I was vaguely aware of being loaded on a stretcher, and Tommy's panicked voice as he attempted to explain to the paramedics what happened. Slipping in and out of consciousness in the moments that followed, I was relieved when they told him to step back, and that he was not permitted to ride along in the ambulance with us. I felt them securing an oxygen mask onto my face, followed by several voices demanding explanations of what was happening, but no questions were answered. Tommy tried to interrupt the voices—something about me not wanting these people around—and I knew immediately that he was attempting to keep my siblings away from me once again.

I couldn't struggle; in fact, I could barely move as they slammed the doors closed to the ambulance, and so I decided to work on my breathing. Slowly, in and out; then came an injection to put me to sleep, and I felt as if I was becoming weightless as the vehicle surged through the night, destination, hospital. I felt myself continuing to become weightless then, and felt as if I was drifting out of my body again, and then, suddenly, the ambulance jolted to a stop, and the doors were opened, cold air blasting me as I was yanked with the stretcher and into the hospital building.

"What do we got?" came the voice of the doctor, and I became aware of the notion that the sounds around me were growing fuzzier by the minute.

"Caucasian female, late twenties," came the reply of a paramedic. "Fiancé said something about her showing up at home after a trip to the grocery store and being mugged."

"On Valentine's Day?" the doctor demanded.

"That's just what the guy said, doc," the man replied. "Said they'd just sat down to dinner and then she forgot a bottle of their favorite wine, said she'd go pick it up. Fiancé's a cop, so he knows how dangerous the neighborhood can be at night, so he tried to go out instead of her. He said she insisted or something..."

"Let's get that I.V. hooked up properly, then," came the doctor's voice again, and I suddenly felt as if I was being transferred from the stretcher and onto a hospital bed. "Okay..."

"Doctor?" came a new voice—of who I thought was a nurse. "Everything okay here?"

The doctor sighed, and I suddenly felt as if their voices were becoming muted. "I don't think so, Hattie," came the doctor's reply. "Get a crash cart!" he suddenly screamed then, as I felt as if I was on the road to no return. "She's losing consciousness—and it's not because of the medication here, boys! We're losing her!"

I felt as if I was entering an ethereal domain then, as the wisps of clouds were reaching out to bring me out of there, out of that life. I felt myself rising, and not falling, not anymore; I could no longer hear the shouts of the doctors and nurses, attempting to save me. No longer could I feel the shallow breaths attempting to force themselves in and out of my lungs. I found that I was no longer confined to the prison I'd built for myself, with Mason's help, and the thought of my escape from everything was, momentarily, at least, satisfying. Then, I saw it, one of the few things that could and would pull me back down to earth, and made me realize, for the first time, what life was really all about. Love. Love.

. . .

In sleep, he never looked more peaceful; he appeared younger than his thirty-two years, and his brow was not furrowed with worry, as it had been constantly for the past year. He even smiled in his sleep, and I hoped that, for once, he was not having a frightening nightmare. His lashes swept his cheeks, and my heart ached with love for him, and, even though it would break my heart, I knew what I was proposing was right for everyone.

I finished walking down the stairs, and dropped the duffel beside him, and watched as my husband's eyes sprang open. "Get up and get dressed."

Nicholas looked surprised then and lowered his eyes to the duffel. "What's this?" he asked, and smacked the back of his hand against it.

"It's your shit," I replied. "I packed it for you."

Nicholas got to his feet then and stepped into his boxers. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying get out."

My husband looked shocked. "Murph, last night..."

"I was telling you goodbye," I replied, willing for my voice not to shake. "I had to tell you goodbye properly. I'm your wife."

"Are you telling me you want me to face this legal battle alone?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Don't be stupid," I replied, and yanked him towards me then—I needed to feel him in my arms, just one more time. "I'm telling you to fucking run," I whispered into his ear, unknowing if we were being watched. "I loaded it down with some of our emergency cash, and your passport. I want you to take it, and your clothes, and fucking run. I want you to get as far away from here as possible."

"And you?" Nicholas asked, looking me up and down then as he pulled back. "What will you do, Murphy?"

