Safe & Sound

“Please.”

The word has been sounded countless desperate times tonight. It’s lost its meaning.

“Addison, please tell me what you want. Please.”

She doesn’t know how many times she’s begged the child or fought falling to her quaking knees in the past few hours. The newborn in the crib beneath her wails relentlessly, her sobs bouncing off the walls of the tiny bedroom. Kennedy stares down at her eyes shut tightly and cheeks stained a faint shade of crimson. She’s helpless.

“Please, Addie. I can’t do this without your help. Help me.”

Her fingers feel shaken, gripping the chipped plastic of the rickety crib she's recently bought secondhand.

“Tell me what you need!” she begs her to do the impossible.

The child only sobs harder, overtaking the pleas of the frantic young girl standing above her. The volume in the room is splitting Kennedy’s head into two.

“What the hell am I doing?” she cries out loudly to herself, “What the hell was I even thinking? I can’t do this.”

Shakily, she lowers her forehead to the bars, terrified she’ll collapse if she even thinks of letting go.

“I can’t do this,” she repeats, shaking her head. Her voice can barely be heard over the child’s earsplitting cries. “You need someone who can take care of you and I don’t know how to be that.”

She remembers the adoption papers that were shoved in her face. Or, even sooner than that, papers that would’ve ended it all before it even began. But she denied each one out of morality, and looking back she’s not so certain she should have ever refused the former.

Even after a month, she hasn’t learned a single thing. She’s clueless about what the child may want at any given time. She can’t distinguish one cry from another, and each time she tries it ends in a mess of herself with her head buried in her hands on the kitchen floor, still full baby bottle in one hand and changing powder in the other, all the while the child continues to wail.

“I’m a fool,” Kennedy whimpers, “This really is what I get.”

She can’t look into the crib for one second longer. Her head turns sharply to the side, but as if Addison can understand the gesture, her crying intensifies. It grows rougher and coarser, and her eyes squint shut.

“Please, stop! Stop crying! I’ll do anything!”

Kennedy reaches down and hooks her trembling hands under the tiny arms. She lifts, holding the child in front of her in mid air. She expects the movement to infuriate her further, but the moment she’s out of the crib, her eyes begin to soften.

Kennedy stares back incredulously into the watery hazel color that match her own. The only sounds coming from the infant are soft cooing as she simmers down.

“That’s it? You just wanted to be held?”

The child can’t answer, but the way she lightly kicks her legs when Kennedy speaks tells her that she likes the sound of her mother’s voice. It changes something inside Kennedy as she pulls the infant closer against her chest, supporting her head nervously with her hand. She begins to sway back and forth. She hasn’t the faintest clue why this was the answer to silencing her now—Kennedy tried for hours before this to hold her but it never did the trick until now—and as she stares down at the relaxed face below her that still has those big glassy eyes firmly glued to her mother, she realizes something.

It’s not about silencing her. It’s not about getting a moment’s peace after a long day of screams echoing around the room. Not anymore, at least. It’s about making her happy. Finally taking away the pain from someone who can’t tell you what hurts no matter how hard they try.

In that moment, Kennedy confirms her thoughts from before: this is all harder than she ever expected it to be. There’s no doubt about it. Babies don’t come with instruction manuals and she has to learn everything on her own. It’s maddening. But at the same time, looking down at this face and feeling the warmth of this tiny bundle in her arms somehow makes it worth it.

“I guess you’re not so bad,” Kennedy chuckles softly.

She remembers the day she waddled into the hospital, alone and in excruciating pain, terrified to her very core as Addison demanded her entrance into the world. She remembers having to look the nurse in the eye and tell her she's alone and only seventeen, getting that look for the thousandth time in nine months. She remembers the sting in her back and the stranger's hand that held hers because she had no one else. She remembers looking down at the child being handed to her, so tiny she's instantly terrified she'll break her. She remembers muttering the first name that comes to her mind and instantly falling head over heels for the little roll of pink blankets in her arms. She thought, at that time, that maybe after everything that she'd done she could finally have happiness in her life with Addison.

