This is the first Baby Daddy fanfiction I've posted, so I hope it's good. Thanks for taking the time to read it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Hey Lucy, I remember your name

I left a dozen roses on your grave today

I'm in the grass on my knees, wipe the leaves away

I just came to talk for a while

I got some things I need to say

-"Lucy" by Skillet

"Hey, Danny, can you watch Emma?" I called as I headed for the door.

"I thought you had work off," he asked from where he was sitting at the table, feeding my baby girl.

"I do," I responded. "I have a few errands to run. I'd bring Emma, but we don't have a stroller yet."

He nodded. "'Kay, bro. See you when you get back."

I nodded and continued to walk out of the apartment.

I pressed the down button on the elevator and took a deep breath as the small buzzing sound vibrated within the wall as the elevator cables groaned.

Ding! The elevator chirped before the doors slid open.

"Hey, Ben," Riley stated as she passed me.

"Hey, Riley. Help Danny with feeding Emma, would you? She's kicking his butt at here comes the airplane!" I told her before entering the elevator and hitting the lobby button.

I sighed, shakily, as the elevator began to descend. Riley and Danny didn't notice something was wrong, and I was glad for that; only Emma truly knew that something wasn't right, and that was because she awoke to me sobbing over a picture that morning.

Emma had arrived at the apartment a few days ago, and I shredded the adoption papers yesterday, but Emma was a painful reminder. Don't get me wrong; I love Emma and wouldn't trade her for anything, but she reminded me of the life I could've had. I could've been a husband, a father; I could've had a relatively good job if Fate hasn't stepped in and wrenched it away from me.

I continuously told myself that maybe it was meant to happen; I wouldn't call myself a religious man, but I believed in God and believed that he had a plan for me. That still didn't stop me from being depressed by the mere thought of that day, the day the love of my life and what would've been my pride and joy died.

I shook my head and wiped my teary eyes as I stepped out of the elevator. I weaved between crowds of people as I headed for the florist store on the corner.

I walked into the mostly empty shop and grabbed a bouquet of roses, placing them on the counter and fishing the cash out of my wallet without a word.

"A special lady?" the old man behind the counter asked with a suggestive smile on his face.

I swallowed. "Yeah."

"Hope she appreciates the gesture," he said, handing me the flowers.

"Thank you," I said, flatly. "Have a nice day."

If she were alive, she would appreciate the gesture. And if the rumors are true- that people can truly look down on us from Heaven- she'll appreciate it then, too.

I don't exactly know how the afterlife works. When I was younger and still attended church weekly, my priest told me that in Heaven, there isn't supposed to be any misery or grief or pain, but I can't help but wonder…does she miss me as much as I miss her? Does she even recall her life, or has she forgotten?

I could've called a taxi or taken the bus, but I chose to keep moving my feet, to keep walking. The stroll would clear my head; it wouldn't stop the inevitable breakdown, but hopefully, I could delay it until I was alone.

I was never one to let people see me cry. The only ones who ever have are my family (particularly when I was a young child and maybe once or twice as a teenager), Her, one particular doctor, and Emma. Other than them, no one has ever seen me as anything more than a fun loving, outgoing, funny guy and to everyone else, the idea of me ever being sad is unbelievable.

My sneakers hit the damp dirt as the side walk vanished from beneath me, and I was left walking on a thin strip of grass between a metal fence and a vacant road.

My hands trembled as I grasped the cool, rusty metal beneath my hand and slowly turned it, pulling the tiny rod out of the lock, and I pushed the gate open. It wailed at being opened after so long of remaining closed.

The cemetery was a small one. People didn't visit often because there were only two dozen or so graves, leaving the cemetery devoid of life quite often.

As for myself, I visited a few times a year- specifically, the day they died, her birthday, the day we found out about him, the day her and I met, and whenever I needed to be closer to them. I visited her grave more than her own parents did, and sometimes, we'd cross paths when visiting (particularly the day they died and the day she was born). It was always awkward. They didn't blame me for what happened, but they knew that I blamed myself, and they didn't know what to say to make me stop blaming myself. I didn't know what to say because I was blaming myself and felt they should blame me, too.

The grass crunched under my feet as I wandered through the rows of headstones before finally coming upon a pair of graves that glared at me like eyes.

They were simple graves- two flat, gleaming stones laid on the ground and staring up at me. They were buried beside each other, and I paid the owner of the cemetery to reserve a spot beside them for me when I died. That spot was still vacant, as was the one beside it. I'd probably reserve that for Emma (although, hopefully, her death will be a long way off).

I knelt between the graves and stared at the words on each stone.

ELIZABETH LILLIAN SHERIDAN

JUNE 22ND, 1991-NOVEMBER 21ST, 2012

and...

MICHAEL DANIEL SHERIDAN-WHEELER

There were no dates on his grave. He hadn't taken a breath outside the womb…

We weren't officially married. I proposed to her the same night we discovered our baby was going to be a boy, and we decided to wait until after Michael was born to have our wedding.

I didn't tell anyone, not even Tucker. At the time, I barely stayed in touch with Danny; I hadn't talked to my mother in months. My father was pretty much out of the picture all together. Tucker was working hard to get a job in entertainment and traveled a lot to get more experience in the business. One week, he'd be in Vegas; the next, he'd be in Colorado; the next, he'd be in Maine. Apprenticeships, interviews, even some business classes; sometimes, he'd even have a second job just to pay the bills. He barely settled down long enough to grab a quick cup of coffee, much less have a conversation.

The only ones who knew were Elizabeth's parents, and they treated me like a son. I couldn't possibly be more than grateful for the love and support they showed us during those stressful-yet-wonderful eight months and two and a half weeks.

I rested the roses on her grave and pulled a baby blue teddy bear the size of my hand out of my pocket, gently laying it upon Michael's grave.

"Hey, Beth," I murmured to the stone, wiping away the fallen, crumbling leaves that came with the windy month of August. "I… I don't know if you can hear me, but I had to come. I just came to talk for a while. A lot of things have happened, and… I think you need to know everything that has happened since you died."

I took a deep breath.

"Okay, Beth. Here it goes…" I whisper before beginning my tale.

That was the first chapter. What'd you think of it? Please take the time to hit the review button. Thanks for reading!