"Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams..."

- Paulo Coelho

The path she had chosen on that night, when she went to him for solace and found redemption, seemed eons ago. It was another lifetime, one in which she hadn't been stifled by possibilities and fears. If fate had taken her there, had it planned this as well? She walked numbly from the cold sterility of the examination room, thoughts in tangles. She'd never even undressed. It had all come crashing down on her like icy water. She wanted this child with every fibre of her being. It was only the voice of fear that sang taunting insecurities, of why she shouldn't and why she couldn't. And yet, she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if she gave up this chance, it would haunt her unrelentingly. She couldn't do this simply out of fear. This was for her, moreso than anything she'd ever done. What she wanted in spite of her insecurities. It hadn't been enough that he wanted it. It hadn't been enough that he'd given her that look, the one that left her feeling as though she'd reached out and torn his heart into shreds. It had to have come from her. And it had, in that moment, when she stared at the exam table, the tray of sterile instruments, and backed away, not willing to surrender the possibility within.

She walked along the river, craving a few moments of solace to sort through what she'd just done. The magnanimity of it…the implications…the bond she'd just forged between herself and a man she felt something deeply and utterly confusing for…and what would come, in a matter of months. A baby. Her baby. A life she would be responsible for, to nourish, to teach, to protect. Her head spun, from what she couldn't be sure. She sank onto a bench, the frigid air inconsequential as it nipped at her cheeks. The river ahead of her seemed alive with activity despite the stagnant appearance, as though in suspended animation. She wondered, for a moment, if that had been her, trapped between fight and flight, not quite living, not quite dead. In limbo. Everything in her life, what had been, what would be, resting in a delicate balance.

She knew whom the footsteps belonged to. The snow crunched as he drew near, and she wondered what he thought of her, believing she'd done it, believing she'd taken away his chance. In that moment, did he still want her, or did he simply feel the urge to comfort her until the time came when he wouldn't feel guilty letting her go? He spoke softly, his tone flat and unaffected. Though she knew he would be. Was. Would be even moreso in a matter of minutes.

"I went by your place, but I figured you might come home this way."

Fate had brought them both this way. With a purpose and a challenge, and she knew in that moment that nothing about it had been an accident. It was all predetermined that she would go to him, seeking refuge. That he would kiss her and mean it, every implication. That they would make love and life in one evening. That she'd run from it and then find her way back to the only place she truly belonged. That he'd be there to catch her, all of her, without reservation, and that they'd have this chance. This opportunity. This miracle of nature that bound them for the rest of their lives without question or reason. And she would fall in love with him, perhaps already had, with everything she possessed. Heart and soul.