"I'll raise the kids," I replied. "And I'll work as hard as I can to figure out who is framing you, because you're my husband. I owe it to you."

He nodded. "Okay. I trust you."

I smiled, standing on my toes then and kissing him. "I need a favor."

"What?"

I sighed. "We need to make it look like you left for a reason..."

He looked confused. "What?!"

"When the cops come to question me about where you are, I'll say we had a fight about Tommy, and that you were convinced that I cheated on you."

He shrugged, pulling on his T-shirt. "Not so far-fetched..."

"Yeah, but we need to make it convincing..."

My husband cocked his head to one side. "How should we do that?"

I sighed, knowing that I shouldn't be asking this of him, but I didn't see any other way for him to get out of here convincingly. "I need you to hit me."

He looked horrified. "Hit you?!"

"Hit me," I confirmed.

Immediately, Nicholas shook his head. "I'd never hit you, Murphy."

Knowing I had to sell it convincingly, I also knew that I had to make it convincing for him. "I did cheat on you, Nicholas," I replied then, my voice deadly serious. "When Tommy kissed me, I fucking liked it. And when you were locked up, he came to see me. I was so distraught that I let him fuck me, in our bed, while the kids were asleep. We fucked hard for hours—he was better than you, too, and his dick was bigger," I said, taunting him now, and seeing that his fingers curled into a fist. "We fucked for hours, Nicholas, and he took me places that I'll never get with you and your limp dick. He's much stronger than you are, so he lasted longer, too—we both did, because I didn't let him use a condom on me!"

My husband lifted his fist then, which slammed into my face without mercy, and I immediately fell to the ground then, knowing that I had done a good job. "Bitch! I'll fucking kill him!" he raged down at me.

I felt the shaking sobs ebb from my throat then—it was the right thing to do and the wrong thing to do, all wrapped up carefully in a little package. "Now you can run, because we made it convincing for them," I whispered.

"What?!" Nicholas demanded.

I raised my face to his, and tried to see out of my right eye, but found that I couldn't, as it was quickly swelling shut. "I haven't slept with anyone since Josh since we got together," I whispered to him then, and my husband looked horrified at what he had done. "We had to make it convincing, Nicholas, and now it will be. Now, you can run, and it'll look like a domestic dispute, so they won't think you've gone far, and now you can run..."

Nicholas immediately picked me up then, holding me to him. "Murph, why would you do something like that?"

"I had to," I whispered, my voice shaking. "I had to, Nicholas. You saved me. You saved my life a long time ago, and I can never thank you enough for it. Maybe by saving your life from injustice, you can have a shot of a better life."

He pulled back and looked down at me then, gently kissing my eyelid. "I'll try and find some payphones to call you from, Murphy..."

"Be careful," I replied. "Once Ian figures out what happened—and believe me, he'll figure it out—you'll be a marked man."

"Will you tell him the truth?"

I shrugged. "I don't know yet. I don't know who to trust."

My husband leaned down and kissed me then. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Nicholas," I replied, tilting my head back to kiss him again. "But now I need you to run and get the hell away from here."

. . .

Slam. It felt as if someone had literally brought me back down to earth, with the clouds remaining in the sky where they belonged. I was plummeting now, and I knew why; whoever was in charge had deemed that it wasn't time for me to go yet, and the doctors were attempting to bring me back, because that's what they did.

Slam. Maybe it was destiny, or fate, or something straight out of a Hallmark card. All I did know was, that it wasn't my time yet, and I was brought back for a reason. Maybe it was Nicholas, maybe it was to get rid of Tommy. I wasn't sure; all I did know was that I'd been shot back down to the surface of the world, and I'd been given another chance.

Slam. I felt the breath returning to my lungs then, and I felt a gasp escaping my lips.

"We got her back!" came the exulted voice of the doctor.

My eyes flew open then, and I shot up like a fireplace poker had been jammed onto my skin, and I found myself looking around at the sea of strangers around me, and they all of them looked shocked at this sudden turn of events. I felt my mouth drop open automatically then, so amazed that they'd all answered this call to arms, as it were. Sure, it was their job, but they'd all played a valuable role in saving my life, and another person's as well, if all went according to the plan that Mason and I had set in motion...

