APRIL

On the morning of New Year's Eve, I open my eyes and immediately wish I hadn't woken. I sit up, run one finger over the bumps of my stitches, and stay there staring at the white carpet under my socked feet.

Every day feels years long. I don't know how to navigate time properly. I let out a long sigh and remember that the investigator is coming today to ask questions that will force me back into my own head - a safe place I can retreat to when things hurt too much.

I look up and am struck with the fact that I don't hear Jackson. Usually I'm offered some comfort by the sounds of him downstairs or in the bathroom, but today I hear nothing. The house is abnormally silent.

I frown a bit and tune in my hearing when the sound of footsteps comes from the hallway. I tip my head to the side, confused at the sound - it's much lighter than Jackson walks. But either way, I expect to see him in the doorway once the footsteps stop, but I don't.

It's not Jackson in the doorway at all, it's Alaina.

My chest tightens and I gasp loudly, one hand to my heart. She has a bandage wrapped around her head and some bruising on her shoulders, but she's standing before me just like any other morning. Her blonde curls are messed up and matted and her eyes are cloudy from sleep - she looks the same as she always has. She even gives me a little smile.

I rush from the bed and we meet halfway - I kneel in front of her and wrap her in the biggest hug I can muster. "My baby," I say, my voice growing teary. "I thought I lost you. I thought you were gone. I had the most horrible dream, it seemed so real. I'm so glad you're here."

Her arms are loose around my neck, but my grip on her tightens.

"I love you," I say. "I'm never gonna stop saying it. You know how much I love you, right?"

Still, she says nothing. I pull away, look at her face with concern, and stroke her cheek.

Her skin is cold, and she is silent.

"Honeybee, are you okay?" I ask. I want Jackson. I'm sure he can offer some insight on what's going on here - I don't know what happened to her. Maybe she has temporary amnesia, like I had originally thought.

But did I think that? Was the hospital all a dream? I don't know what's real and what's not - there's no fine line of reality here. Everything is blurred together.

"Can you say something to me?" I ask gently, holding her shoulders. "I want to hear your voice."

She opens her mouth and my face lights up, thinking she's going to speak. But when she talks, it's not her voice that I hear, it's Arizona's.

"We did everything we could."

I blink my eyes hard and shake my head to clear it. "What?" I ask uncertainly.

"We did everything we could we did everything we could we did everything we could we did everything we could we did everything we could we did everything we could…"

The words only stop when my eyes open again, for real this time. I hear Jackson in the bathroom, the faucet running, the yellow light spilling onto the white carpet. I'm in bed, not kneeling by the door. It had been a dream. She's still gone.

Jackson gets me up out of bed and into the bath. In the process, I say some things to him that I don't mean. I don't know where they come from exactly, but he's the first person who I have the desire to lash out at. I don't know how he can seem so calm through all of this, how he can insist on going through everyday routines like usual. I shouldn't have to talk to this investigator. It's ludicrous.

My child died. Isn't that punishment enough?

As I sit on the edge of the bed after Jackson cleans me up, he helps me get a thick sweater over my head. It sits heavy and loose on me, but it's better than the pajamas that I'd been wearing for much too long. He helps me into some gray lounge pants - the only things that feel okay on my bruised-up legs - and even puts my socks on for me. I had no idea he was such a caretaker, but he doesn't let me want for anything. He does it all.

He holds my ankles as he stays kneeling on the floor, then leans forward to press his forehead against one of my knees. I glance down at him, blinking slowly, then bring my hands to the back of his head. We don't need to exchange words. We know exactly what the other is thinking.

We stay in that position for a long moment before he straightens up again, meeting my eyes with his glassy blue ones. He frames my face in one hand and gives me a somber expression, and I lean my cheek against his palm.

"Come downstairs?" he asks gently. "I'll make us some breakfast."

I debate fighting him on it. There's nothing I want more than to stay in this bed for more days on end, forgetting that the real world is continuing. If the earth can continue to spin without Alaina, it can continue without me. That's what I've been telling myself.

But I don't fight him. Instead, I accept his hand and let him help me down the stairs and into a chair at the kitchen table.

"What sounds good?" he asks. "Eggs? Pancakes? French toast?"

"Just a bagel," I say. "With jelly."

"Okay," he says. "I can do that."

