CHAPTER ONE

Emily stood in the study looking up at the bookshelf. She was searching for a particular book – Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf. It was this week's selection for her book club and she knew that she already had a copy of it somewhere.

It would be much easier to find if she were taller. Undoubtedly, the novel was resting on one of the top shelves. She looked around the room, searching for a chair or something to use to reach the higher shelves. She didn't see anything useful. There was an empty flowerpot in the corner. It had been home to a tree yesterday, but it had died from lack of water. Richard never paid attention to those sorts of things. The empty base looked fairly strong. It was made of brass or some type of gilded metal. She could turn it upside-down and it would surely hold her weight.

She did so and stood higher, looking at the titles that she could now see. As she scanned them all, she kept surprising herself with books and titles that she had long forgotten were housed here in the study on these high shelves. She kept making mental notes to herself to come back and take a few of these books to read later. Then, finally she found it. It was at the end of the shelf nearly covered by some of Richard's books about the American presidents. Emily leaned further to the right to reach the book. She could touch it with her fingertips, but she couldn't quite grasp it. If she just stretched her arm a bit further ….

Before she knew what was happening, she felt her ankle twist and her hand seemed to be getting farther and farther away from the book. Her entire body jerked to the right and her other hand reached out to grab onto anything it could find. Her head grazed the bookcase, her arm shielding her face as she fell to the ground. Her body met the ground with a loud thump and the sound of her head banging into the hardwood floor echoed in her ears loudly.

She lay there for a while, unable to move. She tried to open her eyes, but it was too much work. She tried to move her arms or legs, but just the thought was too painful to even bother attempting actual movement. She was left with only her thoughts.

"Do I look fat, Richard?"

He turned to look at her, confused. "You're pregnant, Emily."

"So, I do look fat, then?"

He rolled his eyes. "I most certainly did not say that. You look beautiful." He pulled her towards him, kissing her gently. "Absolutely beautiful."

"Richard," she whispered, still not attempting to move. She took a deep breath and then regretted it instantly as her body reacted with a piercing pain. If Richard were home, he would have heard her fall and he would have come in and helped her. Yet she was the only person in the house and there was thus no one there to hear her. Of course she was between maids at the moment. She'd fired the last one just yesterday.

Emily sighed both in physical pain and in the frustration that she was alone and left to figure out what to do on her own. She had felt that way quite often lately. She wanted desperately to move, to get herself up, and to prove that she didn't need anyone's help. Yet she could barely find the strength to not give in to how tired she felt and just let go. All she could do was lie there and think. And her mind was already telling her what to think about.

"I hate you! You're the worst mother ever!"

"Go to your room, Lorelai! We'll take about this tomorrow when you have calmed down." Emily stood with her back to her daughter. She could tell the girl was fuming without even looking at her, but there was no possibility that she was going to let her fifteen year old child go to a "rave" in New York City. On a school night, nonetheless!

"Sissy Bateman thinks that her mother is mean because she won't buy her a car for her sixteenth birthday, but she's nothing compared to you! I wish you were dead! At least it would be easier to live in this damn house without you here!"

"Lorelai!" Her father's voice boomed from the doorway. It took both Emily and Lorelai by surprise. "Apologize to your mother this instant!"

Lorelai stood defiant. She hated her parents. Both of them. They didn't know anything about her. All they ever tried to do was force their life upon her, even if she didn't want anything to do with it … or them. She let out a perturbed scream, throwing her hands up in the air. "I hate you!" With that, she was up the stairs and out of their sight before either could utter another word.

"Emily…"

"Don't, Richard. Just let it go." She had turned away from him, flipping through some magazine.

"The way that she spoke to you…"

"She's fifteen, Richard. It is not as if she hasn't said it before and won't say it all again soon. She'll get over it by the morning and then she'll just go back to ignoring us."

Richard didn't understand his wife. Lately, he didn't understand anyone in this household.

Emily watched out of the corner of her eye as Richard turned around and went back to his study. When she knew that he was truly gone, she reached up and brushed away the tears that had stained her cheeks. Sniffing away the lump in her throat, she threw the magazine across the room, knocking the items on the coffee table out of order.

Emily groaned, not wanting to relieve the memories of her tumultuous relationship with her daughter. There were too many bad ones and not enough good memories. With Richard, there were certainly a lot of wonderful times. Their marriage had never been perfect, yet it was a happy marriage. They had managed to overcome their difficult times and it was worth the uphill battle to still be together.

Yet Lorelai was a whole other story. With her, the bad always seemed to outweigh the good. From the moment she was born, she was different than her mother. Emily and Lorelai were nothing alike in so many respects. Emily remembered the good times, yet Lorelai never seemed to realize that there had ever been anything good before the bad.

She finally managed to open her eyes. Directly above her was the oak bookcase. It was still in the same condition as it had been before. She was the one who was damaged. She ascertained that she was lying partially on her side. Her right arm was tucked beneath her, but she couldn't bring herself to move to free it. Her legs were also too numb to move. She couldn't really feel anything at this point. She could move her head, but just barely.

Closing her eyes again to take a deep breath, she lifted her head slightly. It was enough to see that there was a pool of blood near her head, yet she couldn't figure out where it had come from. She didn't feel anything bleeding. Then again she didn't feel anything other than pain and even that she couldn't tell where it was coming from – it felt like her entire body was in pain. Her hair was sticky, though, and as she held up her head she realized that the blood must have been coming from her there. It was too tiring. Her head collapsed back onto the floor. She closed her eyes. Even the daylight was too much to handle at this point.

She was lying on a hardwood floor barely conscious and the two most important people in her life were all she could think about. The happiness she'd shared with Richard and the sadness that had always clouded her relationship with her only child. If she didn't make it, she could live with how she had left things with Richard. He would eventually be all right and would know that she had loved him. Yet would Lorelai know the same? Would she know that her mother had loved her, even if she didn't agree with the way her mother had shown her love? Would she ever really know how much she meant and how much she was loved? Emily knew Richard would tell her, but would Lorelai believe him?

She was just too tired to figure it out right now. Thinking required too much work. She'd rest. Then she'd figure out what to do. Emily's eyes slid closed and she drifted out of consciousness.