"Victim's being held at gunpoint!" Carisi says as I arrive on the scene with my new partner, Lavinia.

"Who is the victim? Do we know yet?" I ask as Lavinia surveys the damage done to the building.

"Christina Harper, seventeen, heir to—"

"Joshua Harper, the architect mogul," Lavinia replies. "He's my fiancé Paxton's partner in their architecture firm."

"You know him?" Carisi asks.

Lavinia nods. "Yeah, for about five years or so. That's when Paxton was wining and dining him, trying to get him to invest in his firm. Now it's a top-three firm in New York, all because of Harper's investments..."

"With your mom on loan to Hostage Negotiations for the next two weeks, it's my call as Lieutenant of SVU to decide what to do next," Carisi reports to me as Lavinia looks up at the building again.

"I could go up," Lavinia suggests, stepping forward. "It'd be better for me to go up, anyhow. I have history with Christina..."

"The suspect could use that against you," I reply without missing a beat before turning to Carisi. "Send me up."

"I don't know," Carisi replied. "You're married, plus you've got three kids. It's not the best idea..."

I step forward then, narrowing my eyes at Carisi. "Both my mother and grandmother and great-grandmother put their lives on the line more times than I can count. You knew them all, and served under three of them. You know how our family works, Carisi—we're dedicated to the job in an endless manner. Send me in there."

Carisi looks shocked at my declaration. "I haven't seen someone that fearless since Liv was Captain of SVU," he says quietly. He looks up at the building again for a moment before he nods. "While your comradery with the victim could help in this situation, Lavinia, I'm afraid that it's not enough. We're going with anonymity for the safety of the suspect."

Lavinia sighs. "Understood, lieutenant."

Carisi takes ahold of my arm and brings me up towards the SWAT team, which is stationed at the glass double doors of the building. "Get her outfitted with a vest and anything else needed to ensure this goes smoothly," he orders, and almost immediately the team sets to work. Carisi stands guard beside me until I've been dressed to kill, and brings me up to the doors themselves. "I've been told that they're on the twenty-fifth floor."

"Top floor?" I ask, placing my hand upon the door handle.

"Affirmative," Carisi replies.

I nod, stepping forward. "Okay," I reply. I pull open the door and step inside, moving quickly across the foyer and walking towards the elevator. Just as I reach out to push the elevator button, I turn and give a final look outside. I feel my lips part automatically, wanting to say something as I see my mother stepping out of a car just behind Carisi. I turn and look at the elevator doors, now open before me, and raise my hand to my mother, giving her a smile as I step inside and press the proper button.

. . .

EDYTHE'S POV

A mother's love is everything to a child; you want it so much, and when you don't have it, it's devastating. When you do, it's like your birthday and Christmas all rolled into one. All you can do is be exactly what they want, when they want, and then everything in life seems to resolve itself. I remember basking in the glow of my mother's love, and, despite our differences, I missed her every damn day of my life. She knew we were different, and although she attempted to mold me into something I wasn't, there was never a dull moment on the job with her, no matter what the topic or situation...

"The final paperwork for your transfer came today," she says, pushing the personal aside and getting right down to business.

"What does that mean?" I ask.

She smiles. "It means you can go on big, undercover assignments now, with Noelle or on your own. Now you're officially my employee, so you don't need a partner as supervision but protection."

"Do you have something in mind?" I asked, wondering if recent developments would not permit any assignments in particular.

She smiles. "Remember that assignment I did with Fin?"

I nod. "Of course—you did it because of me."

"Damn right I did—and I'd do it again in a heartbeat," she says, reaching out her hand and I took it. "You, your siblings, and your father are the most important things in the world to me—I want you to remember that."

I nod. "I remember. Now, what do you have for me?"

"Narcotics has a new captain, Rebecca Lyons—I knew her when she and I were still detectives. Anyhow, since Noelle and her brother Parker are so close, Parker mentioned your ability to get Ryder to talk. Rebecca got her hands on a copy of the footage from Barba and was really impressed with you, Edythe."

I raise my eyebrows. "That's very generous of Captain Lyons."

My mother smiled. "It is. Anyhow, Parker's been given an assignment to help infiltrating one of the groups of Ryder's men. I need you to go in there as Parker's on-again-off-again girlfriend to help him with the bust."

