Summary: After Jason and Sam decide to get a divorce, Sam starts to spiral out of control. Each italicized set of lyrics marks a new week in Sam's life.

Here we go, welcome to my funeral. Without you I don't even have a pulse. All alone it's dark and cold. With every move I die.

So this was the end of the line. My life might as well be over. Jason and I said our goodbyes a few hours earlier, after coming to the conclusion that a divorce was the best thing for both of us. I didn't think that there were pieces of my life small enough left to shatter, but I was wrong. With the official end of my marriage underway, I immediately felt a shadow casting over me.

I lock myself in my room and lay in bed as soon as he leaves. I already expected the end of our relationship, but I didn't know how I would deal with it. It turns out, I can't deal.

For so long, Jason has been such a huge part of my life, the most important part. Almost all of the happiest times of my life were spent with him. But the same could be said of all of the saddest moments. And this is what I hold on to the most. The pain and grief and heartache let me hold onto the anger I have toward him. I love him from a more distant place in my heart, but the hate is so much easier to access. It seems crazy, but as long as I can still hate him and have something against him, I still have a reason to keep him in my heart.

I cry into the morning. My sisters hear and plead with me to open the door. I don't. I don't leave the room for three days.

Here I go, this is my confessional. A lost cause, nobody can save my soul. I am so delusional. With every move I die.

Everyone is worried about me. I haven't told them about Jason's visit. They think I should "talk to someone." I've barely left my room in days—I'm not sure how many—so they don't expect me to go to the hospital. Instead, my mom hires a psychiatrist to visit the house. She and my sisters clear out while I have my session. Not that we talk about much. She asks me about the kind of day I'm having. Good. I recently lost a child? Yes. How am I handling that? Great. How is my relationship with my husband? Nonexistent.

We continue this way for another forty minutes, before she concludes the session and asks if this is something I'd like to do again next week. Not particularly, but it'll ease my family a bit so, Sure.

I'm not looking to get fixed or anything. I doubt anyone could save me now. Sometimes I sleep for hours and just dream of the life I had with Jason, and the life we could have had. Then I wake to the nightmare that darkens my reality. No children. No husband. And I cry, just when I think I don't have any more tears to shed.

I feel like I'm going crazy.

I have destroyed our love, it's gone. Payback is sick, it's all my fault.

It's all my fault. My life is in shambles, and I'm to blame. I should have trusted Jason. That damn doctor broke me, and got me to realize this. I hadn't trusted him for a long time. Not since Franco...

Our lives together, up until the beginning of our honeymoon getaway to Hawaii, had finally come together in this magical sort of storybook ending. I guess there's a reason fairytales end at "happily ever after;" no one likes the ugly parts that come after. Anyway, that's when I started to resent Jason. When I learned that Franco raped me, that's when my world really started to fall apart, starting with my dignity and my marriage.

I should have told Jason how I felt then. But I was just so ashamed of what happened to me, and angry that he couldn't stop it. I know it's irrational because he was imprisoned by Franco at the time, but I still felt that, somehow, he should have been there to protect me. And I felt so guilty for blaming him for this; it wasn't his fault, it was Franco's.

So I tried so hard to make him believe that I was okay, that we would be okay. He didn't need the burden of my guilt on top of the grief he was already carrying over what happened. I just wanted us to go back to our normal lives.

The resentment and distrust built, and it made me turn away from him. And to someone else. Really, I should have seen this all coming.

I'm dancing with tears in my eyes. Just fighting to get through the night. I'm losing it. With every move I die.

Tonight, I don't eat hidden away in my room. I sit with my family to have dinner. It's the hardest I've tried in a long time to be happy. Or, pretend to be happy. It's what they need right now.

The conversation is limited, and mostly between the three of them. The tension is palpable. My sisters are walking on eggshells around me, which I hate. I don't want them to be uncomfortable in their own home. I wish I could just snap out of whatever funk I'm in, but really it's just getting worse. The nightmares—when I can even sleep—come more frequently. And I can't stop these damn tears. But in front of my family, I can keep it together. I think.

No one looks up from their plates throughout the entire meal (which I barely eat), and I think I can safely assume it's because of me.

I'll move out tomorrow.

I'm fading, I'm broken inside. I've wasted the love of my life. I'm losing it. With every move I die.

Jake's—The Floating Rib, whatever—is the only place I go now, besides Kelly's diner (which is only because I'm staying above the establishment—temporarily, I tell my mom). I don't tell my family where spend my nights, though I'm sure Alexis knows; the new bartender is awfully chummy with my mother.

Each night, Mac has kept an eye on me with a look of concern and sadness. And if that's not bad enough, now Coleman greets me with pity. Fucking Coleman! The day I realize this, I break down. No more silent tears; in drunken hysteria, I scream my sobs in the middle of the bar.