"Hi, there, I'm Dr. Lishman," said a man with slightly floppy salt and pepper hair as the nurses made themselves scarce. He stepped forward then, a clipboard replacing the crash cart in his hand as he looked me over, his brown eyes concerned as he looked me over then. "Can you tell me your name?"

I raised my eyebrows immediately as he said his name. "Holy shit," I said quietly, finding that the term 'conflict of interest' rolled around in my brain.

Dr. Lishman looked surprised at my reply, picking up his stethoscope and placing it carefully onto my chest. "Um... Twenty years ago, I could ask if that was a Native American name, but I don't think it'd be very appropriate now..."

I shook my head. "No," I replied. "No, not really..."

He smiled, replacing his stethoscope around his neck. "Well, your pulse sounds good and strong," he said. "Now that you're talking, do you think I could have your name?"

I laughed a little then. "You sure you don't already know it?"

"Pardon me?" he asked, making a grab for the eye shiner, which he shined in my eyes to check out my pupils.

"I'm Murphy... Gallagher," I said, doing my best to hold still for him and follow his finger all at once, and Dr. Lishman was the one that looked surprised this time around as he pulled back then and looked me over. "I'm Ian's twin sister. Half-sister really—we have different fathers. Our mom got pregnant with me a week after she got pregnant with him... You're a doctor, you know how it is better than I would..."

Dr. Lishman shook his head then, lowering his eyes back down to the clipboard and making a few notes before grabbing the blood pressure machine. "Yeah, I mean... When I found out that Ian had a twin, I never expected that a fraternal one, or a half-sibling, could look..."

"Like a female version of him, I know," I said, shrugging my shoulders and extending my arm towards him for the cuff. "Hey, best luck of the draw when it comes to genes, I guess..."

He nodded, velcroing the cuff onto my arm and proceeding the pump up the machine. "All about the genes..."

I wetted my lips then as I felt my fingers knotting into each other in an effort to distract myself from the pressure on my arm. "Listen, I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but I know about what happened with you and Ian a few years back," I told him softly. "And I'm not judging you, really, although, speaking as someone with a law degree, I can tell you that it was very irresponsible."

"Because I was still married?" he asked, reading the dial on the machine. "Or because my son was involved with your sister, and is now married to her?"

I let out a laugh then, meeting Dr. Lishman's eyes, and I knew that he was half-joking. "Because Ian was a teenager at the time," I replied. "I think, if I was living with the family at the time, I would've figured it out, and I would've beaten you up pretty bad. Worse than Mickey ever did, because that's my fucking twin, and nobody messes with him."

Dr. Lishman looked curious about the declaration then as he nodded to himself once he got the information he needed. "120/80—that's great," he said, as he turned back to look at me, tilting his head slightly. "Why weren't you living with the family at the time?" he asked. "You speak so fondly of them now and seem quite protective of them. Why weren't you ever around?"

I nodded my head slightly—it was an obvious question. "Monica—our mother—put me up for adoption right after I was born," I replied. "I was three-months-old before I was adopted. She had...suspicions that Ian wasn't Frank's kid, and so she automatically assumed that, since we were twins, that I wasn't either. I was given up, and the family kept Ian, and I was shipped off to Seattle where I spent the next twenty-one-years of my life, getting a law degree, and trying to survive the family I'd been placed with."

"Sounds like you and Ian both had to deal with your own versions of hell," Dr. Lishman said methodically then.

I smiled a little then, trying not to laugh, but suddenly groaned as a laugh escaped my lips then, and clutched at my ribs. "Fuck," I groaned.

"Careful, there, Murphy," Dr. Lishman warned. "Your fiancé said that you'd been mugged pretty bad," he went on. "The police are here and they want to talk with you."

I blinked. "The police?"

"A Sergeant Mason Crowe," said Dr. Lishman, reading the name off my clipboard. "I can tell him to wait, if you want to see your fiancé first..."

I shook my head at him, knowing I had to obey the law. "No, that's fine, Dr. Lishman," I said carefully, attempting to smile. "Mason's an old friend. He came come in."