"Wait a minute—couldn't these guys potentially recognize me after my days of giving them favors in exchange for drug ingredients? Besides, Ryder must have men on the inside and the outside that he stays in contact with..."

My mother nods. "Yes, I know. Which is why we thought of that already," she says as there's a tap on her door and I am shocked when Paulo comes inside and waves to me. "After seeing how wonderful a job Paulo did on you the last time you had to go undercover—without my knowledge beforehand, but it's in the past, so we won't dwell on it—I knew I had to find out who Paulo was."

"I was shocked that a woman so young and lively could have a daughter in their twenties, Edythe, but once she explained the adoption, I was up to speed," Paulo replies with a laugh.

"I've hired Paulo as Manhattan Homicide's new stylist," my mother continues swiftly. "He has been trained over the summer to go over cases where men and women have had severe drug addictions and to learn about makeup, hair, skin, habits, and general fashion style," says my mother in a proud voice. "He's ready to take you on and transform you into a fake woman for the assignment. Your code name is Raven Serena Underwood."

"Not highlighted, though, right?" I ask as Paulo plays with my hair, which I'd had trimmed to an inch and a half below my shoulders.

"Oh, no honey—your hair's too dark for that," Paulo says, tutting to himself as he inspects my roots.

My mother chuckles at the double meaning. "No, honey—Serena is your middle name and Raven is your first name."

I nod. "Gotcha," I reply, managing to get Paulo to stop fussing. "But there's one thing we should discuss..."

My mother turns at the sound of her phone vibrating. "Whatever it is can wait until your assignment is over..."

"That's the thing," I reply as Paulo proceeds to fuss again. "How long is this thing going to last?"

She shrugs, writing a text or email reply before turning back to look at me. "You know as well as I do, Edythe, that these things can take weeks. Remember, I couldn't bring you into my home right away during my assignment because the social services didn't want you alone with your father..."

"It's just that if this thing lasts months, we're going to have a real problem on our hands—like, a severe problem..."

My mother rolls her eyes. "Whatever it is, it can be taken care of—what's the problem here, Edythe?"

I bite my lip and look at Paulo, and my mother visibly stiffens. My heart sinks when she tells him to excuse us for a moment, and Paulo leaves down the hall where I assume his office is. I turn back to my mother, and sigh. "I'm sorry," I reply, shaking my head, "this isn't how I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell Lincoln first, but since Henrietta's accident and us coming home weeks earlier than expected, it's been a trying time..."

My mother sighs. "I know it can't be easy—none of us were prepared to lose her, darling." She shakes her head. "How's Leia adjusting?"

"As well as can be expected... Lincoln and I are up late every night talking about what's best for her. She loves the house, but the question about where Henrietta is just keeps coming up in conversation..."

"Have you discussed what you're going to do?"

"Of course, all the time. I really want to adopt her, and since her sperm donor father doesn't have any rights, and her grandparents are deceased and Henrietta's only other sibling is Barney, and he doesn't have any interest in adopting Leia—sad, but true—we're the only other option..."

"You want to be a mother?" my mother asks.

I lock my eyes with hers. "This isn't how I wanted to answer that question," I say, letting out a sigh. "Like I said, Lincoln doesn't even know..."

"Lincoln doesn't know you want to adopt Leia?"

"No, he doesn't know yet—not fully, anyway..."

"Then what are you—?" she asks, and suddenly cuts herself off. "Edythe Isabelle Beckett, do you mean to tell me that you're...?"

I nod. "Yes. Yes, Mom. I'm lying to my husband already..."

My mother runs her hands through her hair briefly before looking me over. "How long have you wanted to...?"

"Immediately," I reply. "Who wouldn't?"

My mother sighs. "I suppose you're right..."

I nod. "Yes," I say quietly. "I just want Leia to be safe and happy, but I don't know how to tell Lincoln..."

"Well, you didn't tell Lincoln, obviously," my mother says.

I roll my eyes. "You're right—I didn't. It was just after our honeymoon got interrupted—what was I supposed to tell him?"

"The truth?"

I shake my head. "No. When we were in Italy, in not so many words, he said that he wanted to hold off on having kids for a while. I couldn't tell him; and we went on all these excursions that the days just got away from us. We were so tired that we hardly slept together for the rest of the honeymoon and the rest of the time, he was getting calls from work. And then we got the phone call about Henrietta's accident and that was that..."