He puts it together quickly, setting it in front of me with a prenatal vitamin that I was prescribed just a few days ago. I stare at the pill and cover it with my hand, sliding it closer. I stare longer at it as it sits in my palm, then picture my baby inside me - no bigger than a pencil eraser. Right now, it doesn't seem real. My body feels and looks the same as it always has.

I take the vitamin anyway. I'm smart enough to do that.

I eat my breakfast slowly. So slowly, that the doorbell rings before I'm done with the second half of the bagel, and my stomach clenches in knots. I won't be able to finish now.

Jackson and I make silent eye contact before he goes to get the door, and I make my way out to the front room while skimming my fingertips along the wall for support.

Jackson and the investigator are shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries, by the front door. I stare from where I stand beside the dining room table, gripping the back of a chair with all I've got. Partly so I won't fall down and partly because of the emotions coursing through me - either way, I can't let go.

He and I meet eyes. "Hello," he says, very businesslike. "You must be April Kepner. The mother."

I nod, eyeing him warily.

"Maybe we could talk right here, on the couch," Jackson suggests, hurrying over to help me get there. He sits beside me, his arm subtly around the small of my back, and I rest against him. Moving is taxing for me. My body is tired from all the strain, so much so that it's hard to sit up on my own.

"My name is Ryan Garcia," the investigator says, extending his hand. I don't take it, so he replaces it at his side and sits on the chair across from the couch. "This shouldn't take long. But I do have some procedural questions that I need to ask you. I was hoping this could just be between me and you, Ms. Kepner, if-"

"No," I say, and my voice sounds weak though I had meant it to be firm. "He's going to stay."

Jackson's hand rests over my hip and tightens a bit at my words. I need him. Without him next to me, I know I won't be able to answer a single question that this horrible man poses.

"Okay, it's your choice," Mr. Garcia says. "We don't usually, but…" He looks between the two of us, then down at his yellow legal pad. "Let's just get started."

I swallow to brace myself and rest my hand on Jackson's leg. He presses a soft kiss against my hair and I nod against him, while knowing I'm not ready to hear what Mr. Garcia's about to say.

"The child in question is now deceased, correct?" he asks.

I part my lips and my breath hitches audibly in my throat; I feel Jackson's fingers tighten on my hip, then he overlaps my hand on his leg with his own. I wait a long time before finally answering. If I say it out loud, it becomes real.

But I know I have to comply.

"Yes," I whisper.

He jots something down on paper, then looks back up. "Could you describe the lead-up to the death of the child?" he asks.

I raise my eyebrows, bite the middle of my top lip, and let my eyes wander the floor. My breathing comes quicker and I can feel my arms and legs trembling - the last thing I want to do is go back and remember.

"I-I can't," I say.

"Are you really going to make her relive that?" Jackson snaps, grip tightening protectively on me. "Honestly?"

"It's procedure," Mr. Garcia says, voice softening a bit. I don't know how his face looks, I'm still staring at the carpet, but I imagine it's sympathetic. "I'm sorry."

I gnaw the inside of my cheek and grip Jackson's leg as tightly as I can. "We were going to Lincoln Park to meet Jackson and his mother," I say quietly. I can hear Mr. Garcia's pen scratching against the paper, the clock ticking in the foyer, and the dishwasher running in the kitchen. I'm tuned in to everything except my own thoughts. "The roads were bad. It was the day after Christmas. We shouldn't have been out. I-I know we shouldn't have been driving. Almost no one else was."

The scene plays back in my mind, clear as day. The blinding white. The flash of lights, the spinning. The impact, the scream. The blackness.

"Someone lost control of their car on Lakeshore Drive. Alaina was singing and dancing to Rihanna in the back seat when they hit us. They hit us, and… I think we spun. I can't really remember that part. The car must have flipped, I-I was cold when we finally stopped moving. I felt snow on my skin. I heard a scream, but I don't know if it was me or her."

My lower lip trembles. Jackson pulls me closer and kisses the top of my head again, encouraging me.

"That's all I remember," I say. "I blacked out and woke up in the hospital."

Mr. Garcia clears his throat as he finishes up the notes on what I've said. "Did you intentionally mean any harm to the child?" he asks.

I feel like I've been punched. Kicked, beaten, more like.