"Sure," Dr. Lishman replied, smiling slightly. "Well, I'll be back as soon as Sergeant Crowe has finished with you," he said, stepping out.

I turned around then, slanting my pillows up against the head of the bed, on the off-chance that I would feel tired when Mason came in to question me. I folded my hands on my lap as soon as I'd finished, reaching up automatically towards my hair, and knowing full well that I must've looked as awful as I felt. I turned and looked around again, this time my eyes wandering over towards the window, and saw that the sun was rising along the skyline. Seeing the sun rising like that created a dull ache for Ian then, and I knew that, once everything was said and done, that he would be very angry with me for getting myself into this position. Of course, I was hopeful that compassion, understanding, and forgiveness would follow suit...

I turned back towards the door then, fixing a smile onto my face as Mason entered.

. . .

"Murphy?"

I turned around then at the sound of someone addressing me and plastered a smile on my face in an automatic gesture. "Hey, there," I said, immediately stepping forward and taking his offered hand. "You must be Mason?"

Mason smiled. "I must be," he replied, pumping my hand for a moment. "We were just about to bring Josh into interrogation. The room you're going to be in he doesn't have access to—the people that we question come directly into the room, while the people who have been cleared to watch are in a separate room."

"With the see-through glass?" I asked as we stepped into the squad room.

"Kind of," he replied. "Here, I'll show you the room," he said, stepping inside a darkened room with me and showing it off. "You can see him..."

"But he can't see me?" I guessed.

"Exactly," Mason said, and gestured to the chair. "Nicholas mentioned that you were expecting, so we had a chair brought in."

I smiled at him. "That was very thoughtful of you," I replied, moving to sit.

"Is there anything you need while you're here?" he asked. "We don't typically have any gourmet food around here, but I could rustle up something from the vending machine..."

I laughed. "I may have been a transplant—raised in Seattle—but my family is from the South Side, and in my three years of living with them, I'm South Side as well," I told him, and Mason looked uncomfortable then at his assumption of me. "Glass of water—cold, if you have it—would be just fine, thanks."

"You got it," Mason said, moving to leave. "And, just out of curiosity, are you familiar with a Frank Gallagher?"

I rolled my eyes. "Your receptionist already asked me, and yeah, I am," I replied. "He's the deadbeat who found out about me at some point in my childhood and decided not to track me down, despite the fact that I was his second daughter," I said, no longer wanting to be jerked around by the man.

"So, he's your dad?"

"Biologically, unfortunately," I replied. "I never had a father, and my mother was long dead before I ever managed to find my family, so no parents for me, thank you."

Mason lowered his eyes. "I'm really sorry, Murphy..."

"Don't be," I replied, cutting him off. "I was twenty-one when I found out the truth, and even though I was raised by—shall we say insipid individuals, because I wouldn't want to be accused of slander, despite all the shit they put me through—I somehow inherited the intelligence gene and graduated high school at fifteen, and college at twenty-one, so I have a fairly good head on my shoulders. I turned out okay."

"Nicholas said you were independent," Mason said.

I scoffed, watching him leave to go and get my water. "Yeah, you don't know the half of it, detective," I muttered under my breath.

. . .

"Jesus Christ, Gallagher," Mason said as soon as he'd shut the door behind him. He shook his head then—and I was unclear as to whether it was at me and my actions or him and his own actions—as he pulled a chair towards my bed and sat down. "Tommy's spreading this bullshit story that you were mugged."

I sighed, leaning back against the pillows. "Yeah, I know. Dr. Lishman mentioned it, and I had to just play along, you know? It's getting easier to lie these days," I muttered, dragging my hands through my haystack of hair. "Not a good thing when you're an addict..."

Mason sighed then, his strong shoulders deflating. "This needs to end, Murphy."

My eyes snap to his. "What the fuck are you talking about?" I snapped at him.

"This—this thing between you and Tommy."

I shook my head. "That's not happening, Mason."