"What about after? It's been weeks," my mother says, a bit impatiently.

"Leia had her initial adjustment period, along with Lincoln opening up another branch of the practice on Long Island to be closer to her," I reply. "It's all been very hectic since the homecoming, Mom," I say, shaking my head. "I would've told you sooner, but all this would've been a lot to unload in just one phone call, and I wasn't even intending on telling you—"

"Edythe!" she cries, hurt.

"—until after I broke the news to Lincoln, which I was going to do, until he got buried in this new case," I say, wishing she would wait before interrupting me. "I know it's not ideal, especially now, but everything is complicated and I'm feeling a little lost right now."

"I know it must not be easy," she says after a period of silence. "Lincoln working all the time... Have you asked him to take it easy and to pay more attention to you and to Leia?"

I shrug. "Doesn't do much good," I reply. "All he does is say that we took off so much time for the summer that he might lose the clientele he's had these last few years if he continues slacking off."

My mother sighs. "I remember when your father and I were first starting out—it was so hard, especially when the argument of competence came up in the office setting. I remember we constantly had to act like virtual strangers when it came to our everyday professional lives. He and I, in the beginning, couldn't keep our hands off each other—I know this might be weird to hear, but let's face it, sweetheart, we're both adults here."

I shrug. "Doesn't bother me," I reply.

"I think we both became so wrapped up in our work that we lost sight of who we really were," she tells me. "When he transferred to IAB, I couldn't wait for him to go—that was when I'd decided to file for divorce and full custody of you, Livi, and Donnie, although you had your own choice to make. I was touched that you wanted to stay with me..."

I sigh. "I suppose since my record have been wiped clean, I can be honest with you now..."

"What?"

"I stayed with you because you were so preoccupied," I reply. "Face it, Mom—I was an addict, and you were my enabler."

My mother sighs, mixing it with a laugh and shaking her head. "Yeah," she says. "I suppose you'd be correct in that statement." She runs her hand along her cherry wood desk, which she has since perched upon. "I don't regret adopting you, sweetheart, I just wish I was a bit older. Let's face it—half the time I didn't know what the hell I was doing."

"It's all a learning curve, Mom."

She smiles. "Are we graded on a curve? Parents?"

"The normal ones and the ones who exceed expectations are."

"And your biological parents?"

I fix her with a look. "We don't have to go there, do we?"

Point taken," she replies. "Listen, honey, if you don't want to do the assignment because of Leia, I understand. Just go over every detail with Noelle and we'll tweak your backstory a bit—Raven Underwood can be Parker's sister while undercover."

I raise an eyebrow. "But their surnames..."

"Half-sister—whatever," my mother says, all-business again as she circles back around her desk and sits.

I bite my lip. "Leia's pediatrician and grief counselor says the transition period is going well," I reply. "Is there any way that I could be snuck out of the operation on nights to go back home to Leia and Lincoln? I know it's a lot to ask, but, as I'm sure you can understand, money is no object."

My mother sighs. "You'd have to go through a trial period," she replies. "As in, the gang would have to trust you. Before that, you're stuck with them."

"How long did it take?" I ask her.

"How long did what take?"

"When you went under with Fin," I reply. "How long did it take before they seemed to trust you?"

"It was quick, because that division's leader had me believing he was a British investigator undercover," she replies. "However, your father understood that I had to be there constantly—we said our goodbyes beforehand. Fin was completely overprotective and said that me entering into a relationship with this agent wasn't a good idea, even though it was all for getting information. I just remember being told to tie up loose ends before I went under..."

"What kinds of loose ends?"

She smiles sadly, lowering her eyes. "I spoke with a lawyer about transferring my custody of you to your father. They said that since he worked in law enforcement that he would still be considered as a good parent..."

"You never told me that," I reply.

She shakes her head at the notion. "It's not something you really talk about—it's just understood that every day you put your life on the line for the protection of innocent people."

"Do you ever wish you became an actress?" I want to know.

My mother chuckles lightly at that. "Oh, you know, maybe—now and again, as the years went by. After a long day that wasn't a very good one, I suppose the thought crosses my mind every so often. But I know full well that if I'd decided that path, I'd still be under my parent's thumb in some way. I became myself when I took this job."

"Became yourself?"