''It's just you and me now, isn't it?'' she voices quietly now, not expecting a reply especially when the infant's eyes begin to flutter.

She wipes a hand over the hard creases on her forehead, still swaying back and forth to rock the child to a sleep they both desperately need. She skims her eyes over the baby and her blanket, reveling in this moment, the first true bonding experience they've had.



Addison's head lies heavily on her mother's lap, feeling how gentle Kennedy's touch is as her fingers slowly stroke the waves of her hair. The child is oblivious to the tension in the room but it's all Kennedy can feel. The cleanliness of a doctor's office never did sit well with her, even in her own youth. It's been a few years and she's learned to read her daughter like a book. She can tell the meaning behind every whimper, every smile, every cocking of an eyebrow. It's gotten easier since Addison has learned the art of speaking. That's why she's visiting today. The way Addie has been sleeping constantly and barely eating has finally snapped her mother into digging out some money to afford the payment for the pediatrician.

Absentmindedly, she twirls strands of the child's thin chestnut hair around her finger, restless until the door finally swings open and two faces with quite blank and impassive expressions emerge.

Kennedy ushers Addison to stand and allow herself to be scooped up. They rise to greet the stiff physician and his assisting nurse.

''Ms. Ellis, can we talk in private?''

Instantly, the grave look hinting in his eyes and her motherly instinct tell her something is wrong. Horribly wrong. She allows Addison to be swiftly passed to the nurse, who takes her out and into a separate play room.

''You were right to bring her in,'' the doctor tells her, but there's blame in his voice. It's his way of scorning her for lagging behind on check-ups over the critical months of Addison's development.

She feels dreadful about it, but she doesn't imagine his findings as anything that could be worse than a common cold or even a bit of pneumonia based on Addison's recent symptoms. But when he finally explains what he's found, the breath is knocked out of her lungs instantly.

''We believe it's leukemia.''

He gives her two years. Maybe three if she's lucky. He tells Kennedy that she's going to need treatment and then shoves the bills in her face.

She screams once the news sets in. Her back sinks down against the wall as she thinks of an entire overwhelming mixture of emotions. Denial at first. She can't believe it. It simply can’t be. Not Addie. Not her Addie. But slowly, the more she’s told to calm down and take this all seriously, she runs through the stages of acceptance. She feels the guilt for not bringing her in sooner. Anger for being so helpless. Desperation as she begs the doctor to rerun the tests for maybe they made a mistake, maybe the vials got switched, maybe there's still a chance.

She tries to compose herself before they bring Addison back in. They make her promise: don't cry. You'll scare her. And she tries, she really, truly does. But she can't succeed. The moment she lays eyes on the toddler, tremors shoot down her body and instantly Addison is afraid.

''What's wrong, Mama?'' she just keeps asking over and over.

She can't find it in her to tell her just yet. The words can't be formed. So, for the first time, she bottles it. She lies to her. With a shake of her head and an unconvincing smile, she assures her that she's fine.

''Just an eyelash in my eye.''

For months, she assumes it's fate. This is karma getting her back for what she's done. For what she was blamed for. For what her parents made her believe she'd caused. But every day she can't help but argue with herself: Why Addison? Why does she have to suffer when her mother is the wrongdoer? Why is God's strange way of punishing her sins through an innocent child?

There will never be answers to her countless questions. She realizes this. Over time, tending to Addison as she progressively gets sicker and sicker becomes a routine, and she's able to mask her pain and regret towards it all each day, no matter how much it kills her to see that every tear Addison cries is her fault.

But one day, it becomes too much. It's too maddening. She begins to lose sight of herself and mistrust her control to properly care for the child when her own guilt towers over everything. She needs help desperately. So with the pick of a phone and touch of a few old, familiar numbers, she sends out her SOS to the only person she knows would help her in a heartbeat.