Mason dragged a hand through his hair. "Goddammit, Murphy—the son of a bitch has gotten you sent to the hospital twice, and has beaten you black and blue like this at least three times already. Not to mention the countless times he's raped you, all of which we've got on camera. I mean, let's face it—we have enough to lock him up for a long ass time..."

I sighed, knowing that it was my choice to make, but my decision had been made a long time ago, and I was going to keep my word. "It's not good enough, Mason."

"Murphy, are you hearing yourself right now?!" he demanded. "You're actually telling me right now that you're okay with all of this?! Being assaulted day in and day out?!"

I laughed bitterly then, clutching my ribs, and Mason's eyes flashed with anger. "If it's to get Nicholas out of mess, then yeah, it's all worth it. And even though he doesn't want me anymore," I went on, putting my hands back behind my head, "it doesn't fucking matter. I owe it to him—he saved my life in more ways than one when we were together, so I have to repay him for it."

"Is that what you think, Murphy?" Mason asked, and my eyes slowly drifted to his. "That Nicholas doesn't want you anymore?"

"How could he?" I snapped back, my tone bitter. "It's perfectly evident to him that I've moved on, don't you think? I got him to sign the goddamned divorce papers, and then he acted like the two of us..." I looked away from Mason then, my cheeks heating at the memory, and my eyes filling with tears in embarrassment.

"Murphy, are you telling me that Nicholas left something out when he reported back to me, after you two saw each other again?"

I chuckled bitterly, crossing my arms and gritting my teeth so as I didn't cry out again when my bruised ribs vibrated. "God... And I suppose I have you to thank for arranging that little reunion, don't I?"

"I thought it would be best, yeah."

"Jesus," I said, shaking my head as I turned back to him. "What do you want me to say to you right now, Mason?! That I fucked Nicholas?! Because I did. And you know what? It didn't mean shit to him. And you know why it didn't? Because I'm a fucking shadow," I said, slamming my fist into my chest, my voice trembling then. "I'm letting myself be consumed in this fucking mission because I know it's all for the greater good. I need to do some good, Mason, I fucking do, and even if I'm getting nothing in return, it's all worth it. It's all worth it because even though Nicholas couldn't give half a shit about me, I still fucking care about him. But I guess that's my lot in life, right? To end up alone, because that's exactly what I've always deserved, because I fucking push people away from me left and right with my goddamned trust issues, and I don't think I ever see those going away..."

"You think you deserve this?" Mason asked, his tone deliberately slow, almost as if he didn't fully understand it himself.

"Obviously, yeah, Mason, I do," I said, leaning back onto my pillows and staring up at the ceiling. "I'm saying I fucking deserve it."

He sighed. "Why are you punishing yourself?"

"Because I let him run," I said quietly, the tears falling down my cheeks and pooling into my ears as I made no sounds of sobbing. "I fucking let him run, and I didn't run with him. Do you know how many times I've regretted that choice? Thousands, maybe millions..."

"Don't do this to yourself Murphy."

I choked on a laugh then. "Do what?"

"Beat yourself up about all this. It's not healthy."

I scoffed then, looking up at him. "Why? Because Tommy's doing a better job?"

Mason shook his head. "I'm pulling you out of this..."

"No, you won't," I said, my voice firm. "I was mugged on the way to the store to buy me and Tommy a bottle of wine to celebrate Valentine's Day."

"Murphy..."

"No," I said, narrowing my eyes at him. "I said I'd get you what you wanted, Mason, and so help me, I want it as much as you do. I'm going to see this through."

"Murphy, what if it gets worse?"

I smiled a little then. "It always gets worse before it gets better."

"No, I mean..." Mason hesitated for a moment. "What if Tommy kills you?"

I shake my head at him. "He's not gonna kill me."

He sighed. "How do you know?"

"Because," I replied, "I'm gonna kill him first, if it comes down to it."

. . .

When Tommy announced his intentions to visit his parents in Palm Springs in the first week of March, my reward for covering for him on Valentine's Day was permission to stay home. I saw him off the morning he left, and just sat in the living room; my intention was to get to work in time for the lunch rush, giving me a few more hours to myself. I spent that time tidying up the living room, and just making plans for the weekend—which really didn't involve much, as I wasn't typically given permission to do much of anything.