"I would never harm my child," I say, lifting my eyes to finally meet his. "Ever. This was an accident."

He nods curtly and takes his notes, going through only a few more questions before we're finished. "Thank you for taking the time out of your day to talk with me," he says. "It's very important to your case that you did this."

I stay sitting on the couch, and Jackson walks Mr. Garcia out. When the door closes, he comes back over, sits down, and wraps me up in his arms. I bury my face in his neck, breathe in his familiar scent, and cry.

That night, I let Jackson feed me a big, healthy dinner. I can tell it makes him happy, so I eat it. After it's gone, I have to admit I do feel a little better. Rejuvenated, physically stronger.

I still haven't spoken much since this afternoon. After we're finished with dinner, Jackson loads the dishwasher and I turn on the TV. More than once, I feel his eyes on me. I think he's thankful that I'm downstairs and coexisting alongside him, even if I might not be completely present.

He comes and sits down next to me after the kitchen is clean, winding an arm around my shoulders and giving me a little hug. I rest my weight against him and keep my eyes on the TV, though I'm not taking in anything on the screen. I don't even know what show I turned on.

We spend a while just sitting together in silence, neither of us paying attention to the program. On a commercial break, he nuzzles his nose into my hair and says, "I'm really sorry that had to happen today."

I shake my head slightly. I don't know what to say about it. It was awful, horrible. The last thing I wanted to do was relive what happened, and I was forced to do just that. I can't stomach the thought that there's even the sneaking suspicion that I'd do anything to hurt my daughter purposefully.

It was an accident. I have to keep telling myself that.

But I was the one driving the car. I was the one behind the wheel, and I'm Alaina's mother. It was my job to keep her safe, and I couldn't do that. I should have been going slower, I should've taken the back roads. I shouldn't have been on Lakeshore. Everyone knows it's dangerous in the winter, yet I took it anyway. To save time.

"It is my fault, though," I say out loud, almost without realizing it.

"What?" Jackson says, sounding incredulous.

"It was my fault she died," I whisper.

"Why would you say that?" he asks, situating the way we're sitting so he can look into my face. I can't look up at him, though. I keep my eyes on my lap.

"Because it was," I mutter. "I shouldn't have been on Lakeshore. I've lived here for ten years. I know better… I should've known better." I cover my face with my hands. "It's my fault. I could've kept her safe, and I didn't." I lean forward and collapse against his chest, and he holds me. "I told her I'd never leave her," I say. "I lied to her. I lied. I left her."

Jackson pulls me onto his lap and holds my small form comfortably, rocking back and forth. "If you take one thing away from this," he says. "You have to know that it wasn't your fault. You didn't spin out of control, another car did. They hit you."

"I still shouldn't have been on Lakeshore," I cry. "I killed her!"

"Stop," he says. "Do not say that. Never say that again."

I press my face against his soft shirt and stay there. It seems like my body wouldn't be able to produce any more tears after all the crying I've done, but somehow it still does.

Alaina's funeral is on January 5th. The last hearing is on the 8th.

Today, Jackson has spent a long time on the phone with funeral services, arranging everything. I'm sitting in the middle of Alaina's room, on the floor, staring into space.

I'm supposed to be picking the outfit she'll be buried in.

I've spent so many mornings picking clothes for Alaina to wear. I never thought that I'd have to do it for this reason.

I hear slow footsteps on the stairs, then Jackson appears in the doorway. I glance over at him and he gives me a soft expression, lowering himself to the floor to join me.

"Didn't find anything?" he asks.

"Didn't look," I admit.

He nods slowly. "I spoke with the funeral director," he says. "I told him you wanted the service at Covenant church. That's the one, right?" I give a small noise of approval. That's where Alaina and I went to church every Sunday morning. "And for her to be buried at Rosehill. I bought a plot."

"Right, Rosehill," I say quietly.

He takes my hand. "All the logistics are worked out. And so are the flowers for the ceremony. But I figured you'd want to do the headstone yourself; I didn't want to do that for you. And anything special you want for the funeral… I'll leave that up to you."

I lean my head against his shoulder and take in a deep breath. "Can someone sing?" I ask.

"Sing?" he echoes.

I nod. "I-I think she'd like it if someone sang 'Hey Jude.'"

"'Hey Jude,'" he murmurs. "Yeah, of course. I can figure that out."

