"I was ready to give up," she admits, "I was ready to die."

"But you didn't."

"I wanted to."

"What stopped you?"

"I was lying there, in that basement one night, staring at the ceiling, and I couldn't sleep."

"You were afraid to go to sleep?"

"That was part of it, because I never knew that hell I was going to be waking up to."

"And the other part?"

"I had been there for five months. Most of the time I would lie awake thinking about coming home. I was just so tired, and I felt completely defeated. I decided that I didn't care anymore. I didn't care what I woke up to, because I didn't care if I woke up."

"Then what happened?"

"I fell asleep."

"And when you woke up he was there?"

"No. I woke up after just a little while, it was less than an hour."

"What woke you up?"

"The dream that I had," she answers.

"What happened in the dream?"

She takes a deep breath, and breaks eye contact, "I dreamt that I was in that basement, screaming..." she trails off.

"That was reality."

"Not because he was there, but because of a different kind of fear."

"Which was what?"

"That no one would find me."

"That no one would find you, or that no one would find you in time?"

She finds herself lying on the cot in the basement, that is pushed against the wall, screaming in agony, praying that he won't hear her. She tries to stifle her screams in the hope that he won't find her. Her face is red, and she's drenched in sweat.

"This can't be happening," she grips the frame of the bed. She stares at the cot in terror at the stain near her leg. She swallows hard. "No, not here, not now."

"Olivia, what happened in the dream?"

"I was in labor."

"And..."

"I woke up from the dream, and it felt so real. I laid there for a minute hoping that I would be back in my own bed, and that all of it would be a dream, but I wasn't. And then the thought crossed my mind that while far fetched it could be possible."

"And?"

"I panicked. There was a calendar. I know that I had to go through it at least a dozen times."

"And?"

"I didn't want to consider the possibility. I had convinced myself that it was all because I was barely eating... I..."

"Liv."

"I spent the next month trying to pretend that it wasn't real, that it wasn't happening. I tried to ignore all of it," she blinks away tears.

"But you couldn't."

"I was in denial."

"And now?"

She stands in Melinda's office. Melinda enters the room, and points to the chair in front of her desk.

"Have a seat."

Olivia scrutinizes the look on her face. She shakes her head, "No."

"Olivia, I think you should have a seat," Melinda suggests.

Olivia lowers herself into the chair. "What's going on?"

Melinda lifts the manila folder off her desk. She stares back at Olivia with a grim look on her face.

"Melinda?"

"I got your test results back."

"And?"

"There were a few things that were abnormal," Melinda admits.

"Okay," Olivia nods.

"To begin with you're dehydrated, and anemic."

"So I'll drink more water, and take some vitamins."

"Olivia, that's not all," Melinda replies in a softer tone.

"Oh."

"There was something else."

"On the STD panel?" Olivia guesses.

"No. All of those tests results were negative."

"So I'm fine?"

"Olivia I don't know how to tell you this..."

Olivia shakes her head, "Then don't."

"Liv..."

Olivia swallows hard, "Please don't say it."

"I'm sorry," Melinda says on the verge of tears, "You're pregnant."

"No," she shakes her head.

"That's why you were at that clinic? Olivia it is okay for you to admit that. Nobody would expect you to continue this nightmare."

"I couldn't do it," she admits.

"Why not?"

"They wouldn't do it," she clarifies.

He furrows his brow, "What do you mean they wouldn't do it?"

"It was too late," she adds.

"Too late? How could it be too late?"

"They said that it was too late, that there wasn't anything they could do."

"What do you mean there was nothing that they could do?"

"There was nothing that could be done."

"Olivia I don't understand. How could they do nothing? Did you tell them the situation?"

"It wouldn't matter if I did."

"So, no?"

"Nick there wasn't, isn't anything that can be done."

"Why not? I don't understand. Why wouldn't they do anything? Was it because there wasn't anything that needed to be done, or because..." he trails off.

She says nothing, she looks through him, but refuses to meet his glance. He studies the expression on her face. He can see the pain, and agony right on the surface. As he stares at her he sees confliction, and confusion, and anger. She allows the silence to envelope them, refusing to divulge any further details.

He exhales, and reaches out. He places his hand on hers, silently. He squeezes her hand, as if to remind her that he's there for her, and he's not going anywhere. She squeezes his hand back, but chooses to allow the silence to continue. He can't take his eyes off her. In an instant he realizes that she's on the verge of tears.