CHAPTER ONE

"Miss Weasley, I'll ask you again," her therapist sighed, marking something on his notepad, "why do you still dream of your ex-husband even though you hate his guts?"

Ginny shrugged. "He took everything from me, he stole my children. I think I dream about him because I can't get that off my mind. I could never forget those first three years of our marriage when everything was so blissful, but...I'll never let go of the four after that when I became a doormat for all things unholy. He should pay for that, he should pay for that more than anyone will allow me to, but...I just don't feel the need anymore. He'll get his. He'll get everything he deserves and then some."

"That's our time," the therapist sighed. "I'll be referring you to Dr. Rengal for next week's session. I'll be out of town on business, and well, I don't think I can help you. You seem to enjoy being angry, you love hating your ex-husband. I can't get involved and tell you how justified it is, and neither can she, but...she'll tell you anyway," he winked, looking to his watch. "You might want to sign up for an hour at the desk, just in case. She has a way of getting people like you to talk. You'll feel better for it, trust me."

"I was thinking of quitting, but if you think one more will help," Ginny muttered, moving to the front desk. "I've been in therapy off and on for ten years, Dr. Morrison. That final option move has happened four times now, and none of them have paid off. It was a nice six months with you. I guess I thought it could help or something."

"Therapy always helps, Miss Weasley," he smiled, but Ginny didn't respond. "You aren't coming back, are you?"

"Apologize to Dr. Rengal for me. I'm sure she could care less, but apologize anyway," Ginny said softly, taking her receipt. "I might have enough to move into a bigger apartment if I get rid of therapy altogether. It'd be nice."

The two watched her leave, making sure the door was completely shut before exchanging glances.

"If anyone could use Dr. Rengal's help, it's her, but it isn't my place to interfere. You tried, doctor, you really tried."

"Thanks, Trudy. Cancel my two o'clock, will you? I need a drink after thirty minutes of her," he groaned, heading back into his office. He poured himself a cup of coffee and spiked it with some liquid from a flask. He'd been away from alcohol for thirteen years, and now was no exception. He just liked making the secretary think, and especially his prodding ex-wife Dr. Rengal. Ginny was right to leave; he'd made the request out of spite. Now he wouldn't get the luxury of laughing at her during custody exchanges, but it's not like those happened much anymore anyhow. He sighed heavily. Maybe he should've kept Ginny on his patient list. They had a lot in common with dreadful divorces and custody battles, but she was just too depressing. It'd been ten years since her divorce, and her children were now almost grown. She never fought back for them; she let her ex-husband, the leader of her company, take them without a fuss. She was too quiet, too passive, too everything, yet he didn't think she deserved her suffering. No one did, but Ginny wouldn't hear a word.

"You've got another one on your desk, Miss Weasley. I tried to tell them they already sent it, but—"

"I know. I was taking too long," Ginny sighed.

Ginny was the editor of the business documents distributed to customers for Potter Industries. The company managed numerous projects, namely the building of huge skyscrapers like the one the company thrived in. Eighteen different countries required their services, and James Potter built this empire during his short life to be the best combination of builder's needs. Harry was to inherit everything well after his father's sixty-fifth birthday, but he passed from a heart attack at an early age. Now Harry was working his way up the company, which was run by James Potter's good friend Remus, but Ginny knew it'd be just another year or so before he took over.

Her job was a simple one, but it was monotonous. She spent her day reading over project plans, production manuals, and anything else the company was printing up. They tried to keep everything in-house over the years, which explained the manufacturing instructions she was editing now, which made the company even larger, and the CEO position more coveted. Harry would want that job soon and he would get it, but Ginny would never receive a promotion. She hadn't since their divorce, and she wouldn't get one if things remained the way they were.

Her day finished at six-thirty, an hour after everyone else. Ginny's job was also done at home, reading and editing the many documents that passed through her desk. She made more than anyone else in her position, but namely because of standard of living raises. Harry made sure she was never too fed up to leave, but he didn't exactly give her many ways to advance either. He was vindictive, angry that Ginny would ever leave him over something as petty as numerous affairs, and Ginny, nicknamed the Doormat by her colleagues, seemed to take each blow without attempting to fight back.