"A female singer," I say. "I'd sing it myself, but… I couldn't."

"Do you think you'll be able to say something?" he asks.

"I want to," I say. "I should."

"I think that's a good idea," he says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. "I think that'd be really nice."

"Are you going to invite your class?" I ask, turning my face up towards his.

He strokes my cheek. "I wasn't sure," he says. "I was going to talk to you about that."

"I think that you should," I say. "I think she would want them there."

"Okay," he says. "Then I will."

A little while later, he helps me off the floor and we stand in front of her closet together, looking at all the clothes hanging on their hangers. They will never be tossed haphazardly out of this closet at warp speed again, or left in a messy pile right next to the dirty hamper. Until I move them, they'll stay right here, hanging still. Untouched. Collecting dust.

I pick out a blue floral dress for her to be buried in. She wore it for Easter this past year and loved it, but I didn't let her get it out of her closet often because it was special. Now, she'll be in it forever.

Lying in bed next to Jackson the night before the funeral, I'm overcome with too many emotions to name. I'm into my 6th week of pregnancy now. The baby is about the size of a lentil, and its facial features are starting to form. In eight months, it will be joining us in the world as a real, live person. One that I won't be able to keep safe. I already failed at protecting one child - who's to say that I'll do any better with another?

"I know you're awake," Jackson whispers, and it makes me jump. I thought he'd been asleep hours ago. "Do you wanna talk?"

I sigh towards the ceiling and rest my hands over my belly. "I don't know," I say.

He'd been facing the window, so he rolls over to look at me. I can feel his eyes on my face, but I keep mine directed upwards. He's waiting for me to say something, but I don't know what to fill the space with. What can I say? What words would do any justice to the way I'm feeling?

As I lay there, I can't help but picture how Alaina looked lying in the holding room. Cold, still, frozen at five.

She will be five forever. She will never get the chance to turn six. She wanted a My Little Pony themed sixth birthday party, but she will never get it.

Her casket is going to be open tomorrow during the wake. Not during the service - the kids don't need to see that. While Father Mike, who's known her since birth, speaks about her life, Alaina will be lying inside a closed box. Alone and in the dark, in front of everyone who's ever loved her.

Jackson falls asleep facing me as he waits for me to say something. Maybe he knew I wouldn't. I turn to look at him and feel soothed by his serenity - the soft angles of his eyebrows, the slope of his nose and the freckles that cover it, the defined line of his jaw - even in sleep, he's beautiful.

I gently caress his shaved head, running my fingers over his crown and down to the nape of his neck. I pull myself closer and situate his arm over my waist, comforted by its solid weight. I tuck my head under his chin and listen to his heartbeat, and let the rhythm of it lull me to sleep.

The next morning at 9am, I'm standing in front of Covenant Presbyterian church, staring up at it like I've never seen it before. I feel like after today, I won't be coming back. There's no way that I could.

I hold on tight to Jackson's arm as I pass seemingly every person that I've ever known. When I get close to the room that the wake's in, I look up after hearing a familiar voice - my mother's.

I don't know how I could've forgotten about her in all of this, but somehow I did. She has tears streaming down her face, and before I have a chance to register what's happening, I'm in her arms. And it feels good.

I cry into her neck like I'm little again, and her grip is tight around my back. Jackson walks away to give us time alone together, and we don't break apart for a long time. "April, I am so, so sorry," she says, stroking my curled hair. "I am so sorry."

I pull away and see redhaired members of my family in small clusters around the room, talking amongst themselves. I see my little nieces and nephews, who, in a few years, won't remember that they once had a cousin who loved them. They're too young to have the memory of her stick.

I get hugs from my sisters - long ones that include tears and apologies. I don't have any words to offer in return, but I don't really need them. No one knows what I'm feeling right now, no one in my family has ever lost a child. I am the first.

I hope I'm the last.

Libby takes my hand as we approach Alaina's casket. I can see her as we walk up, light makeup dusted over her porcelain features and hands folded delicately atop her ribcage - she's stiller than she ever was in life.

I watch Libby look down at her niece, then back up at me. She offers no words, and I'm glad for that. She doesn't stay for long. I don't think she can.