Mac rushes over to me and tries to get me up, but I'm fetal and not moving an inch. I'm not sure what happens then, but the next time I recall being conscious is when I wake up in a room above the bar.

This is possibly the lowest I've gotten so far. I can't do this to myself anymore. But then, I just can't care enough to do anything else.

When did I become such a hypocrite? Double life, lies that you caught me in. Trust me I'm paying for it. With every move I die.

I wonder how Jason is doing now. I haven't been too surprised that I had yet to run into him. He hasn't tried to get in touch with me about the divorce, and I'm certainly not going to make the first move there. I'm sure he's been purposely avoiding anywhere he thinks I may be. But then, one day I see him.

I walk downstairs to Kelly's to get my morning coffee when I spot him. He sees me too, and we both freeze on instinct. And I swear time has stopped. Jason's look is one of concern.

This is the last thing I want. I don't want him to feel bad for me, like I was the only wounded party. The awkwardness is so evident between us, and is only slightly broken when my mother walks through the door.

She gasps in shock when she sees me. Maybe it's because Jason's here too, I don't know. But she walks over to me and takes me by the arm almost forcibly.

She says she is taking me home. I look back as she pulls me out of the door, and I see him looking after me. And then, I'm confused. He almost looks like he cares. Why does he care? No, he doesn't care about me. If Jason cared, he would have let me know. He would have checked in on me, right? Made sure I was okay? And he would have seen that, no, I'm not okay! And he would have done something about it.

But he was probably too busy with work. Or Elizabeth. I'm surprised he doesn't have her all over him now. Why not? It was inevitable, really. Maybe that's why my marriage couldn't work out. Maybe our relationship was just doomed from the start because we were never really meant to be. Maybe he was meant to be with the mother of his only child.

And I hate her for that. I really do. Jason and I will never have that kind of connection. And despite what he's done to try to get me to believe it in the past, the connection we had couldn't touch that.

But, it was kind of the same way with me and John. We didn't have a kid together, of course, but there was something there. It's still there. Perhaps it was my extramarital relationship that was the death of "Jason and Sam." Seeing John behind Jason's back—though it was platonic—stacked even more bricks on the barrier between us. It was my lies that were really our undoing.

It certainly didn't help that John always seemed to be there when I needed someone, and I willingly leaned on him. How could John have known his presence in our lives would contribute to our downfall?

Ok. I can't exactly blame Jason and I shouldn't be mad at Elizabeth. They didn't really do anything that I didn't do. So who's to blame?

On the floor I'm just a zombie. Who I am, is not who I wanna be. I'm such a tragedy. With every move I die.

When my mother brought me home last week, she took me straight to my former room and made me face the full-length mirror inside. I then knew why she looked so shocked when she saw me at Kelly's. I'd basically been living on whiskey for a couple of weeks; I was extremely pale, save for the dark circles under my eyes, and my clothes hung loosely from my body.

I stared at myself in the mirror and brought my hand to my face, just to be sure if this stranger was actually me. I was destroying myself. I looked halfway dead.

I grabbed my Mom's hand for dear life. She brought our hands to my chest, over my heart.

"Sam," she said, "you can't keep doing this to yourself. Or to us. We love you too much. We are not going to lose you. We love you. I love you."

And for the first time since my son's funeral, I allowed her to cradle me while I cried.

I have destroyed our love, it's gone. Payback is sick, it's all my fault.

I was only hurting myself. I was punishing myself. My therapist wanted to know why. Or, she wanted me to know why.

Jason couldn't control what happened in Hawaii. He never intentionally tried to get me hurt. He would—has—gone to Hell and back to protect me. But when Franco raped me I needed somebody to blame, and Franco was nowhere to be found. I needed a reason for something so heinous to happen, because there had to be some kind of explanation. Things like didn't just happen. Not to me.

But I understood back then that Franco was a sick bastard who enjoyed making others miserable. So it was easier to believe that Jason wasn't at fault, though I still hung on to that resentment.

When I found out that John didn't return to the hotel to help me and my baby because Jason's guys had him detained, it ruined me. Not only did Jason hurt my friend for whatever reason, but his actions led me to react by taking my son out in the middle of a storm to find help for him. And then he died.

There I was, with Jason telling me for the second time in my life that my baby was dead. Except this time, he was to blame. If he would have just left John alone, if he would have accepted the baby into his life, if he didn't abandon me at the church after Robin's funeral, things would have turned out much differently.

I'm dancing with tears in my eyes. Just fighting to get through the night. I'm losing it. With every move I die.

Some nights, I dream of Danny and we're watching a game together. He's always wearing his special hat. He usually asks me not to cry; in my dreams, I'm always crying. He tells me often that everything's okay. That now it's his turn to watch out for me.