"Exactly," she replies. "My mother was so old-fashioned that she thought certain jobs were only for women."

"That's insane!" I cry. "She was a plastic surgeon—a kind of doctor!"

My mother laughs. "Which is what I told her, but she was under the impression that it was an advanced form of a beautician technician—her words, not mine—and so it qualified as a woman's job."

I shake my heads. "I really hate how other generations automatically assume that they always know best..."

My mother reaches across her desk again and takes my hand. "Well, honey, you yourself think that you know best."

I shrug. "I don't know. Maybe."

"And how about this assignment?" she asks. "Should we give it to Noelle, or do you want it?"

"My call?" I ask.

"Your call."

I sigh. "I'll take it."

"We can't always guarantee your protection," she tells me. "And you'd have to explain as much to Lincoln."

I nod. "I know," I reply. "I just don't know which bombshell would be more appropriate to drop first..."

She smiles. "You'll know when the time is right," she tells me.

. . .

LEIA'S POV

I look down and find myself staring down at the abysmal carpeting this elevator has to offer. Around its perfect rectangular shape are those golden outlines you never seem to know how shiny they will turn out to be. The pattern itself looks to be lines in varying directions and colors, stitched into a dirt-brown color. As I roll my heels onto it as the elevator continues climbing, I sigh, watching the red numbers of the floor indicator, climbing from single to double in a matter of just a few seconds.

The doors chime as the elevator does its job and brings me to the previously agreed upon floor. They come open immediately, and I step into a foyer with highly-polished, cream-colored tiles on the floor. White pillars dot the floor every few feet, reminding me more of a Greek castle than a skyscraper in New York. As planned, I've put bullets in various places, hidden on my person, while I will empty my gun in front of the shooter, so that I'll always be armed. I also have a few concealed weapons as well, so as I'll be able to keep Christina safe. Stepping closer and closer around the bend, I begin to hear Christina's cries and begs for mercy, all behind plate-glass windows of an office.

I felt my stomach drop as I stepped closer, as I saw for the first time who it was that was threatening Christina, holding her in a vice-like grip with a gun to her temple, not letting go, and likely getting off to her cries of pain. "Son of a bitch escaped or got out of jail," I whispered, throwing myself behind a wall before either of them could see me. "Carisi," I hiss into my radio. "Carisi! It's Detective Torrance! Do you copy?"

"We got you loud and clear, Torrance," Carisi assures me on the other end. "Tell me—what do you got?"

"The name of the suspect," I say, peeking out from around the corner, so as to check and see if they've seen me yet—they hadn't.

"You know him?" Carisi ask. "Or did you recognize his M.O.?"

"Neither," I reply. "My mother knows him."

"Your mother?" Carisi demands as static greets my ears. "Hold on..."

"Honey, it's me," my mother says into my radio. "What are you talking about? I need to know who the suspect is..."

"Ryder Knox," I reply. "I remember you showed me that article that The Times wrote after Grandma..." I deliberately cut myself off, not wanting to bring back any bad memories for her. "I know it's him—I saw the tattoo on his forearm, and that god-awful red streak to his hair. It's him, Mom. I'm positive."

"Get Christina out of there quickly," my mother tells me. "Do your best—and don't you dare get shot!"

"On it, love you, too," I say, concealing my radio again. I go around the corner carefully, noticing that Ryder is positioned himself to the windows facing outside and seems to be threatening to kick one out and to kill Christina. "Not on my watch," I mutter to myself, inching forward. The door is partially open, and I know that if I can sneak across the office, pistol-whip Ryder, grab Christina, and get his gun away from him, then everything will work itself out. I slip in through the crack in the door, and just as in inch across the office floor, the hairs on the back of my neck become erect as Ryder inhales.

"Ah, delicious," he says softly into Christina's hair. "It can't be Edythe Grayson, now can it?"

Sick son of a bitch, I think to myself. "No," I reply. "Not even close."

Ryder turns around then, still keeping his grip upon Christina, whose blue eyes are flooded with tears. He chuckles, his laugh causing Christina to shake ever so slightly from the movement. "I should've known that Edythe would pro-create eventually, and have herself a family..."

"No thanks to you," I reply, bitterly. "If you had it your way, you'd have had her be your little errand girl forever."

Ryder chuckles. "She was happy to do it."

