About three things I am absolutely positive. First, I am pregnant. Second, there is a part of me - and I didn't know how potent that part might be - that is truly excited about this baby. And third, I am unconditionally and irrevocably in love with a man who is not this baby's father.

I'm staring at the three thin white plastic rectangles lined up on the edge of the bathtub, each displaying intersecting blue lines. I'm pregnant. Angrily I sweep the three tests into the grey Wal-Mart bag that lines the beige plastic garbage can. And I'm fucking late. On the first fucking day of school. I lurch to my feet and focus on my reflection in the mirror above the sink long enough to anchor my long brown hair in a messy bun at the nape of neck with a stretched out hair elastic from around my right wrist. Hurrying out of the bathroom I grab my large black leather purse and a grey hoodie from where they had been dumped last night on the kitchen table, I stuff my feet into worn out sneakers without untying them first. The back door closes with a bang much louder then I was expecting, causing me to jump and suck in the cool morning air which stung my lungs, I don't lock it. I stumble down the 4 steps at the back of the small green bungalow, glaring at the thick grey clouds that are blocking the beautiful mountain from my view while I fish the keys for my car out of my purse. I follow the cement path around the house to the car port that houses my scratched and dented black two door 1996 VW GTI, the doors are unlocked. No one steals cars in a town this small.

I am already a full 10 minutes late but that doesn't stop me from going into the Tim Hortons on the highway for 21 ounces of sweet creamy coffee. My limbs feel heavy and I can't bring myself to hurry as I turn off of the highway that cuts through the center of this small town and begin moving away from the mountain and the shallow river at its base. I approach the last structure on the street, a low sprawling white building bordered on one side by an empty field, and pull into the parking lot, brining myself to a stop in one of the empty spots labeled "STAFF". Leaning forward I marvel at how cool the plastic of the steering wheel feels against my forehead, I suck in a deep ragged breath and try to prepare myself.

I'm still juggling my coffee and trying to deposit my keys into my bag as I enter the large glass double doors at the front of the building. Just inside the doors and to the left a short, stocky woman in her early forties with poufy, shoulder length hair in an unflattering shade of peroxide blonde is sitting behind a large desk that's shedding its once white paint. I feel her eyes crawl up from my worn out shoes over my jeans and hoodie finally settling on my messy attempt at a hair style. She clears her throat, making my skin crawl. The things I put up with just to pay the bills.

"Mrs. Newman, I am sure you're aware that classes started almost 20 minutes ago. Teachers are expected to be on time." She sounds bitchy and exhausted, nothing out of the ordinary.

I fix her with my brightest smile and start to gush, "Heather! Did you have an amazing summer? I heard you and Jim went down to the states for a few weeks."

I lean my hips into the side of her desk and reach across into the porcelain apple beside her computer, pulling out a few stale jelly beans which I pop into my mouth. I keep talking through the glob of slimy candy in my mouth before she gets a chance to respond. "I just could not get myself moving this morning. You know how it is, right Hun?"

I push myself off her desk with an over exaggerated sigh, pausing I turn back to Heather, and mock whisper; "Thank God my first period is prep or those little fuckers would think they owned me. Can you imagine, being late on the first day!"

It's all I can do not to roll my eyes and start laughing at the way her mouth hangs open. She doesn't know where to start and I am around the corner and out of sight before she gets the chance. I almost feel bad for fucking with her on the first day, but not quite because Heather Parker is a condescending old bitch. This is a character assessment that could easily be applied to the majority of the staff in this small school. Most of whom look down on me because I am not a real teacher. I teach high school art, part time, like I need a fucking teaching degree.

I did graduate university, unfortunately I didn't realize until too late that a Bachelor of Fine Arts doesn't pay the fucking the bills. While I only teach 3 days a week it helps with money a lot because I use art supplies and equipment from the school and don't have to buy much myself anymore. I've never made any money from my art; in fact I've never even tried to sell anything that was never the point. Art is a form of therapy for me; it gets all the nasty thoughts out of my head and away from my heart.

This school has two main hallways separated by a large gymnasium. One hallway is dedicated to grades 6 through 12. The second hall has the younger grades and at the very end, next to orange double doors that lead to the playground and parking lot, my art classroom. I slowly wander down the empty hallway lined with grey metal lockers and rows of framed photos of past prime ministers towards my classroom. I listen to the muffled voices of teachers and young children. I pause to peak in a door that is slightly a jar, inside a group of almost 20 five year olds sit with crossed legs on the floor, staring up at a middle aged woman reading a story about the first day of school. I stand there watching these children until I feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I'm not sure if I am happy or sad, my heart feels like it is going to punch through my chest and I can hardly breathe. I continue down the hall, the hand that's not holding my cheap cup of coffee unconsciously rubbing circles on my still flat tummy; it is almost impossible to wrap my mind around the idea that a person has taken up residence in there.

