Over thirty years ago ...

Gemma was nervous. Why the hell was she nervous? She'd been brave enough at eighteen to get married. Why the hell should "pregnant at nineteen" seem so much worse?

Because it was a big deal. Growing up she hadn't been pining for the day she'd get married and start squeezing out little people. She wanted to grow up, be on her own and not trapped by someone else like her parents were; be in control of where her own life took her.

JT took care of all that for her now. She'd gotten married at eighteen, as wildly in love as an eighteen year old could be. Most people would say she was too young for it, but it was an all-consuming, mad love that burned with both contact and absence. She'd followed JT right to the Justice of the Peace and hadn't looked back.

The paper on the doctor's examining table crinkled under her ass as she squirmed, huffing out a deep breath while wondering if she'd be able to stop smoking during the nine months ahead of her. If the test was positive. She had to remind herself that nothing was for sure … until it was.

Responsibility for another life scared the shit out of her. She was still having fun with her husband. Life was still exciting. If she got pregnant and fat … would JT just continue on without her?

She couldn't think of that. Her palm found itself flattened against her abdomen, an unconscious gesture that she kept performing once she started getting sick in the morning and reminded herself about some remedial math that centered around the concept of twenty-eight days.

The door opened and she jumped. The doctor, a fellow she didn't know because she wasn't from here, smiled and adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, shut the door behind himself and sat in front of her on a stool, opening a bright blue folder.

"All right, Missus Teller. It looks like I should we wishing you congratulations. You're definitely pregnant."

"Shit." It flew out of her mouth so fast she barely realized she'd said it until she noticed his recoil. Then she felt bad. This was the first clinic she'd walked into where they hadn't looked at her and John and immediately dismissed them as trash. This doctor had been lovely to her, actually. "Sorry," she amended, meaning it. Sincerely.

"This isn't planned I take it?" the doctor surmised, closing the folder.

"No," she answered with a shake of the head.

"Well dear," the doctor said, his voice once again kindly as he took her hand. "It's a blessing. It truly is. You won't know the meaning of unconditional love until you hold that bundle in your arms, feel how they trust you to their very core, and love you simply because you are where they came from." He stood then, taking off his glasses and giving her a downright fatherly smile. "You are blessed, Gemma. Never forget that."

Then he was gone. Gemma stared at the closed door, stunned, a warm feeling washing over her as her hand came to her belly again. Then she dressed, head still a muddled cloud of confusion and met JT in the waiting room.

He looked a wreck. He sprung to his feet, wiping his hands on his jeans, rushing to her and holding her elbows. "Are you okay? What'd they say?"

Gemma felt, by some odd miracle, a smile steal across her lips. "I'm pregnant."

JT's face absorbed it, took in her smile, then he smiled back. "Gem, honey." His voice was thick, as raw as she'd ever heard it. Then he was hugging her so tight, and when she hugged him back she was crying.

Gemma was blessed. She vowed never to forget it.