Everyone tells me Alaina is beautiful. As they pass, they offer me small words of comfort. She's not in any pain, she's at peace now, she's beautiful. But I don't want her to be beautiful. I want her to be cute, wild, free. Everything she was as she lived. She was not beautiful, not yet. She hadn't grown to reach that word, and I wasn't ready for it, anyway. She was cute. She was my little bug. She was not beautiful.

But now, the funeral director has made her so. She looks older than five with her imperfect skin made perfect - her freckles covered by a light layer of foundation. I do my best in smudging it off, but skin without blood coursing underneath doesn't cooperate in the same way that I'm used to. I leave her be. The stiffness of her body makes goosebumps appear and my hair stand on end.

I stay by the casket's side until Jackson joins me. When I see that it's him, I take his hand and choke back tears as I say, "The coffin's so small."

He nods slightly, squeezing my fingers. "I know," he says.

The sanctuary is full of people for the service. I'm sitting in the front row with Jackson on one side and my mom and dad on the other, and Matthew a few feet down from us with Leah. I glance over my shoulder at everyone who came, and see a number of little faces scattered throughout the audience that I recognize as Alaina's classmates.

Their parents are holding them extra tight.

Father Mike speaks first, though his words I know I won't remember. I have my eyes fixated on the closed casket with the shiny wooden finish, too small for the space it's in. My only child lies cold inside it, positioned in a way that she will stay for eternity. In her blue Easter dress, she has no more vitality. She'll never scream with laughter again when I tickle her, never shuffle into my room rubbing her eyes, never cry out in the middle of the night because of a thunderstorm. She's stuck, lying there in a dress she'd only worn once, that now she'll wear for the rest of forever.

When it's my turn to go up to the altar and speak, my knees wobble. I stand up from the pew and feel weak due to emotional and physical stress, so Jackson takes my arm and leads me up. Once I'm stationed securely, he retreats back to his seat and watches me.

I prepared a speech, but now it feels all wrong. It feel staged, and I can't read from it. I shove it into the pocket of my black dress and close my eyes, going with what feels right.

"Hi," I say, clearing my throat. "Most of you already know me. But for those of you who don't, my name is April. I was- I… am… Alaina's mom." I take a moment to scan the crowd. Everyone's eyes are on me, no one is distracted. But I don't feel any hints of nervousness, just overbearing sadness. If I were to let myself feel the amount of sorrow pressing down on me in full, I would probably collapse.

"Alaina had a certain way of making you feel special," I continue. "It was in the way she looked right into your eyes, almost like she could see into your soul. She and I had a special bond. We were best friends. I loved her fiercely, with everything that I could give. I wanted to teach her everything I knew. She was the best thing I'd ever accomplished, and I couldn't wait to see her grow." I glance towards the casket, the pretty lights from the ceiling reflecting off it. "A mother should never have to bury her child," I say. "Accidents happen. People die. I'm a surgeon, I know that better than anyone. But… this should never have to happen. I'll never see my daughter grow up, go to college, find her passion. She loved working with her hands, making fuses, building Lego cities. Maybe one day, she would've been an architect. An inventor. Maybe one day, she would've changed the world. But now…" I shake my head. "Now she will never have that chance. I know a funeral is supposed to be a place to celebrate someone's life." I wipe a few stray tears from my cheeks. "But I just don't find that fitting when her life barely got the chance to start." I look out to the crowd again. "You never know what's going to happen and when. Life comes and hits you out of nowhere. One morning, you wake up with your daughter in your arms, and the next they're empty. You're empty." I pause. "In complete honesty, I'm not sure how to live life without her. I forgot how. My existence centered around her happiness, and now she's disappeared. Gone. Her happiness is not a factor anymore because I can't hold her in my arms. Later today, she'll be underground. My light, my child, my little girl, will be underground." I bow my head, stifle my sobs, then look back up and say, "Hold your children tight. You never know what might happen. So all I'm asking is for you to say a prayer for us. For Alaina, for me. I want her to be safe in God's hands, and I need guidance in knowing how to live without my only child." I press a hand to my collarbone and take in a shaky breath. "Thank you."

I step down from the altar and head back to my spot on the pew. I hear a few scattered 'amens,' and stare down at my knees. Jackson wraps his arm around me, kisses my temple, and I let myself break down.

'Hey Jude' is sung as we walk through the doors, headed towards the procession.

