It had become a sort of ritual: every morning she would stand in front of the gilded mirror as naked as her nameday. She remembered how the eyes of men had followed her as a young maiden but even after the births of her three children. Even Ashley, who never loved her, had wanted her, still wanted her. He said she was beautiful, the most beautiful woman in the world…but standing before those cold glassy eyes, she did not feel beautiful. She felt fat and used and old. She had stretch marks from the children she had borne and her breasts were not as firm as they had been when she was young. Without a gown to hold them up, they sagged against her chest. Her face was gaunt and pale and those cat-green eyes that had once charmed the devil were weary and rheumy. She gave a great sigh, staring forlornly at the strange woman who peered back through the mist.

A cock's crowing interrupted her reverie and the room burned with an orange glow. Squinting at the sun, she sighed once more as she braced herself for yet another day. But as she turned, she bumped against her vanity and it fell to the floor with a soft thunk. She picked it up, smearing the dust with her hands and smiled at the image of her little girl, forever beautiful, forever young, forever gone. She looked round the room, at the fine mahogany cabinet, the exquisite mantelpiece, at the canopy that greeted her eyes the morning after that night. These things had mattered to her once, to that young woman, the one who had burned so bright, the one who had wept on those steps the night she vowed to undo what had already been done. What a fool she had been, for falling for the same trap not once but twice. But there was a way out from this tragic fate: the solution had been right in front of her the entire time and she had to laugh at the simplicity of it.

She would finally be free.

...

A change had come about her mother. She was possessed by an unusual listlessness; when she was not preoccupied by her ledger or the hustle and bustle of the mills and Tara, she would spend entire mornings staring out the window with a hand under her chin, giving a great sigh every now and then. She floated from room to room, oblivious to the destruction Prissy and her many nieces and nephews left in their wake. Once, she came upon her mother muttering to an invisible friend in front of her own portrait. She had watched with a furrowed brow, her heart fluttering in her chest but said nothing. She loved her mother as much as any daughter could, but what was she to do? Countless times she had tried to bring her mother round to no avail. They ought to move, she insisted. Times were different. No one would look twice at a woman traveling alone. Scarlett had laughed.

"And where are we to go? To Tara? You know what a handful the girls are to your Aunt Sue; we'll have to sleep in the attic."

Aunt Melanie and Mammy would know what to do, but they were gone. Even Uncle Ashley was no help. On the rare occasions Mother had him over at the house, he had Beau or Aunt India wrapped about his arm and when it was just the two of them, she would send Ella for tea and she would come back to Ashley and Mother staring at the ground between them. There had to be a way out. There had to be.

...

She found her mother sitting at the table, nibbling a croissant and sipping a cup of tea. She looked up and smiled. The pallor had gone from her face and in her eyes, she read pure, unadulterated relief.

"Is everything alright?"

"Of course. Have one of those biscuits, darling. It appears that Prissy listened to me for once: they're almost edible."

She stood and strode to the coatrack, all but tossing her favorite bonnet atop her head.

"Where are you going?"

"To town."

"Why?"

"To see your Uncle Henry." She finished tying her bonnet strings.

"And Ashley."

"Mother, you aren't going to-"

Scarlett cupped her cheek. "Don't worry. It's not time for you to worry yet. And as for your Uncle Ashley, I've never been one to prove a man right. Not if I can help it." She turned. "Have the table set for three."

"Three?"

"You heard correctly. And make sure all your things are packed by the time I return."

"Why? Are we going somewhere?" Her doe-brown eyes hovered over her mother's figure, at the gracefully upswept hair, the black stuff dress, lingering over that broad, ironic smile and then it hit her: "Mother...you can't."

"It's not what you think, dear. The thing's entailed; the old fox made sure of that. We've had a good run, but I see no reason why we should stay here any longer."

"But what about Wade?"

"He's grown man; he will do what he wants and who am I to stop him? Despite all that he's said and done, I'm giving him a second chance; that's more than anyone's offered to me and if he doesn't want to take it, well, this house isn't going anywhere. I'll even leave the door unlocked; it's not as if there's anything left here." She bent down to scratch the cat behind the ears. Ella chewed her lip, her feet rooted to the spot.

Scarlett stood, eyebrows raised. "Well? Don't just stand there. Have Prissy and that half-wit nephew of hers get everything ready. We leave tonight." She whisked the heavy woolen cloak round her shoulders and swept past her. Ella followed, watching as Scarlett paused to primp in the looking-glass by the door, picking off several stray cat hairs and biting the pale lips for a flush of color. Cathleen had been right: A woman was nothing without her lipstick.

She put her hand round the knob and pulled it open; a cold gasp of wind galloped through the halls, whipping her skirts about her ankles. She turned to face her daughter: "Here's to a Happy New Year." Her smile curdled like sour milk. "What do you suppose she would have said to all this?" She did not wait for a reply, but stepped out, shutting the door behind her.

"Happy New Year Mother," Ella whispered as the light died in the hall.


I think it's out of character for Scarlett to commit suicide. So no, she will not. She gets a divorce and moves back to Tara in this fic, which may well be what happens post-canon. And this story is done. The ending is a bit subdued but life can be like that sometimes.