with Hattie," he says. "Want me to take her?"

My brain is on autopilot. Too much has happened in one night, and I don't have the energy to man the controls anymore. I let him take Saige and watch as they go up the stairs, lingering without taking my shoes off until he comes back down a few moments later.

"Didn't even wake up," he says.

What'll happen in the morning crosses my mind. How am I going to explain this, how will I begin to delve into the reason why we stayed over at Jackson's? The two of them will want to know right away, and I'm not sure if I'll be capable of that.

"Stop thinking," Jackson says, tearing me out from inside my head. "It's not gonna do you any good tonight."

I nod and brace a hand on the railing, zoned now. He comes around to look at me head-on, and all I can do is stand there.

"Here," he says, lowering to help me out of my shoes - my clunky rain boots that I'd shoved on last-minute. I'm much more comfortable without them, but I still don't move. I'm not sure where to go.

He gently removes my hand from the banister and leads me to the couch, where I sit slowly. He sits next to me, not too close but not too far, and watches me. I don't mind his eyes, but I'm not sure what he expects. I don't have anything to say, yet I have a thousand questions. The problem is that there's not a place to start. It seems, lately, there are only endings.

"You wanna try and sleep?" he asks, voice gentle and cautious, like I might shatter. And given the current situation, it's entirely plausible.

"I don't know," I say.

"Okay," he says. "You want me to stay? I don't have to. I can leave you alone, if that's what you want."

I blink slowly, eyes aching as I do. I'm drained, there's nothing left inside me. I've been left alone too many times to count; I don't want tonight to be one of those times.

"No," I say. "Stay."