There's a smaller gathering of people outside standing around Alaina's plot. The casket is being lowered in via a creaky machine, and I can't stop staring at her headstone.

Alaina Faith Kepner

Loved With A Love Beyond Telling

Missed With a Grief Beyond All Tears

Tread Carefully, Here Lies My World

April 26th, 2012 - December 26th, 2017

I love you, my Honeybee

After she's lowered into the ground and everyone takes a turn casting in a handful of soil, I stare at my feet in the frosty grass, clutching Jackson's hand.

I hear a little voice to my side, and look up because of it. "Alaina's mommy?" it peeps.

There's a little girl standing next to me with long brown hair and sad eyes. She has her hands clasped in front of her, wearing a navy blue dress with black tights under a puffy winter coat.

"Hi," I croak. "What's your name?"

"Julia," she says softly. "I just… I camed to tell you that I'm really sorry about that Alaina died and that I'm really gonna miss her."

I drop to my knees to wrap my arms around the little girl, and she leans into my hug. I squeeze my eyes shut tight and tremble against her, saying, "I'll miss her, too."

I let go and wipe the tears from under my eyes, and she gives me a sad little smile before heading back to her father.

I stand up after she walks away, and Jackson takes my limp hand once again in his. Everyone slowly disperses, but my feet stay planted where they are even as the wind whips around us and gives me a chill. I can't bear to leave here, to leave her. Alone, in her final resting place.

"April," Jackson says quietly, touching my shoulder after I've stayed rigid in the same spot for a very long time. "Are you ready to go?"

I glance from him back to her plot. The dirt is unsettled and covered with green mesh - unfinished. I shake my head no and take a step towards her grave, then drop to my knees.

His feet crunch on the frosty grass as he walks up behind me. I feel his gentle fingertips between my shoulder blades as I kneel and press my hands to the ground, then he squats down next to me.

"I can't leave her here," I whisper hoarsely, my fingers spread out on the cold ground. Tears drip from my eyes onto the grass, and I let myself cry.

He flattens a hand in the middle of my back, then moves it to encircle my shoulders to pull me close. "Honey," he says softly. "She's not here. Her body's here, but that's it. She's with God. You know that. I know you know that."

I sniffle and wipe my tears, turning to look at him with surprise. "You don't believe in that stuff," I say.

"But you do," he says. "And she did."

I rub my nose. "You're just saying that."

"No, I'm not," he says. "It's important what you believe. If it's important to you, it's important to me. And you need to know that if she's not with you, she's in the second best place. With God."

A tiny smile finds its way to my lips. "You're putting God second to me?"

"Of course I am," he says. He pauses for a long moment. "She's with God now. She's well taken care of. You're not leaving her here, she's always gonna be with you."

His words sit with me, smooth and warm like honey on this sharply cold evening. "You're right," I concede, then stand up to my full height. I walk to her slate stone and close my eyes as I lay my hands flat on the top, then press a long kiss to the round of it. "Okay."

"Let's go home?" he asks, extending his arm.

I take his hand.

Getting ready for bed that night, I feel empty. I slip into my soft pajama pants and old, worn-in t-shirt and stand in front of the bathroom mirror as I brush my teeth, listening to Jackson pull the bed down in the next room.

This house is different now. It not only feels different, but it is. It's quieter, calmer, less demanding. There's a presence lacking and the feeling is not small. It sits in the middle of the room like an animal, waiting to swallow me whole. If Jackson weren't here, I'm sure that it would.

I pad out to the bedroom and see him painstakingly placing the throw pillows that he hates in a stack by the window, like he does every night. He doesn't understand why they need to be on the bed in the first place, no one else sees it but us. What's the point in decorating it?

I wonder how annoyed he must be with the life we share. We got married; he married me for my child who's no longer living. Does he really want to be here anymore?

I stand by the edge of the bed with both hands clutching a glass of water. "Jackson," I say, breaking the comfortable silence.

He looks up from where he stood lining up the pillows. "Hmm?" he says, eyebrows raised.

"I, um, I just wanted to let you know that… you can leave me now," I say, my voice forced.

His eyes squint as he looks at me with confusion. "What are you talking about?" he asks, continuing his pillow mission.

