Fic: Is Sorry Enough? (2/9)
Title: Is Sorry Enough? (2/9)
Author: cmhepple
Genre: Mirandy
Rating: NC17 - This is probably overkill, but given the subject matter I wanted to warn readers to expect some adult themes. Don’t flame me until you’ve read all of part 1.
Disclaimer: The usual blurb - I’m doing this for fun, not making any money out of it and I don’t own DWP.
Summary: Miranda sees her worst nightmare come to life. Will sorry be enough to set things right?
Comments: Okay, so I started writing this story a couple of years ago and finally got around to finishing it. To make up for my absence I’ve made it a bit longer than normal (19k+).
****
Andy sat back into the corner of the cream leather love-seat and absently scanned the interior of the stylish living room. She tasted the metallic tang of blood and the saltiness of tears as she swiped a tongue over her swollen lip. Her jaw ached and her arms felt like she’d been pummelled by a battering ram. Well, she considered, Miranda had been a pretty convincing version of one.
She shuddered at the memory and felt liquid sadness collecting in her eyes ready to burst forth down her bruised cheeks. She managed to control the worst of it, listening as Nigel busied himself in the bathroom pulling together whatever he deemed an appropriate first aid kit.
This wasn’t what she had imagined when she’d traded lazy kisses with her wife in bed that morning, or at any other time for that matter.
Andy understood the impulse to destroy anyone who would harm either of the twins. She would have reacted in the same ‘shoot first ask questions later’ manner had she found a stranger in Cassidy’s room. But that Miranda hadn’t trusted Andy, her own wife. Hadn’t instinctively known that Andy would never do something as incomprehensible as what she was being accused of, hurt more than all the cuts and bruises she had been on the receiving end of put together.
In the space of a couple of minutes her whole world had been turned upside down. She rationalised that, in time, the wounds on her body would heal, but she couldn’t say the same for the torn pieces of her heart.
Nigel had been horrified when she had turned up on his doorstep gone midnight. His offer to call the police was quickly waved off, so were his questions, in favour of getting into the warmth of his apartment. She’d left home without having been able to collect her coat, shoes or even purse, which contained, amongst other things, her money and her phone. Nigel’s had been the only place she could think of that was within walking distance and even then, it had taken an hour to get there.
He tried to press her for details and Andy knew that her evasive answers and assurances that she hadn’t been mugged must have made it pretty obvious what had happened; she was a walking testament to Miranda’s fury after all. Andy would have to talk about it at some point but right now she was exhausted and didn’t have the energy to correct any assumptions he might have made. Especially when she wasn’t sure how she was going to explain it to herself.
He returned, carrying a bottle of Tylenol and a glass of water.
“I’ve made up the bed in the guest room.” He said, handing her two pills and the means with which to wash them down.
She swallowed both back like a pro and gave him a shaky smile in gratitude before he enclosed her in strong arms and allowed her to sob into his chest.
****
Miranda was exasperated.
From the moment Andrea had walked out the door, her daughters had rounded on her, telling her to bring her back. She had tried explaining to Cassidy that what Andrea had done was unforgivable and that she would never let her back in the house, or anywhere near her girls ever again, but they were relentless in her defence.
To think she had trusted Andrea with her children.
“Mom, you didn’t even let her explain.” Cassidy said, her voice rising in desperation.
Finally she snapped.
“I saw what happened. What possible alternative explanation could there be, Cassidy?”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Caroline flinch at her sharp tone, but she needed to make them both understand her on this matter before she reported what happened to the police and the interviews began.
“I realise you girls and I have never really had a discussion about sex and what’s right and what’s wrong. But I need you to understand that what Andrea did was very wrong. She abused…”
"She wasn't doing anything I didn't ask her to do." Cassidy interrupted.
Miranda ground her teeth, partly in fury and partly to try and contain her nausea and added predatory grooming to the growing list of criminal charges Andrea would face.