Work did an excellent job of occupying my time, so much so that I was hardly aware of time passing, as I wasn't looking at the clock, willing for it to go slower. Since Tommy was out of town for the next couple of days, I didn't dread going home, not at all. I worked as I hadn't worked for months, getting a lot of paperwork done, and filing away old documents, as well as putting in some orders for the coming spring. Just as the dinner rush entered its second hour, I decided to call it a day and closed up shop for the evening, saying goodbye to everyone and leaving the diner.

As I went to my car, I checked my phone, seeing a message from Tommy that his mother had made him his favorite dinner, and I sent him a happy face emoji. I sat there in my car, and remembered my Friday night meetings with Lip, which were due to start in half an hour. Heart in my throat, I decided to take a chance, now that I had a moment of freedom, and drove across town to the church where they were held, and pulled into the lot. There were several familiar cars parked around me, and I slipped out of mine, pulling my late-winter jacket around me as I walked towards the entrance, nearly stopping in my tracks when I saw Lip standing outside, a cigarette in his hand.

"Lip?" I said, stepping closer to him.

Lip started slightly, turning around to look at me. "Shit, Murph," he said, looking me over, his eyes filled with concern. "You don't..."

"Look good? I know," I said, stepping closer, pleased when he offered the cigarette to me, which I promptly took. I put it into my mouth then and inhaled, the toxins entering my lungs calming me then as I stood there with my brother, the familiarity between us allowing us to remain silent for a brief moment.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for a meeting."

"A meeting?" he asked.

I nodded stiffly. "Yeah. A meeting."

"Thought Tommy made you find a different one," Lip replied, sneering his name as he snagged the cigarette back.

I sighed. "Tommy's out of town."

"Oh, so you're on borrowed time. I gotcha," he said.

"Jesus Christ," I muttered under my breath. "Look, Lip, I came here to talk to you because I can't fucking take it anymore."

"You're going to admit that Tommy's a fucking psycho who gets off on beating the shit out of you?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah," I replied, the confession a weight off my shoulders as Lip's eyes snapped to mine. "But, I'm also evoking AA rules of confidentiality, so you're not allowed to go off and tell people."

Lip shook his head. "I think it only works when you're in the meeting..."

"We're on the property of the meeting, and we're making an exception tonight," I said firmly, taking the cigarette back from him.

"Shit," Lip said, shaking his head. "So, Tommy really beats you?"

I nodded stiffly. "Yeah."

"Who else knows?"

"The police that I'm working with to bring him down—who hid security cameras in our house—and Fiona knows."

"Wait, hold up," Lip said, taking the cigarette back. "You told Fiona?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"When?"

"When I went to see her in January," I replied. "Told her everything."

Lip sighed again. "Jesus."

I laughed aloud. "Something tells me that even he couldn't help."

"That son of a bitch..."

I shrugged. "Yeah, that's pretty much what we all call him..."

"So, what's he done?"

I turned and looked at Lip then. "What do you think?"

"Jesus, Murphy, are you telling me that he's..." Lip looked too shocked for words, the pain in his pale eyes speaking volumes.

I nodded. "Yep, he has, and the police have the security footage to prove it," I said, reaching out and taking the cigarette back.

"Well, then what are they waiting for?" Lip demanded.

I blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean, why haven't they arrested the son of a bitch?"

I bit my lip, removing the cigarette from my mouth, allowing the plume of smoke to disappear into the night. "It's complicated..."

"Murph..."

I sighed, looking up at him. "Yeah, Lip?"

"I'm swearing not to say anything that you tell me—even though I think Tommy is a fucking monster who needs his ass kicked," he said, and I smirked at the visual. "But can you please tell me what you mean by 'it's complicated'?"

I stared at my brother then, wordlessly handing over the cigarette to him, but he no longer seemed interested. Stepping closer, I put my arms around him then, and Lip stood there for several moments, just holding me, and yet I knew he expected an answer. "What is it you want to know, Lip?" I whispered to him, knowing I needed an ally, another ally, one that was close to home, and, above all things, I needed my brother—or, at least, one of my brothers—back.