A/N: Here we go, folks: a story from a different genre! I do actually read stuff outside of the usual Degrassi, and as a consequence do occasionally write stuff in other genres, too. Here's a response to my The Hayden Girls challenge I left on Illusive and Black, White, and Read. I thought it was an intriguing idea when I issued the challenge so I thought I'd get the ball rolling and maybe there would be some more takers.

A word about the time line: I set it late season 7, so after Logan comes back from London, but before his deal goes sour and he leaves his dad's company. I'm also chucking the whole "Lorelei and Christopher get married" storyline because I hate it. We'll say Lorelei and Chris dated after the season 6 finale debacle and then they broke up. I'm having Lorelei and Luke do that whole painfully awkward dance they do when they're avoiding things. Don't worry, though, I'll fix them before too much longer. This is just the prologue!

Disclaimer: If I owned Gilmore Girls, I most certainly would not have ended it the way they did, and Logan would get far more screen time—he's way too attractive to be stuck in the background with bit parts in scenes.

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It was late when I got the news. I was asleep in my cramped room and there was a knock on our door. Paris was out of bed in what seemed like freakishly too short of a time, and I stumbled groggily into the living room wrapped in a blanket. Paris shouted through the door for the person to identify themselves, apparently afraid it was one of the do-wop group come to call. When the man shouted back that he was a police officer looking for a Lorelei Leigh Gilmore, my stomach began to hurt. I thought of my mother, of Luke, Logan, my grandparents. It never even occurred to me that it could be my father.

I entered the hospital dressed in rubber ducky pajama pants and a Yale sweatshirt over a stained tank-top. My hair was truly scary, but it was probably the last thing on my mind. I had called my mother before I left the apartment, Logan in the car on the way over, and Paris and Doyle were parking the car. I stumbled towards the desk and asked for him. I tried to sound calm and confident, but it came out small, scared, and scratchy from crying. She directed me to the ICU ward on the 6th floor, smiling sympathetically as I shuffled quickly away.

The ICU ward was deathly quiet and I couldn't tell if it was because it was 3:00 I the morning or if it was always like that, but as I rounded the corner and saw the 5 year old sister I barely knew sitting there on a bench with a doll and a nurse, I realized the only thing I really wanted was my mother. I approached slowly and GiGi ran up to me, shouting my name. I hugged her and quietly shushed her, her noise shocking me out of the stupor I was in.

I sat on the bench with her while the nurse went to get the doctor to talk to me, her sleepy body heavy on my lap. When the doctor appeared, I shifted her weight to my hip and stood up. She stirred a little and then settled down, her head resting on my shoulder and her eyes closed.

"Ms. Gilmore? I'm Dr. Howe—I'm going to brief you on your father's condition." His voice was calm and soothing; I could tell he was gearing up for bad news.

"Yes, well, if you could do that please." I was babbling and I didn't seem to be able to stop.

"Of course, you probably already know that your father was in an accident tonight. It appears he was driving home from a late meeting when he lost control of the car. His car struck a tree and he suffered major trauma to the abdomen and the head." He paused, apparently trying to let the impossible sink in.

"What does that mean?" My voice was whispery and paper-thin. I kept thinking about this time when I was eight and he was driving me to school on one of his infrequent visits. We'd been hit by a tourist in a rental car—a fender bender.

"Well, your father's brain has stopped sending messages to any other part of his body—not to be insensitive, but there's no brain activity. We have a Do Not Resuscitate order in his file. We can't help him if his heart stops beating or he stops breathing." He looked at me sadly. "I'm sorry, but his chances aren't good."

"What are they?" I was starting to wish that I'd made him wait until someone was here with me before he'd started. "His chances, I mean."

"I doubt he'll make it through the night. I'm sorry, is there someone we can call?"

"I already took care of it." He nodded sympathetically and backed away slowly—probably off to tell someone else horrific news.

I sat down and waited for the worst.

About an hour later, my mom and Luke made it to the hospital in Boston. Logan was right behind them, and it helped seeing them all. They all took turns holding Gigi and me both.

He died at 3:15 that morning. I never even went into the room he was lying in. Mom went in and sat with him for a little while, but Luke was the one in the room when he died. The monitors went off and nurses rushed in; I could hear the beeping in the hallway.

Logan held my hand when the doctor came out to tell me that he'd gone. This overwhelming press of sadness came over me and I found out what it meant to be drowning in grief and regret. I looked down at Gigi, who was happily sleeping on the chair/bench the hospital had provided, and I saw how much I wished he could have been a real dad to me. I felt my knees go weak and Logan hold me up. I remember feeling empty all of a sudden, and that was all. I woke up a little while later in my own bed with Logan lying next to me.

It wasn't until later that it sunk in completely.