"Darling, you're just a little girl, I know Andrea may have made it seem like it was your idea but..."
"Listen to me." Cassidy shouted loudly. "Ma never. She wouldn't. I...I found a lump on my breast.”
It took Miranda a few seconds for the rambling words to register.
The first thought she had was that the idea was so preposterous that Cassidy must have simply been offering an excuse that Andrea had fed to her in case they were discovered. The sheer upset on her daughter's face however, gave her pause and she felt herself pale. “No…” she said, shaking her head and thinking back to what she’d seen through the half-open doorway, “that’s not possible…” Surely Andrea could not have been giving her daughter an actual breast exam.
“Andy was going to check whether it was something I should make an appointment to see the doctor about.” Cassidy continued quietly. “I know that she thought I’d be better off going straight to you or the clinic, but I didn’t want to worry anyone else if it was nothing. And Andy wrote that article on female health for the Mirror last month, so I knew that she would know.”
Miranda put aside the horrific realisation that she had made a phenomenal mistake for a moment and decided to concentrate on the ramifications of what Cassidy was telling her. She licked her lips hesitantly, knowing that she needed to ask the obvious question. “Did she…did she find anything?”
Cassidy bowed miserably and shook her head, “She didn’t have a chance to finish looking.”
“Mom, you have to find Andy. You have to make things right.” Caroline said, folding her arms in a no-nonsense stance.
Miranda knew she did, but the reality was that she didn’t think there was enough apologies in the world that would make Andrea want to come back to her.
Oh dear God, what have I done?
****
The morning brought a new definition to the word ‘hurt’ as Andy fought the journey back to consciousness. Being awake meant she had to admit that the events of the night before had really happened; Miranda had really accused her of being a child molester and thrown her out of the townhouse and Andy was now facing a life without the woman she loved and had thought loved her. She felt the tears start to gather again and lamented the fact that there would be many more before this whole ordeal would be over. If it ever was.
Looking at the clock to see it was past nine, she supposed it was time to get up, but the thought of what she should have been doing now, had she still been living her life, hurt too much to drum up the enthusiasm. It was Saturday and they would have had plans as a family to have breakfast in Central Park at the Boathouse, something they tried to do every couple of months. Later, she was supposed to take the twins to the Natural History Museum to see the latest exhibition on climate change for Caroline’s ‘Save the Planet’ school project. She wondered what they would be doing instead.
She sniffed as she tried to control another round of the waterworks and the sound was oddly loud in the silence of the apartment. Nigel would have been long gone; his weekend getaway out of state with his latest boy-toy had probably started in earnest by the time his rental found the open road. The only comment he made to her about her temporary residence had been that she was more than welcome to house sit, as long as she didn’t overwater his ficus.
That thought brought a loud groan, as she realised that she would need to start looking for a new place to move to. Hopefully Miranda would let her in to retrieve her stuff and maybe she would be lucky enough to find somewhere cheap to live without her having to leave Manhattan. There were things to do, organise, people to tell and it all brought a heaviness to her already battered heart.
With a final sniffle, she burrowed back under the covers and decided she could deal with it all tomorrow.
****
Miranda winced as she moved and attempted to ease some of the stiffness out of her back and shoulders. She had sat up in the kitchen all night, bereft yet hopeful that Andrea would try to return to the townhouse and more importantly, to her.
Once Cassidy had explained the excruciating details of the situation and they had resolved to have her personal physician visit the next day, Miranda had waited mere seconds to ring her wife, but each time there was no reply. On the twelfth near hysterical attempt, Caroline had brought her a vibrating cell phone and it was enough to bring Miranda to her knees in a tidal wave of anguish and guilt.
Her daughters had sat with her waiting for her tears to recede, each taking it in turns to surround her with their love until she had seen Caroline nearly fall off the arm of the chair in fatigue and she ordered both of them to bed. She had refused their pleas to make her own way upstairs and pulling out Andrea’s cerulean cashmere blanket from a nearby cupboard, Miranda wrapped it around herself, breathing in the faint scent that lingered and settled resolutely to stare at the front door.
