Alex had been calling Dawn nonstop, but no answer. She was pacing the shop nervously when the manager barged in, his voice booming.
"Tell your friend not to bother coming here—she's fired!" he snapped before storming out, his anger trailing behind him.
Alex's face fell. Confusion melted into sadness. What happened to Dawn? Was she sick? Was she okay? The questions circled her mind with no answers in sight.
Across New York City, Dawn and Daphne were racing through the streets, desperation in every step. They asked strangers, searched corners, but still no sign of Adam. Daphne was on the brink of collapse when her eyes finally landed on him, standing alone near the bridge.
"Adam!" she cried, rushing forward. She threw her arms around him, clutching him as though letting go meant losing him forever. Tears spilled freely down her face. Dawn caught up, gently resting a hand on Daphne's back, silently steadying her. Together, they led him home.
Back at the house, Daphne's fear boiled into fury. She scolded Adam like a child.
"What were you planning on doing, huh? Leaving me in this cruel world all alone? I can't live without you, Adam—don't you understand that?" Her voice cracked, but her anger kept pushing through.
Adam sat motionless, his thoughts tangled in pain. His world was blank, and the only thing echoing inside him was the temptation to end it all. But was that really the answer?
"Can I have a word with him?" Dawn asked quietly.
"Please. Be my guest," Daphne muttered, storming off, her eyes still wet.
Dawn lowered herself onto the couch beside Adam. For a moment, words refused to form. She wanted to reach him, but he felt miles away, even as he sat beside her.
"Hi," she tried.
No response. His body was here, but his spirit was long gone.
She thought of the impossible task before her—how was she supposed to get this man to fall in love with her, when his heart still belonged to a woman in a coma? And what if she did fall for him? What kind of heartbreak was she inviting in?
"Look, Adam," she said softly, "this isn't your fault. You're doing your best."
"My best isn't enough," Adam muttered. He rose and disappeared into his room, leaving Dawn staring after him, her heart heavy.
She pulled out her phone and noticed Alex's missed calls. Without hesitation, she rushed out.
At the pizzeria, Dawn pushed through the door, breathless. "My uniform—where is it?" she demanded.
Alex looked at her, pity in her eyes. She didn't need to say it, but she did anyway. Dawn was fired.
But Dawn didn't break. She didn't cry. She didn't even flinch. Instead, she gave Alex a small smile.
"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."
As she was walking out, the thought clawed at her. Why wasn't I upset? Why didn't I feel anything? Is this wealth getting to my head? Everything she had now wasn't hers, and she knew it could all vanish in a blink.
"Dawn, are you sure you're okay?" Alex asked, her voice soft with worry.
Dawn blinked, snapping back to reality. "I promise. I'm fine." She hugged Alex warmly before stepping out.
Back at her apartment, Dawn had barely set down the grocery bags when a knock echoed through the air. It wasn't Peige's sharp, impatient knock. This one was deliberate, calculated. Her stomach tightened.
Two strangers stood at the door, polite smiles masking their seriousness. They introduced themselves as Child Protective Services.
"We received a call," the woman explained, "concerning the welfare of the children in this household."
Dawn's throat went dry. Peige. Who else would be petty enough?
She straightened her voice. "The kids are safe. I'm their guardian."
"Do you have documentation?" the man asked.
Her heart sank. The guardianship papers were still tucked in a drawer at her old landlord's place. She'd meant to collect them, but survival had come first.
"They're with me," she said, "just… not here."
The woman frowned, her tone firm but sympathetic. "Without documentation, we can't verify guardianship. We'll need that paperwork as soon as possible."
"And what about employment?" the man pressed. "How are you supporting the children?"
Dawn froze. The pizza job was gone. The Manchester arrangement wasn't a real job, not one she could admit to. Her silence said it all.
The woman sighed. "Miss Collins, this isn't a removal order—yet. But unless we receive proof of guardianship and stable income within ten days, we'll have no choice but to initiate foster placement."
The words hit her like a hammer. From the staircase, Amy's small face peeked out, fear etched in her wide eyes.
Dawn wanted to scream, to tear Peige's smug face apart, but all she could do was nod tightly. "You'll get your papers. I'll prove it."
When the door closed, silence swallowed the room. Amy crept closer, whispering, "Dawn… are they taking us away?"
Dawn knelt, brushing a strand of hair from her sister's face. "Not if I can help it. I won't let anyone take you. I promise."
But her heart was pounding.
At the hospital, Daphne and Adam sat by Ava's bedside. Daphne gripped her son's hand, holding back her tears.
"Everything's going to be okay," she whispered. "Ava wouldn't want you like this. She'd want you to move on with your life."
Adam's jaw tightened. "Move on? There's no life without Ava. She's the reason I breathe."
The words shattered her. Daphne swallowed her sob, but tears slid down anyway. She wanted to believe Ava would wake up, but what if she didn't? Adam's future was crumbling before her eyes.
Meanwhile, Dawn was making promises of her own. She swore to Amy they'd shop for New Year's together, celebrate as a family. Nothing and no one would take her siblings away.
Later, fury carried her down the streets until she found herself pounding on Mr. Harrow's door. No answer. She circled to the back, but it was dead silent. He was ignoring her. Fine. She'd come back.
But her rage had only one true target. Minutes later, she was at Peige's door, her fists striking the wood.
"Open this goddamn door, you wicked, smug, pea-brained witch!" she yelled.
The door swung open, and there was Peige, wine glass in hand, a satisfied smile on her lips.
"To what do I owe this visit?" she drawled, feigning sweetness.
"I swear, you're going to pay for every bit of trouble you've caused me—and the ones you're still causing. You live dirty, and you'll get a dirty judgment."
Peige smirked, unbothered. "Pipe down, Dawn. You're beginning to sound like your mother. And I'm not her, thank God."
"That's a blessing. If you were my mother, I'd have ended myself long ago. And don't you dare let her name come out of that filthy mouth of yours. I know you called CPS. You're vile, Peige. I despise you with the burning rage of a thousand suns. And I promise you—when your downfall comes, I'll be dancing."
With that, Dawn stormed away, her fury boiling into thoughts of revenge. But as the night swallowed her, a question haunted her: What was she truly capable of doing?