Edith in denial was difficult for me to watch. I hurt along with her and I want to save her from this pain. She collapsed in my arms and, as I held her, her sobs raked through her body.

"I'm here for you now. I'm here."

I need to be strong for her even though my knees threaten to buckle. The crack of the meat cleaver echoed in my mind. At least mother's death was quick. But a death like this...

How many times did Lucille have to pummel his head into the sink before his skull cracked and gave in? Did he try to fight? Did he beg for his life? Was his last thought about Edith?

I glanced up to see Dr. McMichael giving me the same distrustful look Mr. Cushing had given me less than 24 hours ago.

"Edith," McMichael said gently as he moved around the steel table.

She turned her head slightly, her face wet and her eyebrows coming together as a warning. Her fingers curled and grasped the sides of my coat. She was angry with him.

"Let me take you home," he reached his hand out for her to take. The same hand that touched her dead father.

"No, Alan," Edith curtly said, "I rather you didn't."

Before he could protest, Edith pulled away from me and briskly walked out of the room.

"Doctor," I nodded and followed Edith out.

When I caught up to her, her hands were clasped together, shaking. I draped my coat around her and we continued to walk in silence. I hailed us a cab and we rode in silence for a while longer. She gazed out the window, clutching her knees to her chest.

I touched the back of my fingertips ever so lightly to the side of her face. All I wanted to do is comfort her. As if she read my mind, she moved towards me and I enveloped her in my arms. I squeezed her tight and cradled her head in my hand.

"I'm so sorry, Edith. I'm so sorry," I whispered into her hair. She spoke into my chest. I pulled away from her slightly, still keeping my arms around her. "What did you say?"

"What am I going to do?" The fear and sorrow in her eyes broke my heart.

The ring in my pocket suddenly grew heavy.

"Edith...Last night, I was going to ask you something. Before your father pulled me aside."

The butterfly in my chest frantically flapped its wings. I cleared my throat.

"Yes," she whispered.

I gasped softly in surprise.

Her eyes had a playful look to them, the pain temporarily moved to the side. A fragile smile on her lips. Despite the tragedy that surrounded us, I felt a hint of happiness. I pressed my forehead softly to hers.

"We can have a new start," I whispered, "as husband and wife. I'll take care of you."

I kissed her forehead and I felt her hands cup my face. I met her gaze.

"We'll take care of each other," she whispered back.