When the shadows cast by the moon had begun to grow lighter, she finally realised the futility of the situation and the bone weariness began to seep in with devastating effect. Her hands clutched the cover tightly as if that very action would spur the missing woman into making a sudden appearance.
She shifted again jumping as she heard a clatter and looked round to see that her phone had fallen to the floor. Her muscles protested as she bent to retrieve it and she was about to toss it on the table next to her, when she had a thought. Emily. Opening the clamshell, she rang through to her Accessories Manager.
The call was answered on the third ring, the voice on the other end alert and very British. It was comfortably familiar and served to ease some of her tension.
“Hello, Miranda.”
She suppressed a small smile at the realisation that the redhead was probably still conditioned to answer a phone immediately despite having not been her first assistant for nearly a year. She wondered how many others had suffered after they had left her employ. It had taken Andrea twice as long to stop the almost Pavlovian response and even now she knew the young woman broke into a sweat whenever she heard a particular ringtone. Thinking about her wife brought her back to the reason that she was calling.
“Emily. I need you to find Andrea.”
She was met with silence from the other end and moved the phone from her ear to check for a signal or some sign that the call had been dropped.
When there continued to be no response Miranda sighed. “Do I need to repeat myself, Emily?”
“N…no, I…yes, Miranda.” The other woman stammered before muttering something barely audible about this no longer being her job before the line went dead.
Half an hour later she had her answer. Andrea was staying at Nigel’s. The news, although painful to acknowledge due to the circumstances, at least gave her the comfort of knowing that the young woman was safe and in the company of their dear friend.
Having learnt the hard way that Andrea didn’t have her cell with her, she accessed Nigel’s contact details on her own, searching through the menu system for his landline. Her thumb hovered over the button to dial the number as she stalled in indecision. Could she ring Andrea? Should she? What would she say?
How can I even begin to say sorry for what I’ve done?
In the end, she lost her nerve, snapped the phone shut and dropped it back on the table. She hoped she was doing the right thing by giving her wife a little time to heal and think things through. Perhaps it would give them both the distance they needed before Miranda could make her apology and Andrea would be able to listen to it.
****
The downstairs lounge, used for more formal occasions and providing an invisible, yet physical barrier to the rest of the house, somehow felt colder and more impersonal than it had when Miranda had bought the house and the room was painted a rancid green.
How is it possible to feel so out of place in your own home? she thought, shivering violently as Doctor Rebecca Ronson slammed a metaphorical knife into her heart.
“You’re sure?” she asked, even though she didn’t think she could bear to hear it said again.
Doctor Ronson nodded. “It could still be nothing, but I’d like for you to bring her by the clinic so that we can do a mammogram.”
Plans for appointments, transport and potential treatment swirled around her brain and she felt dizzy enough that she needed to lean back into the armchair to ensure that she didn’t topple over. Once she was able to focus, her eyes gravitated over to the couch to where her twins were holding on to each other for comfort and she fought back the lump that lodged in her throat at the thought that Andrea should have been there with them.
And me. Her inner voice wailed.
“If it’s cancer, what will happen then? Will I…will I…d...die?” Cassidy asked in a small voice.
Miranda watched through tear-filled eyes as her long-time friend crouched next to her daughter and placed a gentle hand on her knee.
“There’s a lot we can do to fight all types of cancer these days, but I don’t even want you thinking along those lines at the moment. We need to work out if there’s anything to worry about first.” She took a breath, “And if there is, well, we’ll come to that later. I’ll talk you through everything you need to know. I promise.”
Miranda watched the woman stand up and collect her medical bag. “Thank you, Rebecca.” She said, her voice hoarse with barely restrained emotion.
Doctor Ronson smiled kindly. “I’ll see you later.” She said, squeezing Miranda's shoulder in silent support as she passed her on the way out.
