OKay so, as of rigth now this is a oneshot. I might make it into a 2 parter maybe write Brooke's point of view but as of right now its a oneshot. This idea kept popping into my head everytime I listened to "Happy Birthday" by Flipsyde(GREAT song, i suggest u check it out). So i decided to just write it because I knew the idea wasn't going to go away. The flashback is 3rd person but the bulk of the story is from Lucas' point of view. I'm pretty proud of this and I'd love it if you read and reviewed! So without further ado, the story:

DISCLAIMER- I own nothing

"What are we going to do?" Brooke asked, tears swelling in her eyes, slowly sitting down on her bed.

Lucas just stood there next to her dresser, staring at what laid in her hands. How on earth had this happened? Why had it come at such a time like this? He couldn't believe this was happening. How could they be sure that the answer was even correct? False positives happened all the time.

But that was the second test in her hands with the same answer as the first one had, the one that now laid in the trash can. It couldn't be wrong twice.

He realized Brooke was staring at him, waiting for him to say something. Despite everything that had happened, he hated to see her look so sad. "I... I..." He wasn't helping at all. He moved over to the bed and sat down next to her. She tensed up, tears still filling her eyes.

He sighed and took another big breath in. "What do you want to do? I will support you with what ever decision you choose." He believed what he said. He was hoping that she wouldn't choose abortion, it felt so wrong to kill something before it even started. It's not like they could raise a baby though. Brooke was 16, he was only 17. They had their whole lives ahead of them. But to just give there baby up? Always wonder who they are what they've done, who it looks like. They couldn't do that either.

"I can't do this." she whispered. She knew if she went through with this pregnancy she'd get attached. She wouldn't be able to go through her pregnancy and deliver her baby and not keep it. She couldn't just had he or she off to strangers. It would be her baby. She went through the labor to get it into the world. She made it. She should get to raise it. But who was she kidding. She was 16 for craps sake. That's even younger than Karen was when she had Lucas. Lucas was 17. He had college basketball, and it's not like his mother and him could help support a baby. It was the most logical answer. It would be hard, probably on both of them, more so on her, but it would have to be done.

It has been 10 years to the day since it happened. We don't talk about it much. Even when we had gotten back together senior year it was never brought up. Neither Brooke nor I could talk about it, not even now. It had been so hard on her. I remember picking her up that day, she wouldn't look at me. She was shaking despite the fact that I had been blasting the heater and had been beginning to sweat myself.

But, like I said before, we don't talk about it much. We like to pretend that day didn't happen. So, because we don't talk about it, I don't really know how Brooke feels about it.

I am not a religious man, but ever since that day, I've prayed for forgiveness, have muttered 'I'm sorry' repeatedly in my sleep when I dream about it. On boring days, when our hectic life isn't as hectic I often find myself imaging about it. Would it have been a little girl? With Brooke's dimples and big brown eyes, my blonde hair framing her face. Or would it have been a boy with Brooke's dark brown hair, my ice blue eyes standing out. Would it have resembled Brooke more than me? Would it have had my skin tone or Brooke's paler complexion?

Would it have gotten my brains as well as Brooke's beauty? Would it have loved english and when it was older raid my book collection, reading John Steinbeck voluntarily at the age of 16? Would it have run for student body president like Brooke had? Would they have wanted me to teach them basketball? Would they have preferred one of us over the other?

So, every year on this day, I sneak out out of bed once I'm sure Brooke is asleep. Before the birth of Finley, I would always go into the living room of where ever I was that day. I would take out a piece of paper and pick up a pen and write down everything I did that day. And then, I would write down my feelings as to what happened that day. Every letter is dated and I address every letter to 'the baby'. I sign it with the word love despite the fact that we had murdered our baby.

You might not call it murder, and I suppose before that day, I didn't think of it as that either. But, when you walk into a clinic on the corner of a street in the city, you get looks. It's not like they couldn't guess why we were going in there. Brooke had kept her eyes focused on the ground, still shaking, and I had had my hands shoved in my pockets and there is no doubt in my mind that I looked extremely tense. We weren't going in there for a check up and it's not like 'rape' flew into peoples' minds when they see an emotionally wrecked girl and awkward guy go into a clinic. I can name the three words that fly into their heads when they look disapprovingly at the people walking into clinics.

Pregnant

Statistic

Abortion

We, and most of the other teenage couples that went into the clinic, had the pleasure of all 3 of those words. Brooke was pregnant, making both of us a statistic, and she was getting an abortion. Each and every teen that goes into a clinic for an abortion can give you a million excuses as to why they've made that decision. But, at the end of the day, it doesn't matter. At the end of the day, you have to live with the guilt of knowing what you did.

But ever since Finley was born, every year on that day, I sneak out of bed and go into his room. He's 4 now and sleeping in his big boy bed. My fear of becoming Dan hasn't completely faded, and I know it most likely never will. In some ways, I do feel like Dan.

When Brooke had the abortion I couldn't help but feel like him. I was getting rid of my baby the same way he had tried to get rid of me. Brooke and I had told ourselves over and over that it wouldn't work. We were teenagers. Young and struggling but obviously old enough to be parents. I had the perfect family image in my head. Love being a key factor in it. 2 kids, to start off with, a boy and girl and my beautiful wife would be standing next to me. But, when it came down to having the baby, both Brooke and I jumped ship.

Yet here we are 10 years later, a boy finally in our family. My vision of a family is now restored, but still wonder what it would be like if Finley had an older brother or sister. Sometimes I wonder if he is really the baby we would have had 10 years ago. And when Finley smiles (his huge dimpled smile that he got from Brooke) I like to think it's a message from our past baby, trying to tell us that everything is okay and that there should be no reason for the guilt that I feel and for the guilt I'm sure Brooke feels.

I know it's probably not true, but it's nice to think it.

Finley never notices I'm there, although I guess this year would be the first year he would really remember I was there if he does wake up. His blonde hair is askew, what's not matted to his face is sticking out in every direction. I can't imagine my life without him.

It's funny that he was born on this day. Makes it bittersweet. Some years, I'm glad he was born on this day, because then I know Brooke can't focus on what happened this day 10 years ago.

But today, when she was prepping food for Fin's party, I heard her sniffling. She was chopping, and at first they were slow lazy chops, she was obviously to busy crying to chop properly. But then, as her cries seemed to get louder, the chopping got angrier. I walk in and at first she didn't notice me. When she did look up though, I could see her mascara running down her cheeks.

Then she muttered the words I hate to hear come out of her mouth. They were the first words I heard come out of her mouth immediately after it happened.

"I made a mistake."

I walked over to her, embraced her in a hug and she folded herself into me. I let her cry and she didn't try to recompose herself until she heard Finley calling her from the living room. She quickly wiped away her mascara tears before just washing her face in the sink, so that no make up was on her face. She dried her face, and I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before she went to Finley.

When I leave Finley's room, I go into our living room and get the piece of paper and pen. I can hear Brooke getting up to do her nightly check on Finley. I begin writing, having too much to cover. Today was busy. Brooke comes down stairs and sits next to me. I just continue to write and she leans on my shoulder reading what I'm writing. This happens every year on this day, ever since we got married 5 years ago. She always reads the letter and depending on the day went, there is a possibility that she'll start crying. Tonight, she does.

So, for an hour after I've finished the letter, Brooke's tears have dried and she has fallen back asleep. I carry her back upstairs and lay her down in bed. I place my letter in the box with the others and finally allow myself to sleep.