If Pamela Beesly-Haplert had wanted to be unhappy and virtually alone, she'd have married Roy Anderson. How does one go about getting her maiden name back?

Or maybe she should just keep it. What if he changes his mind? What message does it send to Annie if Mommy doesn't have the same name?

Annie looks so much like Jim, which is almost unfortunate, but at least those goofy big ears are cute on her right now. Maybe she'll grow into them.

Pam stood up from her stool at the kitchen's island and, still in a bit of a haze, decided to finish up the laundry. He'd promised to come get the rest of it tonight and try to talk to Anne.

That was what bothered her the most. She knew exactly what he'd tell her, and how he'd hug her and wipe her tears after she cried after realizing he wouldn't be there to tuck her in and read the extra-long stories every other night. And then, she knew, she just fucking knew he'd pick up his bag with the rest of his clothes that she washed and dried and packed for him, because that's what you do for people you love, you help them. And he would walk out the door, stopping only to stare sadly back at her holding their daughter. But he'd leave anyway.

She knew the what...the thing that evaded her still? That would be the how.

This isn't how she'd expected things to go. She felt it sometimes with Roy, like maybe one day he'd realize who she was and just leave, but that thought was always followed with "so I wouldn't have to."

Jim Halpert? He was supposed to be her win. Her rock. He was supposed to be her husband. Jim Halpert told her once that he was not the leaving kind, and she believed him.

She could've fought him more when he told her this morning. She should've cried, begged, collapsed, anything more than sitting there in a stunned stupor. Were there signs? Did she miss the memo? What exit did he take a detour on? She'd sure as hell like to know.

Jim Halpert was not supposed to leave her. Men like James Halpert aren't supposed to leave their wives and not know why.

He sees her, and then he sees Pam. The same body, but somehow not the same person. This woman is not the woman he'd fallen in love with.

That's not to say that he didn't love her, or his daughter, but...he didn't love her like a man should love his wife. 

"Another," he motioned at the man behind the bar. Hanging out and drinking alone at Poor Richard's is definitely not the smartest thing he's done, considering anyone he knows could walk in at any time. He downed the shot anyway.

She annoyed him. He'd loved quiet, shy Pam. Pam who needed rescuing, Pam who smiled so rarely that when she smiled at you, you knew she meant it. New Pam's told him so many times how grateful she is for him and the things he gave her: her confidence, her house, her daughter, her family, him and her back in one piece. New Pam took all of the things he'd given her and twisted them into things he should love but slowly grew to hate.

He didn't want anyone else, though. He wanted old Pam. Not because she needed saving or because he was a prince or he wanted her to be miserable; he wanted old Pam because at least old Pam smiled like she meant it.

She tried to give him time to himself (she had worked at Dunder Mifflin for a number of years - she knew how busy this time of year could be), but just as it does every day, 6:33 PM rolled around, and so did the almost daily text from his worried (She's worried about you, she loves you, she's not being needy or impatient. She's worried.) wife: "home soon?"

"Had a couple at Rich's. I walk or U drive me. Love J"

If she'd wanted to marry an alcoholic, oblivious man, she'd have married Roy Anderson.

She'll need saving again before this is all over.