****
Part 3
Author: cmhepple
Genre: Mirandy
Rating: NC17 - This is probably overkill, but given the subject matter I wanted to warn readers to expect some adult themes. Don’t flame me until you’ve read all of part 1.
Disclaimer: The usual blurb - I’m doing this for fun, not making any money out of it and I don’t own DWP.
Summary: Miranda sees her worst nightmare come to life. Will sorry be enough to set things right?
Comments: Okay, so I started writing this story a couple of years ago and finally got around to finishing it. To make up for my absence I’ve made it a bit longer than normal (19k+).
****
Andy sat back into the corner of the cream leather love-seat and absently scanned the interior of the stylish living room. She tasted the metallic tang of blood and the saltiness of tears as she swiped a tongue over her swollen lip. Her jaw ached and her arms felt like she’d been pummelled by a battering ram. Well, she considered, Miranda had been a pretty convincing version of one.
She shuddered at the memory and felt liquid sadness collecting in her eyes ready to burst forth down her bruised cheeks. She managed to control the worst of it, listening as Nigel busied himself in the bathroom pulling together whatever he deemed an appropriate first aid kit.
This wasn’t what she had imagined when she’d traded lazy kisses with her wife in bed that morning, or at any other time for that matter.
Andy understood the impulse to destroy anyone who would harm either of the twins. She would have reacted in the same ‘shoot first ask questions later’ manner had she found a stranger in Cassidy’s room. But that Miranda hadn’t trusted Andy, her own wife. Hadn’t instinctively known that Andy would never do something as incomprehensible as what she was being accused of, hurt more than all the cuts and bruises she had been on the receiving end of put together.
In the space of a couple of minutes her whole world had been turned upside down. She rationalised that, in time, the wounds on her body would heal, but she couldn’t say the same for the torn pieces of her heart.
Nigel had been horrified when she had turned up on his doorstep gone midnight. His offer to call the police was quickly waved off, so were his questions, in favour of getting into the warmth of his apartment. She’d left home without having been able to collect her coat, shoes or even purse, which contained, amongst other things, her money and her phone. Nigel’s had been the only place she could think of that was within walking distance and even then, it had taken an hour to get there.
He tried to press her for details and Andy knew that her evasive answers and assurances that she hadn’t been mugged must have made it pretty obvious what had happened; she was a walking testament to Miranda’s fury after all. Andy would have to talk about it at some point but right now she was exhausted and didn’t have the energy to correct any assumptions he might have made. Especially when she wasn’t sure how she was going to explain it to herself.
He returned, carrying a bottle of Tylenol and a glass of water.
“I’ve made up the bed in the guest room.” He said, handing her two pills and the means with which to wash them down.
She swallowed both back like a pro and gave him a shaky smile in gratitude before he enclosed her in strong arms and allowed her to sob into his chest.
****
Miranda was exasperated.
From the moment Andrea had walked out the door, her daughters had rounded on her, telling her to bring her back. She had tried explaining to Cassidy that what Andrea had done was unforgivable and that she would never let her back in the house, or anywhere near her girls ever again, but they were relentless in her defence.
To think she had trusted Andrea with her children.
“Mom, you didn’t even let her explain.” Cassidy said, her voice rising in desperation.
Finally she snapped.
“I saw what happened. What possible alternative explanation could there be, Cassidy?”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Caroline flinch at her sharp tone, but she needed to make them both understand her on this matter before she reported what happened to the police and the interviews began.
“I realise you girls and I have never really had a discussion about sex and what’s right and what’s wrong. But I need you to understand that what Andrea did was very wrong. She abused…”
"She wasn't doing anything I didn't ask her to do." Cassidy interrupted.
Miranda ground her teeth, partly in fury and partly to try and contain her nausea and added predatory grooming to the growing list of criminal charges Andrea would face.
"Darling, you're just a little girl, I know Andrea may have made it seem like it was your idea but..."