Other nights I dream of a beautiful little girl. She's always smiling, and I feel happy every time I see those dimples and her big brown eyes. She likes to run, her long black hair flowing in the wind. She looks behind her laughing, making sure I'm running after her. These dreams are the happiest. I always feel peaceful when I awake after seeing her.

Even when we were together, I would dream of a fantasy life with Jason, and I still do. A little girl and a baby boy, a happy marriage. We would have the best friends and family around us who never let our children forget how much they were loved. Before, these dreams gave me hope of a bright future. Now, their false promises of happiness leave me sad.

The worst, though, like last night, are when I dream of the night I gave birth to my son. These are the most unforgiving. They're nightmares, really. He always dies. And when I wake up from these nightmares, I can never get back to sleep. I stay up and think about all the things that I could have done differently. It all leads back to one moment. I should have never left that motel room. I put my baby in danger when I decided to take him out in the middle of a storm and I left him outside of that cabin.

When I tell my therapist all of this—when I can explain that I'm really to blame for my baby's death—I feel like I can see things clearly for the first time. I was blatantly angry at Jason for so long because he was the cause of all of my problems, when in reality, it all rested on my shoulders. Maybe I was too ashamed to admit that it was my fault.

If I never moved out, if I never tried to further investigate Franco and visit Heather Webber, if I didn't have secrets with John, if I never lied about Robin, maybe everything would have turned out right.

So it's my fault?

My therapist wants to know, why the blame game? Because, if I have someone to blame, some specific time and place, then it makes sense. I can pinpoint the exact reason something went wrong in my life. Because nothing can just be. There can't be some grand scheme of things where this is just in the cards for me. It's just not fair.

So it's not Jason's fault anymore; it never was. My actions solely put me in my current condition—childless, husbandless, and pretty much alone.

Still, realizing all of this doesn't fill the hole in my heart or relieve the pain in my soul. Now, all of that hate and anger I built up for Jason, I put on myself.

I'm fading, I'm broken inside. I've wasted the love of my life. I'm losing it. With every move I die.

I've been thinking, maybe some things do just happen and just are, with no apparent explanation. Maybe there is a reason, but I'm not supposed to know it.

I'm trying really hard to believe this. I haven't been myself lately—or, at least, a version of myself I can continue to live with. I've hated myself for a long time now, and I think the rest of my life has sort of aligned with that perspective. I don't like myself so I don't take care of myself, I don't want anyone else to like me, and those who have actually stuck around are feeding off of my negative energy.

It's enough to mistreat myself, but when I realized that I was dragging down everyone around me, it hurt like hell. I don't want to be that person. No, I want to be someone that my family can still admire and not think of as a burden. I want to be the kind of person my brother and my children would have been proud of.

This is it and now you're really gone this time. Never once thought I'd be in pieces left behind.

My mom has been in contact with Jason's divorce attorney. I told her that there isn't really much for the lawyers to discuss. There was nothing either of us had that the other wanted, or would ever dream of taking away. I'm sure Jason feels that way too, but Mom just wants to be sure.

In the beginning I asked her to handle everything because I knew I couldn't. My heart would break every time I even thought of Jason. But I think I'm ready now.

I don't call him before I show up at the penthouse with knots in my stomach. I tell myself that if he's not home, then it's a sign that I'm not ready to see him again yet. After waiting for what feels like forever, he's there.

I haven't seen him since Kelly's, and he looks understandably shocked to see me. Apparently my tongue is in a knot, too; I can't say anything.


My name from his mouth has always caused my heartbeat to speed. I guess some things never change.

"Hi," I say. After a minute of staring at each other, he steps aside and motions for me to come inside. I take a deep breath and follow him in.

He's got this vulnerable look, and whenever I see that, it breaks my heart. His lips are slightly parted, and his eyes are glistening. I can't stand it; I look away.

"We really need to talk," I say.

"I know." He followed me to the couch, putting a comfortable distance between them. He sat there and waited for me to start talking. I looked at him again, and it was impossible to keep my voice steady.

"I'm sorry," I tell him. His reaction is to simply look at me like I'm crazy.

"Sorry? Sam, you have nothing to be sorry for."

"That's not true, and we both know it."

"What are you—?"

"Jason, please. Just let me say this."

He nods and lets me continue. I'm sure he's the only person who would be able to understand me through all the blubbering.

I need to apologize to him for blaming my baby's death on him, and for saying that he never cared about my son, basically accusing him of being a heartless bastard. I want to let him know that I was sorry for the lies I told, and for not trusting him. He has to understand that, though I now understand where my faults lie, we both messed up in our marriage; that I forgive him for his part in it, and that I hope he forgives me one day. Most importantly, I tell him that I have loved him for as long as we've been together and always will, and that I don't regret any of the time we spent together.

He takes my hand, grips it like before. "Sam, I don't hold anything that happened against you. And I love you, too. Always."