I enter, set my things on the cluttered desk at the front of my classroom and my thoughts turn to my husband. Dan is a good man and he loves me very much. I have no doubt, that if I tell him, he will be elated to discover we are having a baby, but that does nothing to ease my mind. I never meant for this to happen, this was never part of the plan .I have been selfish and now we will both pay the price. I will be forced to leave everything I have been clinging to because a few months ago I ordered a third pitcher of beer and the box of condoms in the bedside table was empty. Things are splitting at the seams and now the whole things tumbling down because you were too drunk and horny.

I only agreed to marry Dan because I was too weak to be alone anymore and he was just as alone as me. It seemed safe; since he has no family I will have no one to answer to when I eventually break his heart. I have enjoyed the last three years; for the first time in too long I feel like I have a home. But this is not what I am destined for and I'm not sure I can bring a child into it. I always told Dan the truth that I was broken and my heart belonged to another, even if that man isn't here to claim it. But I also knew that Dan truly believed my feelings would grow to mirror his own but they haven't and they never will.

No matter how much it pains me to acknowledge his long absence the thought of him is still like a drug for me. It brings a smile to my lips and numbs the very rawest parts of my soul. He is my deepest secret and I share him with no one. The fact that he might not reciprocate my feelings has never mattered to me, I cannot ignore that he is everything I need. I hold all of the details I have gathered about him in my heart wrapped in love, and in quiet moments I pull them out and pour over them like old love letters. Despite his absence there is a part of my heart that has always believed he will come for me. That same part of my heart knows that it doesn't matter how long I am with Dan, one look from his eyes and I would walk away without a second thought.

I try to clear my mind by concentrating on mundane tasks. I open the blinds and let the room fill with dusty sunlight. I unlock the supply cupboards and note what things are running low. I sip my coffee and plug my iPod into the little stereo on the counter, I scroll through the long list of music. Without warning my mind starts to compile a list of songs that I think this baby would like; my hands freeze. What are you doing? You're only making this harder for yourself. I lean against the counter and feel the room swirl around me as I finally let my mind consider all of the ways this situation could play out. I could belong with someone again. This person is my family. The idea is so appealing it is almost obscene. And in that one instant my options are drastically depleted as I realize I will never be able to give this baby up.

I am quickly brought back to reality by the sound of students pouring out of classrooms into the empty hallways. All of my classes are small and it only takes a few minutes before all of my grade eleven students are milling around waiting for class to start. I'm surprised at how easy it is to get through all of my lessons considering my mind is heavily occupied. I eat my lunch on the floor of my supply closet alone with my thoughts and avoid seeing another staff member until the end of lunch hour when I enter the staff room for more coffee. I'm standing beside the old fridge adding cream trying to create the perfect shade of tan in my cup when I hear someone enter the room. I don't look up or acknowledge the person I can hear moving around behind me. Then a deep gravely male voice breaks the silence.

"Chin up Bella, it's going to be a good year."

I turn and smile at a white haired man quickly approaching retirement. Mike Bell has been teaching physical education at this school since before I was born. He has the distinction of being one of the few co-workers I actually like and I find myself wanting to believe him.

"I hope your right." I grab my coffee and am almost out the door when I hear him respond with a low chuckle.

My afternoon classes pass in a blur of familiar faces and projects. Before I know it my classroom is once again empty and through the windows I can see students congregating around the parking lot and playground. I spend a few minutes tidying and then grab my bag and head out the back doors towards the parking lot. I'm still inside the school, my hand on the door ready to push it open, when I see something that stops me in my tracks. My mouth is suddenly dry and my hands are shaking. I stare trying to find a way to explain the image before me.

Four students gathered around a shiny red car is not a rare sight in a town that has been flooded with money from ski resorts and tourism. What shocks me is that I recognize all four of them; they are images from my past I have struggled to wipe away. I study them trying to find even the slightest difference in their appearance since the last time I saw them. In the last eight years not a thing has changed about them while in comparison I hardly resemble or feel like the clumsy waif I used to be.

Their faces are happy and care free, not the dark brooding expressions I have imagined them with. I feel the fear like a lead ball in the pit of my stomach. My palms are sweating as I try to understand. They are not here for me, they are just here. It's a coincidence. She is not here. He promised it would be like they never existed. My anger at their presence starts to outweigh my fear and I know I can't let them stay here. This is my home, it's not much but it's mine. She will find me if they are here. A plan is already starting to form in my mind as the Cullen's pile into their small red car and drive out of the parking lot.