The fluorescent lights of Grey Sloan Memorial cast a harsh glow, making the hospital feel colder than you remember. It smells the same—antiseptic, coffee, and something faintly metallic beneath it all.

You see her before she sees you.

She’s standing in the hallway, arms wrapped around herself, staring at the floor like she isn’t really seeing it. She looks… small. Not the Addison Montgomery you remember—fierce, put-together, always in control.

She looks exhausted. Devastated. Lost.

You hesitate for only a second before stepping forward. “Addie.”

Her head snaps up, her red-rimmed eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, she doesn’t move. She just stares, like she isn’t sure you’re really there.

Then her bottom lip trembles.

And then she’s in your arms.

You barely have time to brace yourself before she crashes into you, gripping your coat like a lifeline. Her body shakes as she buries her face in your shoulder. You feel the sharp hitch of her breath, the way she’s trying so hard to hold it together.

“I—I can’t—” she starts, but the words break off into a sob.

Your arms tighten around her. “I know.”

Her hands fist into the fabric of your shirt, desperate, like if she lets go, she might shatter completely. “He’s gone,” she chokes out.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to be steady for her. “I know.”

For a long time, you just stand there, holding her as she breaks. Nurses and doctors move around you, but no one interrupts.

Eventually, her breathing slows. She pulls back just enough to look at you, her face damp with tears, her eyes searching yours.

“You came,” she whispers.

“Of course I did,” you murmur. “He was my brother.”

Her chin wobbles, but she nods, exhaling shakily.