She needs help to save her daughter and she's willing to break his heart to do it.



''Kenn, you are so stupid.''

She sits rigidly against the wall with her head uncomfortably leaning back on it, occasionally being banged to remind her she's still able to feel something.

''I know,'' she sighs to Gemma under her breath.

Her heart is tired. It's worn from living this life for too long, from constantly trying to keep people outside the wall that she's built up so high to protect herself and her daughter. Even when she speaks, her words are blurred together and barely audible. She stares so far off into some distant state of consciousness that she can't even see Gemma sitting across from her with her head in her hands.

''Why didn't you just tell him? He just...he left. Just like that. Two minutes and gone.''

Kennedy doesn't hear what Gemma's going on about. Her eyes stay locked on the far wall, already reliving the conversation in her mind. She remembers the agony on his face so well, it almost brings her to tears.

''I've been calling him nonstop for hours.'' Gemma rubs her temples firmly. ''He won't answer.''

She looks up at Kennedy, her eyebrows creased together in confusion, expecting a response of some sort but getting none.

''Well say something, Kenn!''

The room remains silent with the exception of the slow rhythm of Addison's heart beeping into the machine in the corner.

Gemma groans, surrendering her attempts to get Kennedy to solve this very bizarre, very complicated problem they've encountered.

''I don't know why you didn't stop him,'' she says mostly to herself, ''Why you didn't just tell him everything. Scream it at him if he wasn't listening.''

Gemma knows all of this is doing no amount of good. Her complaining and regret towards how the conversation turned out has been going on for hours, yet nothing has changed.

Kennedy gently reaches for Addison's hand, holding it limp in her own.

''God, what's she going to say when she wakes up...'' Gemma groans when she realizes how disappointed the child will be to open her eyes and find the man she believes to be her father gone. The man she already loves and doesn't ever want to leave her.

Addison's tiny, cold fingers are separated between her mother's. Kennedy doesn't want to think about these hands reaching for him and finding nothing but thin air.

''For God's sake, Kennedy, say something! Anything!''

Still, she doesn't oblige. She remains soundless in response to the command, earning nothing but more of Gemma's frustration. She has nothing to say---she knew this was going to happen. She expected it.

She’s silent for many hours after that, merely nodding here and there at doctor's comments and requests to run more tests and treatments. She doesn't eat, she doesn't drink, she doesn't even move one inch from her spot in her usual chair. Her eyes stay locked on Addison with the exception of when they stray towards the empty chair on the other side of the bed, wondering if it will ever be filled again.

''You know,'' Gemma mutters thickly once evening rolls around. Her incredulous anger towards the entire situation is obvious in her voice. ''I think you're a masochist.''

When the word escapes her, she's rewarded with the first look in the eye that Kennedy has given her all day.

''Yeah,'' she continues with a confident nod, ''You like to hurt. You like to punish yourself because you don't think you're worthy of anything else.''

''I'm not punishing myself,'' Kennedy softly objects.

''Yes, you are. You won't call him or fight for him. You think everything horrible is happening to you because you've done something to deserve it.''

When she begins to feel herself resonate with Kennedy, she doesn't stop her analysis.

''You could've avoided this whole bloody thing if you'd just told him the truth from the beginning. In that coffee shop. Plain and simple. But no, you had to lie to him all this time and weave yourself this web that you can't get out of now that it's wound so tightly around you and him and her. And even me, Kenn. I should've told him myself when I had the chance because you're just too hung up on your stupid guilt and lack of even the least bit of guts to succeed at it.''

Kennedy opens her mouth to object, but it's shut when she realizes that it's probably useless. She turns her head back towards Addison, hiding behind her wall again.

''See, that's what you do!'' Gemma observes, ''You push people away! You're pushing me away right now and you drove him right out with your ways. You're a masochist, Kenn.''

''If your goal is to make me feel any worse than I already did, congratulations,'' Kennedy whispers softly, seemingly blanked out of emotion, ''You did it. Now if you want to leave, too, that's fine. Masochist or not, I thought you were my friend no matter what.''

Gemma crosses the room to kneel beside her chair.

''I am your friend, Kenn,'' she pleads, ''I'll always be your friend. I promised I wouldn't leave, and look. I'm still here, aren't I?''

Kennedy stays on Addison, not wanting to look at Gemma.

''But I'm trying to help you by being honest with you. Masochism is a disorder. It's not some insult I'm using to make you feel bad about yourself. You need help, Kenn. And there's nothing wrong with that. After everything that's happened, I'm not surprised that you do.''

Kennedy turns to see her pleading face and speaks firmly. ''I didn't know being upset when your daughter is sick was a sign of a mental disorder.''

''It's not that. It's everything,'' Gemma interjects, ''Okay, look, maybe I brought this up the wrong way. I wasn't trying to insult you. But Kenn, you've shown signs of it all your life. Remember how long it took you to say yes to Harry when we were kids? You didn't want to be with him because you thought you didn't deserve him.''

When she says his name, Kennedy cringes.

''And then all of this has happened,'' she goes on, ''You were too ashamed of telling him in the beginning. You're still too ashamed.''

''Gemma, stop trying to diagnose me. You have no idea how I think or why I do the things I do. So please, just leave me alone right now.''

Gemma bites the inside of her lip, sighing. She stares up at Kennedy's distant eyes for a long time before rising from her spot against the chair and turning towards her own area by the door.

''It's not your fault, you know,'' she says quietly, her back turned, ''You were taught to think like this.''

With her final words on the matter, Gemma sits and pulls out her phone to restart her calls to him, desperate to bring him back if not for Kennedy's sake than for Addison's.



Addison loses weight practically by the hour. It's like watching a flower wilt, bit by bit as time goes on, descending to the ground as it can no longer support itself. It's heartbreaking to watch that even while she sleeps, her face is the poster of misery.

The doctors are giving her everything they can, but it's not enough. It's never enough. Gemma sits in her corner constantly with her phone pressed to her ear, listening to the unanswered rings and eventually the same voicemail greeting sounded in his deep, smooth voice that she's getting tired of memorizing. She leaves message after message, begging him to pick up the phone or come back to the hospital. She doesn't say the words that would make it happen in a heartbeat--the truth--because she knows Kennedy needs to be the one to tell him. She has no place in this matter, not even after the intervening she's already done with them.

One of the main doctors enters the room and lays eyes on Kennedy in the same chair, same posture, same vacant expression she's had for the past day. He asks for a word with her and bleakly she accepts.

''The treatment isn't working, Ms. Ellis,'' he tells her bluntly, ''We're giving her the most aggressive form of the therapy and seeing no signs of response. The resistance against it is too high.''

Tears would be building in her eyes if she didn't already foresee this happening.

''If she's going to make it to next week, we have to do the marrow procedure. As soon as possible.''

Gemma hangs up yet another unanswered call and starts again, even more determined as she overhears the news.

''Has Mr. Styles expressed any interest yet? We haven't gotten an answer.''

''We haven't either...'' Gemma mutters angrily.

Kennedy shakes her head at the doctor's confusion.

''We have to keep testing, please,'' she tells him in a tiny voice.

He nods. ''We'll look through the bank.''

After the irony of hearing him tell them to ''have a good day'' on his way out the door, Kennedy turns to Gemma and scolds her phone.

''It's useless,'' she spits, ''Just stop trying.''

Gemma turns to her with wide eyes.

''You're just going to give up? Are you mad? He's a match, Kenn!''

''He doesn't want to do it. End of discussion.''

''I don't know what's going on in that mind of yours,'' Gemma shakes her head, ''But I'm glad it's not going on in mine. I'm going to call him, he's going to come, and we're going to do this transplant. If you don't want to say a word to him about the truth, then fine. That's on you. But I'm not letting you take her down with you.''

Her firm words practically echo off the walls as Kennedy takes them in. She's silent, unable to even think of a refuting response, until a barely forceful grip tightens on her hand and a small voice is heard.

''Mama?''

Kennedy turns to the child and tries to cover up the tears building in her eyes. It's become almost second nature to quickly wipe away any trace of negative emotion when Addison is watching.

''Hi, sweetheart.''

She doesn't ask how she's feeling. She already knows the answer by how frail her sunken cheeks are.

''I don't want to go back to sleep,'' she manages to get out, her eyes wide with tears.

''Why not?''

Gemma rushes to exit the room to leave another desperate voicemail without the risk of the child listening in.

''I just...I don't want to.''

''Doesn't sleeping make it better?'' Kennedy asks, caressing the side of her face with the back of her hand.

If Addison could, she'd shake her head.

''No, I have bad dreams.''

Kennedy stares down at her with sad eyes. ''About what?''

''Monsters.''

Addison's voice breaks when she says it, but Kennedy is quick to catch her fear.

''Nothing can hurt you. Not while I'm here. Especially any awful monsters. They won't know what hit them after I'm through.''

''I know,'' she expresses as much of a faint smile as she can.

Addison receives a kiss on her forehead that's cold to the touch, and once she's free to take in the rest of the room, especially her beloveds Charlie and Henry in the crook of her arm, she notices something's missing.

''Where did everyone go?'' she asks curiously, eyes slowly scanning the empty room.

Kennedy takes a deep breath. ''Um, Gemma's out in the hall on the phone. She'll be in to say hi in a little bit.''

She's crossing her fingers behind her back, hoping desperately that the expected words won't come out of her mouth. But it's useless. She knows it in the back of her mind. Of course she'll ask the question. She loves him too much not to.

Addison's eyes fall on the pink rabbit nestled against her.

''Where's Daddy?''

Like it's always done, the word makes cold shivers creep up Kennedy's back.

''Addie,'' she sighs, fighting the stinging in her own eyes, ''Harry's not here right now.''

''Where is he?''

She bites down on her lip. She doesn't know how to explain this in a way that Addison will understand.

''Did he get sick again?'' Addie almost smiles.

Kennedy pretends to laugh along as she thinks of how to answer the child's question. If she ignores it, she'll just keep asking. And waiting. Waiting for someone who won't come.

''If he's sick, he should be here with all the doctors,'' Addison reasons, ''Or I'll take care of him.''

''Addie, I don't know how long he'll be away. He's...very busy.''

''Doing Daddy stuff? Like work.''

Kennedy tries to ignore how much her eyes brighten with pride as she imagines her supposed father.

''He might not be back for...a while.''

''Why?'' the child asks, ''He said he wasn't going anywhere.''

''I know, but sometimes things happen. Unexpected things.''

Addison's eyebrows weakly crease together. ''What does 'unexpected' mean?''

''It means you didn't see it coming.''

''Oh. Daddy was unexpected.''

''Yes,'' Kennedy slowly nods, ''He was.''

''If he comes when I'm asleep, will you wake me up?''

She nods more animatedly, promising her that she will just to save Addison from the sadness and loss she's feeling right now.

After a few minutes, Gemma returns to the room and plasters a smile over her worry lines to greet the child, who's happy to see her. But seeing how much effort it takes her to even move a finger breaks Gemma's heart and has her more motivated than ever to set Kennedy's irrationality aside and focus on contacting Harry.



Days pass without a word. Or, much worse, another match. Gemma begins to leave for hours each day, probably to bang on Harry's flat door but Kennedy never asks to clarify.

