If I knew one thing about The American Dream, it was that society knew how to sell it. The problem is, they never seem to disclose all of the fine print that comes with the bill of sale.

I grew up in Boston as an only child of two workaholic parents, and was raised by a neighbor who babysat me up until I was old enough to come home after school alone, or use the stove without immediately killing myself. Because of this I became very independent in many aspects. It had also made me a very quiet person, for the first few years of my life; I didn't keep friends well, or for long.

By the time my teenage years fell into my lap (or my chest, could someone please explain why some women just wake up one day with boobs? Definitely was not prepared for that surprise of the human body) I had developed a rather crass, inappropriate sense of humor. I became recognized for this, often expected to bridge the gaps in some circumstances with my snide and smart-ass remarks. I also gained some charisma points and started making friends, coming out of my shell, even went to house parties once a week the summer I was nineteen years of age.

One of said parties is where I met Nate, and I fell head over heels for him.

Or rather I fell ass over teakettle, as I slipped square in front of him on-what was it, a spilled drink?-and broke my nose. But he was a complete gentleman, helped me up and drove me to the ER right away. I remember thanking him profusely and apologizing over and over for bleeding on him/his car/in general.

After that night we were joined at the hip. Well not literally, but my parents loved to make that comment. It was no surprise then when just shy of my twentieth birthday, he offered me the opportunity to take his last name. I mean, when you say it like that it sounds over-fluffed and straight out of a James Stewart movie, but how better to explain it? When you find that one person who makes colors more vivid, laughter second-nature and butterflies take up permanent residence in your gut, even the stoniest of hearts erode if not just a bit.

And I think that's just what it is; people long for it, that lifestyle. The lot in the 'burbs, the manicured lawn, the bright yellow clapboard house and of course, the 9 to 5 breadwinner husband and two kids, a boy and a girl, and apple pie steaming from the windowsill, et cetera, et cetera.

Getting hitched and buying a new house fresh off the bus at the first stop in adulthood of course sounded ridiculous to my family, especially when a war was looming over our heads, akin to fog rolling in from the lake, slowly but surely. Then like the punchline to a sick joke, not three days after coming home from our honeymoon the phone rang. Nate was on a plane to Anchorage the same day, and I was left with an empty home, a brand-new Mr. Handy and a refrigerator that couldn't keep the milk cold.

Right after he enlisted in 2074, Nate was gone for eleven months. He then returned home for a short stay, but three months later he was gone again, this time for six. This constant back and forth went on for two and a half years. Those were some of the most difficult years of my life, and although I was already very independent I had many learning curves; you're never really prepared for that first water pipe bursting at two in the morning.

I did keep myself busy mentally as well, and took up night courses at the community college in the business district. With that I was able to successfully secure a paralegal certificate and made plans to continue my education to become a lawyer. It wasn't much, but for the time being it helped land my simple ass in a paper-pushing desk job at a stuffy office near the Commons, only ten short minutes from home in Sanctuary Hills.

In November of 2076, my husband was discharged with full honors and came home to stay. It was like learning to fall in love all over again, but he wasn't the same Nate that drove me to the ER the night I broke my nose. Something in his eyes had changed; while they still sparkled at every flick of his vision, they no longer seemed like calm ocean views, but echoed dark, bottomless drowning abysses, the deep end of the pool where no one swims because you never have the safety and security of your toes touching the bottom while your head stays above the surface. Some nights, he would wake with a startle, get out of bed and not return for the remainder of the night.

The topic of children was not prevalent for us. We tossed the idea around here and there, but we both decided it would happen when it happened, though mutually agreeing without having to actually say the words, 'but not right now'. Well, it happened literally at the period of that last sentence. Perhaps it was the mouth-gasm inducing rosemary chicken dinner and two glasses (HAH don't kid yourself Heather, you had four) of Sauvignon Blanc we indulged in on a date night. Perhaps the way Nate held my hand as we walked home from Concord, the stars dancing in his own indigo galaxy eyes, smiling so wide his lips looked like they would split. Whatever it was, approximately four weeks later my toast and eggs ended up at the bottom of a wastebasket in the office break room, and I had eaten breakfast at home.

"Uh-oh," I groaned, wiping the corners of my mouth and in a gesture as old as time, looked down and clutched my abdomen and trying to feel for anything different or any telltale signs of a fetus. Of course nothing had changed, if anything I felt more self conscious grabbing my slight chub, but it was an automatic reaction. My cubicle mate noticed what I was doing behind her coffee cup and she smirked at me. "Either you had a lot of fun last night or a lot of fun a few weeks ago and now you're suffering the consequences."

I pursed my lips. "The latter, also you are the worst."

She smiled widely at me, coming to wrap me in a congratulatory hug, the scent of either her perfume or hairspray or even both further stretching my most-likely-and-now-certainly-baby-induced nausea but I fought to keep the rest of my stomach contents in.

Pregnancy was as fun as any woman would make it out to be, though it never ceased to amaze me how much of a conversation piece ballooning right where your uterus is located was. Random strangers would come up to me at the Super Duper Mart, offering their wishes of health for the baby asking if it was a boy or girl, or if there were more than one in there, because wow you are only 6 months along? And are you certain you're having only one? You're twenty-six and having a child? If you want a second you better get a move on, honey!

My sense of humour helped me through to full-term immensely, and was rewarded when seeing the looks on our family's faces when I excitedly exclaimed at our annual Redden-Maxwell barbeque, "WE HAD AN ACCIDENT AND WE'RE KEEPING IT!" Thankfully Nate had choked back a chuckle at my dark humour. God, he really did help me get through it all. Every hormone-fuelled crying fit, every late-night run to Red Rocket to get a pack of bubblegum and some Fancy Lad snack cakes from the vending machine, the craving of choice for this bun in the oven. On several occasion he demanded I put my feet up when I came home from work while he prepared dinner for the two of us.

Throughout it all, he was there, even holding my hand tightly as we welcomed Shaun into the world.

Elsewhere, in a different galaxy several millennia and measures of time away...

Within the royal chambers of the citadel, in the heart of the capital city of Lucis, four young men clad in black royal garb stood before King Regis Lucis Caelum as he gave his address. "The decreed hour is come," he spoke, his voice echoing through the gilded halls of the royal chambers.

He nodded at the young raven-haired man before him. "Set forth with my blessing, Prince Noctis."

Noctis bowed. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

King Regis breathed in deeply. "Take your lead, and go in the grace of the Gods."