Whispers sounded from a back room as Ginny left, a bundle of paperwork at the bottom of her purse. They all knew she spent an extra thirty minutes at lunch for therapy sessions with four different doctors. The extra thirty minutes on Friday was to have lunch with her sister-in-law, Hermione, who was carefree and gave Ginny a lot to look forward to. Hermione was always pressuring her to have such a great life, but she seemed to forget that the only thing that ever mattered to Ginny—her children—were in Harry's custody, shipped far from New York to a prep school in England. Ginny spent her weekends in her quiet walk-up apartment writing letters to the kids that she would never send and staring at the only pictures she had of them, pictures ten years older than they now were.

But the therapy sessions would end. She'd written off the first therapist two weeks ago for insulting her behavior, her desire to just disappear. She'd been with him the shortest amount of time so the process of writing him off was easy. Dr. Smith was next, though she hadn't met with Ginny in six weeks due to prior engagements. Ginny knew that meant she was being quietly let go, as it had happened seven times before. Dr. Morrison was a little harder to escape, but the request to change doctors was Ginny's way of getting out. Now she just had one more to leave, but it would be hard for her. She liked talking out her problems with people, especially since her only true friend seemed to be Hermione, but she wanted the money from therapy to go to better things. She'd lived in the same apartment since her divorce, but now it was time to move on. She wanted to finally leave Potter Industries and break out on her own, but she couldn't bare it with so many connections lying around. She had two more people to break away from: her final therapist and her sister-in-law. She had two more weeks before she wanted to flee, so she had to act fast. But she liked taking her time too, and the date had been moved three times already.

"Ma'am, if you aren't going to order, would you get off my bar?" a gruff man huffed, interrupting her thoughts. Ginny walked into this sports bar a few times a week for a sandwich, and today was no exception. She ordered her usual before getting back to her thoughts, or at least trying to.

"I know you," a woman smiled from beside her, taking a seat. "You work in a dead-end job for a man you hate, and the only thing keeping you from offing him is...well I don't know what keeps women from doing such a thing. It seems so common on television, but you never know one of those broads in real life, now do you?"

"I don't really want to be bothered," Ginny whispered. The woman laughed kindly, waving to the bartender for another beer.

"I'm only playing you, Miss Weasley. You and I were at a conference last year for Potter Industries. You've been in the same position for nearly ten years, breaking their little mantra about advancement. I've kept up with you because you surprise me, you surprise everyone. You may've changed your name, but your past follows you everywhere," she said, accepting a beer from the bartender. She winked at him before he walked away; he never even attempted to add it to her tab. "My aunt and I want to help you break free from that past, but you won't get anywhere sitting at bars alone every night."

"I do not come here every night," Ginny argued, but she immediately caught herself. She had eaten here every night this week, getting lost in the baseball and hockey games playing on the television. "Okay, it's been a rough week. But the food here is pretty good, and people typically don't approach me."

"Well I am not your typical person, Miss Weasley. Here's my aunt's card. She's an editor for a publishing company downtown, you know, where the big money is. I told her a little about your past, and she really thinks you should do something about your sleazy ex-husband. We're not talking anything deadly; I was only joking with you," the strange woman smiled. "But you do need to get out of this rut of yours and do something. It's been over ten years now, if my math is correct, and you should be doing better for yourself, and for your children."

"I don't have custody of my children," Ginny said sternly, standing just as her plate arrived.

"Oh, come on, Ma'am! I've got real customers sitting around here!"

"Then box the damn sandwich! I'm hungry too, you know!" Ginny yelled back at the gruff bartender. She looked back at the woman as all eyes turned to her. "I'm leaving in a few weeks once I get everything in place. I don't want this town and it definitely doesn't want me!" she spat.

"So you're giving up? Come on, Ginny, you've got to free yourself properly or you'll never get anywhere. Take this card and ask for my Aunt Rita, okay? She'll help you work through some things, and...she'll make you the richest woman in the world," the woman smiled. Ginny snatched the card before throwing a wad of cash at the bartender.

"He spit in that!" a man called from down the bar. Ginny glared at the bartender, opening her box to see the damage. She then threw it at him, knowing it was still hot from the fryer. Her days and nights of wadding up and tossing botched papers served her well.

She was in jail for assault within the hour, and there wasn't a thing anyone could say to make Ginny feel any sort of guilt about her actions.

"Oh, Ginny!" Hermione cried, throwing her arms around her jail-smelling sister-in-law. "You should've told me you were having such a bad time of things! They're dropping the charges, but you've got to get help for yourself!"