I raise an eyebrow. "Oh? How do you know that? Did you compensate her for all she did for you?"

"In drugs," Ryder says, pulling Christina closer and inhaling the sweat from her hair follicles. "Your mother cost me a pretty penny when it came to the stash I'd slowly accumulated over the years. All I know is, she liked getting freaky, if you know what I mean..."

"Cut the crap," I say, forcing my voice to remain bitingly calm. "I know about the rapes, Knox. Don't even try to get out of it."

"It wasn't rape!" Ryder yelled at me, causing Christina to sob quietly in his firm grip around her. "That bitch wanted it! She'd damn near beg for it when she was in one of her moods!"

I feel myself shaking at his words—not in fear, but in anger. What gave him the right to say such things to my mother?!

Ryder laughed at me. "Probably sampled the delights of the nasty yourself," he says, kissing Christina's temple, just below where his gun was pointed. "I see that I've frightened you—that's all right. Once I have a bit more fun with Christina here, it'll be your turn. You'll like it," he assures me, his tone full of mirth. "Trust me, you'll like it—just like your mother did."

I found that, in that moment, I was unable to stop myself, and this seemed to surprise Ryder completely. I ran for him then, causing him to retreat in the direction of the back wall. "Let her go!" I screamed, and to my surprise, he did let Christina go, and she stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. "Get out of here," I tell her, my eyes locked on Ryder. As Christina ran out, I ran towards him, knocking the gun from his hand and shoving him up against the wall with all of my weight, causing his ugly eyes to bug out at me. "You'll find that I'm not some frightened girl for you to play with!" I hiss up at him; I was nearly a foot shorter than he was, but due to my vigorous combat training, I knew I could take him easily.

Ryder tried to inch away from me. "Really, I didn't mean to—"

"Shut up," I say to him from between my teeth.

Something clicks from my abdomen then, and I feel something metallic being pushed into me then. "You," he whispers to me, and decisively fires into my stomach without mercy.

I made a grab for him then, ignoring the telltale warmth and seeping feeling of something and threw him onto the table taking up most of the meeting room. I threw him so hard that a deep crack formed in its middle, splitting down the sides and echoing around the room, and Ryder lost control of his gun. "Did you rape Christina?" I hiss down at him, and find satisfaction at him whimpering like a baby. "Did you rape Christina Harper?!"

"Yes!" Ryder screamed, his eyes locking with mine. "And she liked it!" he said, his eyes full of crazed anger, before knocking his forehead with mine with full force and darting towards the door. As he ran, I tried to follow in a daze, but thankfully the son of a bitch tripped on his way out. But then, he was off like a light again, and I rushed to follow him.

"Stop!" I screamed, my voice echoing off the walls. "Hold it right there!" In that next moment, I saw Ryder reaching for something from his pocket as he turned around to face me—I recognized the handle of a gun. Thinking quickly, I grabbed my weapon and fired a round into his spine, and he collapsed to the ground. I felt relief wash through me then as the doors opened, and saw my mother and Carisi coming into the vicinity with a SWAT team.

"Get him to a bus," Carisi says as Ryder writhes on the ground.

Ryder moans, "I've been shot..."

"Shut up!" Carisi says, looking at him scathingly as Ryder moaned in an effort for sympathy. "You're lucky to be alive."

My mother runs to me then, smiling. "Christina's safe—en route to Mercy Hospital with Lavinia," she tells me.

I nod at her. "Good, good."

She looks me over. "Clean shot?"

"He confessed to raping Christina," I reply. "Warranted, I suppose. And then he tried to make a run for it. Check his pocket," I say to the SWAT team as a gurney is brought upstairs.

One of the guys snaps on a pair of gloves as Carisi stands by; he promptly removes the concealed gun I'd seen earlier. "We'll take this in to be examined," he tells us as Ryder is put onto a gurney. "We'll let you know as soon as we've got something to see if there are any bodies on it."

"Thanks," Carisi says appreciatively, before turning back to me. Suddenly, his pale eyes widen, and he steps closer. "Captain..."

My mother turns to look at him before following his eyes. Promptly, she rips off my vest and lets out a cry of shock. "Oh, my baby..."

It is then that I feel, without the pressure of the vest, something warm creeping forth out of me. Looking down, I see my own blood doing damage to the beautiful and shiny cream-colored tiles at my feet. I am shaking then, and whisper, "Mom, I need a bus..." before my knees buckle and I see black.

