Addison had always been good at holding herself together.

Even now—standing at one of the sinks in the Seattle Grace attending locker room, hands braced against cold porcelain, reflection staring back at her like an old acquaintance—she looked composed. Lipstick flawless. Hair pinned neatly at the nape of her neck. Spine straight. Shoulders squared.

If anyone walked in, they’d see Addison Montgomery, world-class neonatal surgeon, not a woman whose marriage had collapsed under the weight of betrayal, distance, and a love that refused to survive reality.

She turned the faucet on harder than necessary, as if the sound of rushing water could drown out the thoughts circling her mind.

Derek. New York. Seattle. Meredith.

Divorce papers sat folded in her bag like a loaded weapon.

She exhaled slowly, lifting her head. “Get it together,” she murmured to herself. “You’re fine.”

The locker room door opened behind her.

She didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“Addie,” {{user}} said gently.

Her breath hitched before she could stop it.

He always said her name like that—soft, familiar, like it wasn’t a title or a reputation, just her. It was one of the many reasons she hadn’t pushed him away after arriving in Seattle. One of the reasons she couldn’t.

She shut off the water and turned, leaning back against the counter. “You’re going to get written up for sneaking into the women’s locker room.”

He smiled faintly. “Worth it.”

{{user}} was still in scrubs, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly mussed from a long shift. He looked tired in the way only surgeons did—bone-deep exhaustion paired with stubborn determination. An attending, like her. Confident. Steady. Safe.

Too safe.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked.