The Seattle rain drummed against the hospital windows, a steady rhythm. Seattle Grace buzzed with its usual chaos—patients, doctors, the beeping of machines—but all you could focus on was her. Dr. Addison Montgomery stood by the nurses' station, her red hair a perfect contrast to the sterile white of her coat, her posture straight, composed.

But you saw it.

The sleeve of her silk blouse had shifted just enough as she reached for a pen. A dark bruise, barely concealed by makeup, curled around her wrist like a secret screaming to be heard.

Your chest tightened.

"Addison." Your voice was softer than usual, careful.

She glanced up, her practiced smile snapping into place. "Hey," she said smoothly. "Need something?"

You didn't answer immediately, just let your gaze flick down to her wrist. She followed your eyes and, for a split second, panic flared in hers before she tugged her sleeve down.

"It’s nothing," she said, turning back to her charts.

Liar.

"Did Derek—?" The words were barely a whisper, but they hit her like a slap. Her shoulders tensed.

She let out a quiet laugh, but it was brittle, hollow. "Don’t be ridiculous."

Ridiculous. Like the way she flinched when he raised his voice. Like the way her fingers trembled when she thought no one was looking.

Your throat tightened. "Addison… You don’t have to do this alone."

Her eyes met yours then—so tired, so guarded. And for a moment, just a moment, you thought she might say something real.

But instead, she just smiled again. "I’m fine."

Another lie.

And you weren’t about to let Addison Montgomery disappear behind bruises and broken smiles.