She doesn't care about anything anymore. She can't even bring herself to sleep. She's a mess if she wasn't already before she confessed to him. Constantly, she's replaying their conversation in her head. She realizes she went about it all wrong. Her emotions were running too high for her to rationally explain to him everything he'd needed to hear. She remembers the look of complete bliss in his eyes when she told him she still loved him and how that look transformed nearly instantly into its absolute opposite: hatred. The darkness in his face and tears streaming down it created the most agonizing image of him she's ever seen. No wonder he left, and no wonder he's probably never going to come back.

In the back of her mind, she knows she saw this coming. She deserved it after what she's been doing to him all this time. It was only fate playing its game once again, and she realizes now that she'll always be the loser.

''Mama, can I ask something?'' Addison softly voices, hugging her stuffed toys close.

Kennedy brings herself down to earth, shutting out thoughts of him that deepened the creases of her eyebrows and would frighten Addison. She slips into her deceiving mask once more.

She clears her throat. ''Of course.''

''Why do people die?''

Kennedy's stomach seems to fall inside her abdomen. She didn't expect this kind of question. Seeing the longing in Addie's eyes tells her she can't refuse to answer it. The child needs a sense of reassurance right now, especially with how many times she's asked if her daddy's here and received nothing but a weak ''no.''

''Addie,'' Kennedy sighs, taking her hands, ''It's...very complicated. Sometimes it's hard to understand. I'll tell you a story, alright?''

''Alright.''

Kennedy smiles weakly. ''Once upon a time, there was a flower.''

''Was it a daisy?'' Addison's face lights up.

''Yes, it was a daisy. And you know what? Even her name was Daisy.''

The toddler grins. Daisies are her favorites.

''Daisy was a happy flower. She had everything a daisy could want. Lots of sunlight, water, soil. Life was wonderful. Until one day, an awful storm came and washed away so much of Daisy's home. It started a drought where no rain came for a long, long time.''

Addison looks on as attentively as possible.

''Daisy tried so hard to stay standing,'' Kennedy goes on, her voice getting smaller and smaller as the words come out. It's the first time she's trying to explain to Addison the meaning of death. ''But there was no water for her to drink and the soil was so dry. Daisy couldn't live in her home anymore, even though she tried so very hard.''

''Did Daisy die?''

Kennedy tries to swallow the lump in the back of her throat and fails.

''Yes,'' she nods, ''Daisy died. But you know what happened? New daisies grew and they always remembered her. Life went on after Daisy because dying is part of life. You can't have life without death.''

''Oh,'' the look of comprehension touches Addison's eyes, ''Okay.''

It always amazes Kennedy how quickly Addison seems to understand certain things, even when she's as ill as she is now. She doesn't ask any further questions about death or daisies or, thankfully, if what happened to the flower is what's happening to her.

But when evening comes around and it's time for the child to get some sleep, she tugs on her mother's sleeve and asks her something that's been on her mind all day.

''If someone came with some water and took care of her, would Daisy stay alive?''

Kennedy notes how she clings extra hard to the pink rabbit in her hands.

''Yes,'' she whispers, ''She would.''



It's around half past nine in the evening when Gemma finally returns from her most recent escapade around London, searching here and there for her brother but finding no success. The woman walking alongside her down the long hall is equally as frustrated but a bit more overwhelmed as she's just been given a breakdown of the situation. She walks with unsteady imbalance, trying hard to keep up with Gemma as much as she can.

When the room comes into view, they spot Kennedy with her leg propped up on her chair and her forehead pressed to her knee, just sitting there as she's done for hours. Gemma takes her by surprise when she and her visitor enter through the doorway.

Immediately, Kennedy rises, taking in the new guest.

''Anne?'' she whispers in surprise.

The woman before her smiles genuinely and almost sympathetically. She's the spitting image of her two children, even after four years of not seeing her.

''Hi, sweetheart.'' There's clear uneasiness in her voice.

She pulls her into a comforting hug and it's much like the hugs she used to give back when Kennedy was seventeen and dating her son.