Hermione's minivan was outside. A general crustiness similar to the jail cell covered every inch, and signs of every age of child littered the vehicle. Two empty juice boxes and seven stale French fries kept Ginny from immediately entering the van. Anything would be better than a cab, Ginny thought, but the stickiness covering the seat belt made her change her mind.

"They want you to call this therapist for the county. It'll be worth your while and it'll keep them from pressing the charges. You burnt him pretty good, and...I'm sorry I'm taking their side on this one. You're suffering so much, and I just want you to be happy," Hermione sighed. "Do you want to stay with Ron and me?"

Ginny hadn't seen her brother in five years. Harry and Ron remained close after the divorce, just as they were during high school and college. Even a ruined marriage couldn't keep them apart, but Ginny wished Harry's antics wouldn't follow their nights out. Ginny saw the two get out of a limousine filled with beautiful women, something Hermione would never approve of. She told her immediately, and Ron told her not to enter their home again.

"I'm not allowed, remember?" Ginny murmured, wanting to lean her head on the cool window of the car but resisting the urge due to the mystery grime coating the glass. "I wish you wouldn't write off the past so much, Hermione. It's depressing."

"You're depressing, Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed. "It's sad watching you go through this day after day. I mean, we don't see other every day like we used to, but I know you could be doing better for yourself. Just look at this situation, Ginny. You assaulted a rude bartender with a sandwich. Most women just throw their drinks, but you took it to the extreme, and you did some real damage. What part about this story shows a strong woman who can stand on her own two feet without her own baggage weighing her down? And screw Ron, okay? He's not home tonight anyhow," Hermione whispered.

"What do you mean he's not home?" Ginny asked. Hermione sighed, stopping for a red light and looking to Ginny with sad eyes. "He stays out most nights now. It's okay, really it is. We've got nine children, Ginny. It's not like he can get a word in edge wise, and-"

"You're getting a divorce?" Ginny finished. Hermione shrugged, pulling forward as the light turned green. "It's better to leave them. They obviously don't care about your feelings when they're with strange women all the time. Marriage was supposed to be holy, permanent. It was built for two people, not one dedicated person and one person who likes to fuck around. Take everything you can from him. I never got the chance."

"Ginny, I don't want a divorce. We're going to counseling, and we'll work things out," Hermione said sternly, pulling onto the freeway. "Ron and I are meant for each other. We're soul mates! And those nine children need a father. I might be losing some to the world soon, and they need their father there to help them through the change."

"Not if their father acts the way he does," Ginny sighed. "Harry at least put our children in a foreign school so they don't have to see him act the way he does. Don't put your children through that."

"Yeah, and your children are lost sheep who think both parents hate them," Hermione scoffed. "They want to know why you don't write. I told them countless times that it was all a part of the divorce proceedings, that you were to keep fully away from your children, but they don't believe me. They know their father feels he's doing the right thing while he fails miserably, but you? They want more from you. I'm the only reason they know what you look like. I'm the only reason they even know one thing about you."

"What did you tell them about me?" Ginny asked. Hermione sighed heavily. "I told them you were a broken woman trapped by the hell her ex-husband put her through. It was the only way to convey to them the love I know you feel for them, but...they don't believe that you love them. You never fought for them, and now it's too late. You let him trap you in that dead-end job for ten years, and now your oldest is seventeen years old. He'll be an adult in six months, and the courts won't even fool with any child over the age of sixteen who seems to be in a decent environment. You've got to make it up to them."

"It's too late," Ginny sighed, looking out the window as the suburbs came into view. She wanted to be alone in her own apartment rather than surrounded by her nine nieces and nephews, but she didn't want to say anything. Maybe she really was a doormat, but maybe she was just waiting for the right time. "I write them letters every night, and I've done that for years. I don't send them because I'm not allowed to, and you're not allowed to either," Ginny added sternly. "I want a picture of them as they are now, maybe even some from in between. I want to reconnect with them the moment they become adults, to try to make it up."

"You're right though, Ginny. I think it is too late," Hermione sighed, taking the exit ramp and hitting the roads of her neighborhood. The two remained silent for the rest of the trip, knowing they'd be entering a wild house when they reached her driveway. Ginny silently daydreamed about what her household would've been like had Harry taken the right path. She'd done that every night for years, it seemed, and she'd never slept more than four hours at a time, and those times were assisted by wine or sleeping pills. Now she wanted to sleep more than anything, to forget the waking life she wanted to leave behind. Her decision was made: She needed to leave New York while she still could.