. . .

"She's coming out of it now," says an unfamiliar voice. "Now, I know everyone's anxious to see to her well-being, as well as getting her statement, but as her doctor, I take precedence for the moment." The voice, full of authority, matches Dr. Calloway's voice, I remember, as my eyes flutter open and she smiles down at me in a kind way. "Hello, Detective Torrance."

Looking around, I spot my mother and Owen in the room with my, and I sigh. "Is it all right if I speak to my doctor alone, please? Without an audience? I need time to decompress..."

Owen sighs. "It's your right," he replies, kissing me on the cheek. "Come on, Edythe."

"You're right," my mother says, clasping my hand before slipping out of there at Owen's heels.

I turn to Dr. Calloway and smile at her; despite the minor headache I have and the slight pain to my ribs when I breathe, I feel fine. "Clean bill of health?"

"Now," Dr. Calloway says, and sighs. She sits down next to me and opens the file folder and checks it over briefly before looking up at me. "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, Detective Torrance."

"If it's bad news, feel free to call me Leia," I tell her, shifting so as I'm in a more upright position on the bed. "Tell me."

"It seems as though you were pregnant, Leia," she says quietly.

"Pregnant?" I demand.

"About three months," Dr. Calloway confirms, looking over my chart. "It says here that you delivered twins seven months ago..."

"Did... Did the bullet kill my baby?" I whisper, my voice shaking.

"From what we've gleaned from the test results is the bullet made immediate impact with your uterus, rupturing it completely and, I'm afraid, beyond any repair," she replied, her voice grave.

I feel my hands enclosing into fists along the cheap hospital comforter. It is a pale blue color, and is frayed at the edges. "You can detect gender at twelve weeks," I say, my voice a monotone.

"Yes, we can, but..."

The moment my eyes lock to hers, she senses that I will not be deterred. "Tell me, then, Dr. Calloway. What was the gender of my baby?"

She sighs. "It was a boy, Leia."

I nod then, ignoring the tears falling down my face. "Well, Owen and I weren't sure if we wanted more children anyhow. Oh, well. We have plenty of time to try again, if we..."

"No, Leia, you don't understand."

I look up at her, shaking my head. "What do you mean?"

"Everything was beyond our repair," she tells me gently.

I feel myself giving her a slight nod. "Everything, as in...?"

"We had to perform an emergency hysterectomy," Dr. Calloway replies, her voice small and light. "I'm so sorry—once the bullet tore through and caused your child to die upon impact, we were unable to do anything. If we hadn't gone in there within the time limit—we only have ten to thirty minutes—you would have bled out for sure. I'm so sorry, Leia."

I nod, feeling to tears dry up upon my cheeks. I raise my head up slightly, and, in a voice that is not my own, say, "Would you send in my P.I., please?"

Although shocked that I didn't immediately ask for my husband, Dr. Calloway gets to her feet and leaves me. Then, a balding man in his fifties comes into the room, a briefcase full of evidence with him.

"Tell me, what do you have?" I ask him.

"Discs of evidence," he informs me. "You were right."

I nod. "Right, then. Was it Nurse Phelps?"

"The one with the red hair?"

I nod. "Yes."

"'Fraid so," he replies. "Sorry about this, Detective Torrance."

I nod again. "Just put it in the closet. I'll be sure to ask my mother to take me home when I'm discharged."

"You got it," he replies, stowing the briefcase.

I lean forward. "My mother and husband believed the cover story? You're just an old friend of the family?"

The man nodded. "Your mother didn't ask, but your husband seemed to believe the story himself."

I give him a tight smile. "Good. I shall have the money wired to the account with the agreed upon stipend by the end of the week."

My P.I. steps forward. "Great doing business with you, detective."

"Thank you," I reply, shaking his hand. "The pleasure is mine. Now, will you send my mother in here, please?"

"You go it," he says again, leaving the room.

My mother enters in immediately, smiling at me and shutting the door behind her as she steps forward. "Which story do I want to hear first?"

"Let's see," I say, leaning back against the pillows. "One, that I suffered a miscarriage. Two, I won't be able to have children naturally again. Three, that Owen is cheating on me. Or four, that I'm going to file for divorce?"