"Listen to me." Cassidy shouted loudly. "Ma never. She wouldn't. I...I found a lump on my breast.”
It took Miranda a few seconds for the rambling words to register.
The first thought she had was that the idea was so preposterous that Cassidy must have simply been offering an excuse that Andrea had fed to her in case they were discovered. The sheer upset on her daughter's face however, gave her pause and she felt herself pale. “No…” she said, shaking her head and thinking back to what she’d seen through the half-open doorway, “that’s not possible…” Surely Andrea could not have been giving her daughter an actual breast exam.
“Andy was going to check whether it was something I should make an appointment to see the doctor about.” Cassidy continued quietly. “I know that she thought I’d be better off going straight to you or the clinic, but I didn’t want to worry anyone else if it was nothing. And Andy wrote that article on female health for the Mirror last month, so I knew that she would know.”
Miranda put aside the horrific realisation that she had made a phenomenal mistake for a moment and decided to concentrate on the ramifications of what Cassidy was telling her. She licked her lips hesitantly, knowing that she needed to ask the obvious question. “Did she…did she find anything?”
Cassidy bowed miserably and shook her head, “She didn’t have a chance to finish looking.”
“Mom, you have to find Andy. You have to make things right.” Caroline said, folding her arms in a no-nonsense stance.
Miranda knew she did, but the reality was that she didn’t think there was enough apologies in the world that would make Andrea want to come back to her.
Oh dear God, what have I done?
****
The morning brought a new definition to the word ‘hurt’ as Andy fought the journey back to consciousness. Being awake meant she had to admit that the events of the night before had really happened; Miranda had really accused her of being a child molester and thrown her out of the townhouse and Andy was now facing a life without the woman she loved and had thought loved her. She felt the tears start to gather again and lamented the fact that there would be many more before this whole ordeal would be over. If it ever was.
Looking at the clock to see it was past nine, she supposed it was time to get up, but the thought of what she should have been doing now, had she still been living her life, hurt too much to drum up the enthusiasm. It was Saturday and they would have had plans as a family to have breakfast in Central Park at the Boathouse, something they tried to do every couple of months. Later, she was supposed to take the twins to the Natural History Museum to see the latest exhibition on climate change for Caroline’s ‘Save the Planet’ school project. She wondered what they would be doing instead.
She sniffed as she tried to control another round of the waterworks and the sound was oddly loud in the silence of the apartment. Nigel would have been long gone; his weekend getaway out of state with his latest boy-toy had probably started in earnest by the time his rental found the open road. The only comment he made to her about her temporary residence had been that she was more than welcome to house sit, as long as she didn’t overwater his ficus.
That thought brought a loud groan, as she realised that she would need to start looking for a new place to move to. Hopefully Miranda would let her in to retrieve her stuff and maybe she would be lucky enough to find somewhere cheap to live without her having to leave Manhattan. There were things to do, organise, people to tell and it all brought a heaviness to her already battered heart.
With a final sniffle, she burrowed back under the covers and decided she could deal with it all tomorrow.
****
Miranda winced as she moved and attempted to ease some of the stiffness out of her back and shoulders. She had sat up in the kitchen all night, bereft yet hopeful that Andrea would try to return to the townhouse and more importantly, to her.
Once Cassidy had explained the excruciating details of the situation and they had resolved to have her personal physician visit the next day, Miranda had waited mere seconds to ring her wife, but each time there was no reply. On the twelfth near hysterical attempt, Caroline had brought her a vibrating cell phone and it was enough to bring Miranda to her knees in a tidal wave of anguish and guilt.
Her daughters had sat with her waiting for her tears to recede, each taking it in turns to surround her with their love until she had seen Caroline nearly fall off the arm of the chair in fatigue and she ordered both of them to bed. She had refused their pleas to make her own way upstairs and pulling out Andrea’s cerulean cashmere blanket from a nearby cupboard, Miranda wrapped it around herself, breathing in the faint scent that lingered and settled resolutely to stare at the front door.