I allow myself to lean on his shoulder, and he holds me while I cry some more.

"Sam, what does this mean for us?"

I don't know. The hate is gone. The love is back. But the sorrow is still there.

"It means...we'll be okay one day."

I know he's looking for a less vague answer, but he doesn't push. I can't decide if we should stop the divorce and give our marriage another try or just cut all ties or what. I just know that, for now, Jason's place in my heart is secure.

I'm dancing with tears in my eyes. Just fighting to get through the night. I'm losing it. With every move I die.

A gravesite is a lonely place. Especially when you're surrounded by family.

Brother. Daughter. Son.

When I first visited my brother Danny and my little girl Lila, it was the hardest thing to do. They were my only real family. But then I found Jason, and Alexis and my sisters. Then it was easier. I felt like they sent these people to love me after they left, so I wouldn't be alone.

But now, with my little boy here, it's painful again. I still feel like my little boy was taken too soon. He was going to be my new beginning. And now he's gone. I can't even talk at his grave like I can to his sister and uncle. I just can't accept that my baby is in there.

If I tell anyone this, I think they may think I'm crazy. After all, haven't I already buried a child? I accepted her death, didn't I? Granted, it took some time, screaming, and a lot of tears.

But it is different. I expected that with time, my doubts over my son's death would ebb. Instead, I still feel incomplete. I still dream about the little boy with Jason's eyes that I held months ago, and of the still child Jason handed to me. Every day, I feel like something's wrong.

But who can I tell this to? Who would understand?

I'm fading, I'm broken inside. I've wasted the love of my life. I'm losing it. With every move I die.

John McBain is back in town. He is visiting my mother, who had some papers for him about child custody or something. Of course, though, my mother isn't home yet, so John's waiting.

Our conversation is almost as easy as it was before, but I don't feel that same intense attraction I had to him before, and I think he feels the same. It's like reconnecting with an old friend.

At one point, he asks to be excused to the bathroom, and I point it out to him. I sit down on the couch and pick up some random magazine of Kristina's from the coffee table. Then John's cell rings on the table. I'm not going to answer it, of course. But I can't help but notice the picture that pops up on the screen.

The name at the bottom says Tea, and there is a close-up of a smiling baby above. I don't know why, but I pick up the phone to take a closer look. And it is the most beautiful baby I've ever seen.

I remember Tea, John's lawyer friend from Llanview. She seemed nice, from what I can remember. She also had her baby the same night as me. I almost caught a glimpse of Tea's baby boy that night.

The phone continues to ring and I can't stop staring. He had Jason's eyes. Then the phone stops ringing, and the picture fades away. I frantically try to retrieve the photo, but the phone locks.

"Sam?" I hear from behind.

My baby. So close, but he slipped right through my fingers, again.

"Sam?" It's a different voice, from the doorway. I don't look up; I know it's my mother.

"My baby," I wail.

"Sweetie," Mom says as she rushes over.

I drop the phone. "My baby! He's here!"

"Sam, baby..."

She rubs my back and takes my hands.

"Your baby will always be with you, you know that."

She doesn't understand. That's my baby. I know it. In the picture he's bigger, but I swear, I would never forget that face.

"No!" I scream at her. "My baby's not dead. He can't be."

Alexis looks shocked, and extremely worried.

"Sam...what are you saying? You believe that your son is...alive?"

"Don't say it like that. Like I'm crazy. I saw him!"

John moves behind the sofa and puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Sam," Alexis warns.

They don't believe me. I know that was my baby in that picture. I don't know how the hell Tea got my baby, but I know she has him. I'm sure that was him.

"Sweetie, you told me that sometimes you see other babies that they remind me of your little girl. Maybe...Sam, it's entirely possible that this happened again, and you just wanted so hard to believe that it was true."

"But..." No. I saw him. Those other times didn't count. I knew they weren't mine. This was different. It had to be. That was the only explanation that made sense to me. I mean, why else would my reaction have been so intense? How else can my gut feeling be this strong?

And of course I want it to be true. I want my baby back, more than anything. But that doesn't mean that I just...made this up.

That's what my mom and John are thinking. But I can't even think clearly enough to explain to them what's happening. All I can do is cry, because I do feel like I'm losing it.

What if she's right? Am I just this desperate, that I'm making up this fantasy in my head?

"Mom," I cry.

She cradles me. "I know, sweetie. I know."

I feel like I'm breaking inside. I can seriously feel my heart shattering. I sink into my mother's arms, shaking, and with every move I die. I keep sinking until I'm just quiet, and numb.

A/N: I know, I suck for ending. But I started this soooo long ago, and I'm supposed to be doing homework, so naturally my muse was like, "let's do this NOW." Also, sorry but I didn't really edit this. I just really wanted to get this up. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the story. Reviews are always welcome. I love you all for reading.