''I needed help after the first unsuccessful trips,'' Gemma sighs, ''So I called Mum.''

''And I can take that test for you,'' Anne points as she holds Kennedy at arm's length and examines her. ''Kennedy, you look exhausted. And thin, darling. Have you been eating?''

''She hasn't slept in about four days. But don't tell her to sleep. She won't listen,'' Gemma informs her.

Kennedy can merely stare down at the floor beneath her. The shame is overwhelming.

Anne eyes her for a long while, scanning over the dark circles under her eyes and the cheekbones sticking out. But when her gaze lands beyond her shoulder and onto Addison asleep in her bed, her breath catches.

It's difficult for Kennedy to think of what to say, so she doesn't say anything. She's not sure how much of the situation Anne is caught up on, but the way she looks down at Addison tells her she knows more than she probably wants her to know.

Anne turns to examine the child. She's never seen a weaker, duller human being in her life, and especially not one as small as Addison.

Gemma takes advantage of the moment and whispers into Kennedy's ear.

''All she knows is she's your daughter,'' she assures, ''She thinks Harry's not here because he's with Miranda.''

For reasons she can't yet decipher, this news makes her feel an exhausting combination of relief and disappointment. Relief because she's still free of being judged by one person, Anne. But disappointment because this is one more web of lies she has to weave to yet another person, which she believes will turn her mad if it hasn't already.



Kennedy sits out in the waiting lobby with an untouched, stale cup of coffee on the front table and an empty dispenser of painkillers clutched tightly in her hand. Her mind is spinning in a million different directions, and strangely more than anything she thinks of what Gemma told her before her mother arrived.

You're a masochist, Kennedy.

The word doesn't sound good in her head at all. It makes her feel like a patient with a straightjacket in a room with padded walls. It makes her feel vulnerable and she despises it.

But much to her surprise, she hasn't yet ruled it out.

She's been sitting here for ages, composing herself after one of her many anxiety attacks, and it doesn't shock her to hear the sound of heeled boots softly approaching and then taking a seat beside her. She knows who it is before she looks up. She was expecting this and even hoping for it.

''Be honest with me,'' Anne asks her gently, ''How are you?''

''I'm fine.'' She grips onto the pills even harder.

Anne shifts to face her, tucking one leg under the other and taking her free hand.

''Kennedy,'' she sighs, ''Stop holding it in. You always came to me for help, remember? I'm still here. Even after what happened, I'm here for you.''

Kennedy realizes that she's still under the impression that she abandoned her son in that field out of pure heartlessness. How she can still be here is beyond her.

''This can't be easy for you. If that were my child in that bed,'' she shivers, ''I don't know what I would do. Talk to me. How do you feel?''

Kennedy stares down at her lap, twiddling her fingers and pulling at her skin.

''I feel helpless.''

She keeps her eyes pointed downwards the entire time she speaks.

''I can't make this all go away for her. It was always me and her. That's what it's been for the past three years. She's been the only person I had.''

Anne sighs, tightening her grip on her hands.

''But I feel like giving up,'' she sadly admits, ''Because it's not worth it anymore to put her through so much and have none of it be real in the end. Nothing we've done has worked. It seems selfish to want to put her through so much pain just because I don't want to lose her.''

''You know,'' Anne begins softly, ''I've had a lot of questions since Gemma called. Most of them haven't been answered. Some of them I have a feeling I already know the answers to. But there's one thing I know for a fact.''

She pauses, waiting until Kennedy makes eye contact.

''It's never fair when a child is sick,'' she declares, ''Never. But you can't give up. She hasn't given up yet, has she? She's still in there fighting. We still have a chance with this bone marrow business, don't we? So let's do it. Find a match. Get her what she needs. Save her life.''

As if her words in that moment instantly turned something on inside Kennedy's brain, she realizes she has to start trying as much as Gemma has. She has to start fighting as hard as Gemma is. Not for herself and her own loose ropes, but for her daughter.