"Would you stop with the pillows for a second?" I ask, and he stands still and straight. I sigh. "I'm saying, we got married for her. To get me custody." I press a hand to my heart. "And now she left me, and… you can too, if you want." A long pause. "I'm giving you a pass."

He lets out a short burst of air from his nose and tosses the two remaining pillows from the bed to join his pile. "Come on, let's just go to bed," he says.

"Jackson," I say, pulling my side of the covers back. I'm cold, and I need to get under them. "I'm serious. Don't ignore me. You can leave if you want to. I-I know this isn't ideal for you, we barely-"

"April, stop," he says, lying down. "I don't want to leave you. Okay? Not a single part of my body wants to, I don't know, walk out on you. I'm not that guy. I married you, you're my wife."

"But I'm only-"

"I know why we got married," he says, turning on his side to face me. I can feel his body heat radiating onto my skin. "But things have changed. I'm in love with you. You're pregnant, god, April. I don't wanna leave you. I don't know why you'd think that. I'm in this for good, okay?" I stare at him for a long time, then he says, "Get that through your head." I blink at him, not saying anything. "Why're you staring?" he asks, even after closing his eyes in attempts to go to sleep.

"Because I don't understand you," I whisper, hands tucked under my chin.

"What's not to understand?" he asks, voice slurred by sleepiness.

"I don't know," I say under my breath, pulling myself closer to him in the darkness. Both lying on our sides, we wrap our arms around each other until there's no possible way that we could be closer. Even our legs are intertwined, and I'm sucking up all of his warmth.

He kisses my forehead long after I think he's drifted off. "I love you," he whispers. "I'm not going anywhere."

As we walk inside the glass doors of the courthouse on January 8th, I feel sick to my stomach. Jackson's hand is resting securely on the small of my back as we find the way to our courtroom, and we meet Rachael outside the doors. She greets us cordially, and as we enter, Jackson's hand still doesn't leave my body.

In this sizeable room, it's just Jackson and me, Rachael, Matthew and Leah, their lawyer, the judge and Ryan Garcia. As the proceedings start, I stare down at the wooden table I'm sitting at and listen to Mr. Garcia go through the evidence with Judge Garnet. His voice sounds muffled and distant, like I'm not really here listening to it. He presents the answers to the questions he posed to both myself and Matthew as Judge Garnet listens, and he doesn't spend much time at the stand at all.

"The child in question is, in fact, deceased. Correct?" Judge Garnet asks.

"Yes, your honor," I manage to say, blinking heavily.

"If you could present the evidence."

I look to Rachael and she nods me on, and I approach the bench with Alaina's death certificate balanced in my hands. I hand it to Judge Garnet and he takes it from me, looking it over before dismissing me back to my stand.

Matthew's lawyer stands up after I sit down. "Your honor, the child in question is now deceased. Given that the investigation concluded that her death was an accident, no further claims will be made by my client at this time. Our case is fully withdrawn."

The judge says words that I don't hear. I'm trapped in a bubble again, and my body is filling with red-hot rage. I'm seeing black at the corners of my eyes, and my fists are bunched up so my nails dig into the heels of my palms.

When everyone heads out of the courtroom, I rush ahead of Jackson once we pass the doors and pull on Matthew's arm so he faces me.

"Are you happy?" I ask, my voice wavering. "I don't get her anymore. I don't have her. I lost her." I point a finger right in his face. "You win."

He gives me a strange look, blinking a few times before he says anything. "Just leave it alone, April," he says.

But I don't. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?" I continue. "For me to lose her? Well, you win, Matthew. You don't have an obligation to pretend like you care anymore. You don't have an obligation to pretend like we ever mattered to you."

I feel a pair of gentle hands on my shoulders, ushering me back. But I stand strong, noncompliant. I'm not done here.

"We never mattered to you. And now we never have to."

"She was my child, too!" he bellows, his face turning red like it always had. Like hers always did, too.

"You could've acted like it before it was convenient for you," I spit back, shaking my head. "She's gone now. And she's not ever coming back."

We both stare each other down as our significant others try and diffuse the situation. But we ignore them.

"Have fun with your do-over family," I say, voice wobbling. "I never want to see you again."

"April, come on," Jackson says firmly, but quietly. "Let's go."

I give Matthew a lasting, spiteful look, then turn my back on him for the last time as Jackson takes my arm and leads me away.