When the shadows cast by the moon had begun to grow lighter, she finally realised the futility of the situation and the bone weariness began to seep in with devastating effect. Her hands clutched the cover tightly as if that very action would spur the missing woman into making a sudden appearance.
She shifted again jumping as she heard a clatter and looked round to see that her phone had fallen to the floor. Her muscles protested as she bent to retrieve it and she was about to toss it on the table next to her, when she had a thought. Emily. Opening the clamshell, she rang through to her Accessories Manager.
The call was answered on the third ring, the voice on the other end alert and very British. It was comfortably familiar and served to ease some of her tension.
“Hello, Miranda.”
She suppressed a small smile at the realisation that the redhead was probably still conditioned to answer a phone immediately despite having not been her first assistant for nearly a year. She wondered how many others had suffered after they had left her employ. It had taken Andrea twice as long to stop the almost Pavlovian response and even now she knew the young woman broke into a sweat whenever she heard a particular ringtone. Thinking about her wife brought her back to the reason that she was calling.
“Emily. I need you to find Andrea.”
She was met with silence from the other end and moved the phone from her ear to check for a signal or some sign that the call had been dropped.
When there continued to be no response Miranda sighed. “Do I need to repeat myself, Emily?”
“N…no, I…yes, Miranda.” The other woman stammered before muttering something barely audible about this no longer being her job before the line went dead.
Half an hour later she had her answer. Andrea was staying at Nigel’s. The news, although painful to acknowledge due to the circumstances, at least gave her the comfort of knowing that the young woman was safe and in the company of their dear friend.
Having learnt the hard way that Andrea didn’t have her cell with her, she accessed Nigel’s contact details on her own, searching through the menu system for his landline. Her thumb hovered over the button to dial the number as she stalled in indecision. Could she ring Andrea? Should she? What would she say?
How can I even begin to say sorry for what I’ve done?
In the end, she lost her nerve, snapped the phone shut and dropped it back on the table. She hoped she was doing the right thing by giving her wife a little time to heal and think things through. Perhaps it would give them both the distance they needed before Miranda could make her apology and Andrea would be able to listen to it.
****
The downstairs lounge, used for more formal occasions and providing an invisible, yet physical barrier to the rest of the house, somehow felt colder and more impersonal than it had when Miranda had bought the house and the room was painted a rancid green.
How is it possible to feel so out of place in your own home? she thought, shivering violently as Doctor Rebecca Ronson slammed a metaphorical knife into her heart.
“You’re sure?” she asked, even though she didn’t think she could bear to hear it said again.
Doctor Ronson nodded. “It could still be nothing, but I’d like for you to bring her by the clinic so that we can do a mammogram.”
Plans for appointments, transport and potential treatment swirled around her brain and she felt dizzy enough that she needed to lean back into the armchair to ensure that she didn’t topple over. Once she was able to focus, her eyes gravitated over to the couch to where her twins were holding on to each other for comfort and she fought back the lump that lodged in her throat at the thought that Andrea should have been there with them.
And me. Her inner voice wailed.
“If it’s cancer, what will happen then? Will I…will I…d...die?” Cassidy asked in a small voice.
Miranda watched through tear-filled eyes as her long-time friend crouched next to her daughter and placed a gentle hand on her knee.
“There’s a lot we can do to fight all types of cancer these days, but I don’t even want you thinking along those lines at the moment. We need to work out if there’s anything to worry about first.” She took a breath, “And if there is, well, we’ll come to that later. I’ll talk you through everything you need to know. I promise.”
Miranda watched the woman stand up and collect her medical bag. “Thank you, Rebecca.” She said, her voice hoarse with barely restrained emotion.
Doctor Ronson smiled kindly. “I’ll see you later.” She said, squeezing Miranda's shoulder in silent support as she passed her on the way out.
****
Part 3