''You're right,'' she answers Anne, ''I don't know why it hasn't clicked with me before, but you're right. Can you...excuse me for a moment?''

Anne nods, allowing her to rise from her seat and depart into a separate area beside one of the vending machines. She pulls out the cell phone in her back pocket and shakily dials the number.

Every ring makes her heart pound. Even the voicemail greeting has her knees shaking with nerves. She doesn't leave a five minute long message like Gemma. She doesn't beg or plead or come clean to him over a phone. She can't bring herself to. What she needs to say has to happen in person. But she hopes that her missed call among the long list of calls from Gemma will strengthen the chance that he'll someday call back.



It's dark in the hospital wing. Nearly pitch black if it weren't for the lights illuminating from the nurse computers in the front of the wing. Kennedy awakens abruptly from her spot against Anne's shoulder. After an hour of sharing her feelings with Anne, showing her how many pill bottles she's run through and the sort, eventually she fell asleep and brought Anne with her. It's comforting to be in this position. Anne's always been filler for the whole ''mother she wishes she had'' type of thing, and being away from her for these years has made her forget how healing she can be. Just by sitting with her and sharing with her, she feels less alone. Anne's ignorance about the situation is the only thing that makes it feel off.

Gently, her hand falls on Anne's knee and tries to shake her awake. Visiting hours are nearly finished and she doesn't want her to have to be forced to leave by one of the nurses. It takes a moment, but eventually she stirs and realizes the time.

''Time always escapes us when we talk, doesn't it?'' she laughs, remembering their conversations from the past that would last for hours and both Harry and Gemma would nag for them to stop already. ''I better be off. I can come back tomorrow for the test, like they said.''

''Thank you,'' Kennedy tells her genuinely, ''It means a lot. All of it.''

Anne smiles, leaning over to kiss her forehead.

''I'll just use the restroom and head out.'' She rises and goes off in the direction that Kennedy points down the hall.

Kennedy stands herself and stretches, wiping the sleep from her eyes. It feels good to have at least a bit of rest. She's surprised she could fall asleep, but having Anne around makes it easier. She starts quickly for the room where Addison sleeps, hoping she didn't wake up while she wasn't there. She scolds herself for being careless about that. The last thing she wants is for Addison to ever open her eyes and see she's alone.

As she turns the corner and enters the room, she sees the child is still asleep in her bed, seemingly relaxed and at ease, even with the steady dose of medication entering her bloodstream through the many tubes protruding from her wrist. Kennedy sighs when she sees Gemma reading a magazine in her corner.

''I was gonna wake you,'' Gemma quietly says, ''But you looked like you needed the sleep.''

Kennedy stretches her arms slightly. ''Yeah,'' she breathes, ''I did.''

''Did you tell her?''

She shakes her head.

''Good. I don't think she'd be here if she knew, to be honest.''

''Me neither.''

Kennedy approaches Addison, reaching to fix her blankets but noticing they're already softly snuffed around her. One thing catches her eye that sits underneath the blankets, small and close to Addison's arm. She reaches for it, holding it in her hand and seeing it's another stuffed animal she hasn't yet seen. Another bear, this time it's white with a ribbon tied around its neck.

''She'll love it,'' she smiles.

Gemma looks up from her magazine. ''Love what?''

Kennedy shows her the bear.

''Where did that come from?''

Her eyebrows crease together. ''You didn't bring it?''

Gemma shakes her head.

''Your mum must have then.''

''No, she came straight from the house when I picked her up.''

The more Kennedy thinks about it, the more her eyes widen.

''Have you been here this whole time?'' she asks.

''Um, I left for a bit.'' The realization begins to dawn on Gemma as well. ''I went to...Harry's. He didn't answer...''

The bear in Kennedy's hands feels heavy all of a sudden.

''Because he was here.''