When Andrew opens the door to his office upon returning from the hospital, he is utterly shocked to find that the room is occupied; he hadn't expected anyone to enter while he was away. He is momentarily annoyed at the lack of boundaries and respect people around him seem to have for his personal space until he recognizes the woman before him. Standing amid the disordered aftermath of his obstinate rage with her back turned to him is none other than Marlys Pendleton, Cora's mother. He stares disbelievingly at his mother-in-law as she stands unmoving, silently witnessing the evidence of his imperfection, his instability. His failure. Everything he so fervently tries not to be. With his long-hidden defect finally revealed, Andrew cannot conjure a single idea of how to proceed with this unexpected occurrence. What is she doing here? She never visits him, let alone in the workplace.
As if suddenly noticing a definite change in the atmosphere of the destroyed room, Marlys's attention averts from the wreckage to the doorway. Her bewildered gaze instantly falls on Andrew, her thoughts running rampant with a multitude of unasked questions. She isn't sure what exactly she's walked in on, but Marlys has a distinct feeling that this is a side of him that she was never supposed to see. In fact, it's likely a part that he hoped never to be exposed to anyone at all. With a raised eyebrow, she simply says, "Good afternoon, Andrew."
The three words surprise Andrew; this is definitely not the greeting he had been expecting when he first entered the room. Anxiety soundlessly brews in his stomach, churning and fermenting with every passing second. Andrew's brain seems unaware of how to respond in such a situation, unable to assemble a proper thought. His heart thumps against his ribs with ferocity, violently threatening to erupt from his chest. His breaths falter, coming in quick, short bursts, neglecting to fill his lungs to capacity. 'Oh, not again,' he thinks to himself as he fights to find composure. This can't be happening right now.
"I see that you've decided to redecorate," Marlys stoically continues after Andrew fails to respond. "It's a rather unusual style, I admit. An acquired taste, I suppose? I do hope that you won't be in charge of designing the nursery, in any case. I fear that this style would not quite be suitable for an infant; it's a bit too risque, in my humble opinion."
Andrew continues to gawk at his mother-in-law in an unblinking fashion, his stare entirely void of sense. His mind is wholly corrupted at the moment, overrun by utter despair and blatant confusion. Andrew wishes that he could disappear right now, that he could close his eyes, and everything around him would abruptly vanish without a trace. That he could sink into the floor and never return to this moment, leaving it behind in an unknown oblivion. Instead, he's trapped, captured in an unbreakable, inescapable snare. He feels confined by the walls of his office, the eyes of Cora's mother, and the anxiety overtaking him. The sudden ambush feels like a monumental betrayal that Andrew could never have predicted.
One that may just end everything he's ever worked for in his lifetime.
Noticing her son-in-law's inability to recognize the humor in her words, Marlys clears her throat. The scratching, hacking sound grates at Andrew's ears, causing him to flinch. With a sigh, Marlys says, "I've come to check in on you. I understand that you've been stressed lately. It's a reasonable response to the pressure of new responsibilities, you know, especially when they are added to your current trove of preexisting ones." She pauses briefly and allows herself to silently assess Andrew. He certainly looks stressed; his shirt is wrinkled, his hair slightly unkempt, and his eyes dull. He looks worn. Lifeless. The man before her bears little resemblance to the son-in-law she knows. "How are you holding up?" she asks, the question filled with genuine concern.
Andrew blinks, his mouth opening as if to speak, yet no words pass his lips.
Quietly, Marlys approaches him. Each step is careful, her movements precise, so as to not further traumatize the man standing so helplessly before her. When within reach, she cautiously wraps her arms around Andrew, holding him comfortingly against her as only a mother could. "A moment of weakness doesn't define you," she whispers softly, her hand tenderly rubbing his back. "You're a strong man, Andrew Dalton. And sometimes, even strong men need to be vulnerable. Don't be ashamed to let go if you need to."
Slowly, he lifts his arms and places them around her, returning the embrace. Andrew buries his face in his mother-in-law's shoulder as his heart rate decreases, succumbing to the solace offered. Still not capable of constructing an appropriate sentence, his hoarse voice and cracked lips finally force out the words, "Thank you."