I'm nearly four months pregnant and I still haven't heard from House. I've had a lawyer draw up papers for a divorce, but I just let them sit on the bureau to collect dust. I'm citing fraud; he entered our marriage telling me that he wanted to be with me for the rest of our lives, that he'd always love me and after little more than a year he's gone and it was all a complete lie. I can't bring myself to have them served to House. I don't want it to end like this, but after this long, I can't see how it can ever work out.

Day by day, the baby grows and I'm barely able to fit into my pants anymore. Cuddy offers to let me borrow her maternity pants, but I'm tired of taking and taking and taking from her. I look at my stomach in disgust. Sometimes I wish I had terminated, so everything could have gone back to normal. I try to get these thoughts out of my head because I don't want to resent my child because it was the direct cause of the failure of my marriage. I don't want to hate my kid because my husband couldn't grow up and accept it's existence.

When Cuddy was pregnant, she was big and beautiful and happy and Wilson was by her side constantly. She wasn't sick, she wasn't depressed, she wasn't alone. I, on the other hand, am sick and miserable and by myself. My OB is concerned because I'm not gaining weight and I can't keep any food down. Truthfully, I'm concerned, too.

I'm trying to hide my unsightly yellowing eyes and skin and my constant headaches from everyone. My skin is itchy but it doesn't look very dry. I think I'm just being overly affected by my depression. How can I not be? My husband, the person I love the most, wants nothing to do with our baby and therefore nothing to do with me.

Wilson has stopped telling me about House and his irritability and irrationality but I know he harps on him about it every day. I don't want to think about him but I can't help it. He's on my mind all the time. I think about his gravelly voice and his piercing, inquisitive blue eyes, his intelligence, his hands on my body. I think about our long conversations that would last into the wee hours of the night. I think about our motorcycle rides, going to listen to jazz and blues in restaurants, drinking ourselves retarded. I think about our ups and our downs, the day we met, our wedding. I think of all these things and I can't stop crying. I hope no one can hear me but the looks on their faces tell me that they know.

My family is angry with what's happening. I finally had to fess up to them about my pregnancy and House's inability to cope with it. I've decided to move in with my brother Joseph and his family. I've got all my things in boxes and am just waiting for a couple of weeks so they can ready a room for me. I've been enough of a burden on Wilson and Cuddy so far.

I can't imagine what my life is going to be like. A marriage ruined, a young single mother living with her brother with no contact with her baby's father. I don't think I could ever get over House. My life from now on is going to have to be about the baby, no one else. I have to put myself aside and forget about House and ever having a healthy relationship.

I feel dizzy and have an intense headache. I haven't peed all day and I know something's wrong. Although I think I should wait for someone to get home to take me, I get in the car and drive to the hospital. I just make it into a handicapped parking space before having another dizzy spell. I put the handicapped tag on the rear view mirror, stolen from House, and shuffle into the hospital. I'm feeling disoriented but manage to tell the nurse to find Cuddy or Wilson.

I see Chase looking over a chart and he looks up, his smile fading when he sees me. He asks me what's wrong and I mumble that I'm tired. He tells me I look awful and should sit down and I laugh weakly before my legs give out and it all goes dark.

xXxXx

Wilson won't leave me alone about Henri. Every day, he gives me an update I don't want. She's in bed all day, she can't stop crying and throwing up and isn't gaining weight. She's moving in with her brother, gone in two weeks. I'll never see her again if I don't get over my stubborn ways.

The fact that she's suffering tugs at my cold, hard heart. I never wanted her to suffer, but once she's over it, she'll realize she's better off. When I say this, Wilson tells me I'm being stupid and letting the best thing I've ever had walk away, just so I can continue to be miserable. I'm punishing myself for no reason.

No matter what Wilson tells me, I have my own rationalizations for what I'm doing. In the end, I'll be saving her and damning myself. I miss her and I know I always will, but if I'm not in the picture, the child can have a decent chance at a decent life. What could I offer a kid other than being a menacing presence on the border of their life?

She's on my mind all the time. I think about her melodic singing voice and her beautiful, clear blue eyes, her intelligence, the feel of her skin and her warm body. I think about our long conversations that would last into the wee hours of the night. I think about our motorcycle rides, going to listen to jazz and blues in restaurants, drinking ourselves stupid. I think about our ups and our downs, the day we met, our wedding. I think of all these things and I can't stop drinking.

I probably dial her number twenty times a day, but I never have the courage to press the call button. She's in the right and I'm in the wrong. She's always stood up for me, always done exactly what I wanted her to do. She's babied me and cared for me and eased my pain in ways that no one ever has and no one ever will. She's cooked and cleaned for me, delivered my meals to me here at all hours. She's done everything I've ever asked her to in bed and more. She never asked anything of me; I was the one who asked her to move in, to marry me, because I didn't want her doing these things for anyone else. I wanted her close to me, doing the same thing for the rest of our lives.

But you can't ask a twenty four year old girl to stay the same forever, never want anything more. I can't ask her to terminate a pregnancy just because I don't want to be a father; it's her body, her life. I've been making this entire thing about me without a thought in the world to what she wanted. That's where I made my mistake.

I tell Wilson I'm tired of all of this crap, I just want it over so I can go back to my life, alone, how I liked it. He tells me I'm a ridiculous liar and I'll pay for it for the rest of my life. I agree. I tell him that just because he's happy that Cuddy's squeezed out a baby, doesn't mean I'm happy about Henri's pregnancy. I see Cuddy and Wilson falling in love with each other more every day. I tell him I'm sickened by it all. His pager goes off and he sighs and looks down.

When he looks up, I know there's something wrong. He tells me Henri House just collapsed and my heart drops. I can't do this again, I can't be in fear for her life again. This woman is killing me, she constantly needs to be rescued and I can't handle it. We both stand and I hobble as fast as I can after Wilson and I see Henri, passed out on a gurney, being rushed down a hallway. She's too thin and her skin has a slight yellow pallor to it.

I grab Chase and I ask him what happened. She came into the clinic, looking disoriented, and she collapsed. He goes on to tell me that I can't be here, it's a conflict of interest. I threaten to shove my cane where the sun doesn't shine if he doesn't get the hell out of my way. As Chase checks her vitals, I hook her up to the IV and see she's still wearing her rings. She's not over me, she still loves me, and this proves it.

I pry open her eyelids and I see her eyes are yellowed; she's jaundiced. I ask Wilson what's been going on and he tells me all he knows; she's still violently ill, can't keep anything down, losing weight, sleeping eighteen hours a day, having headaches. I'm thinking hyperemesis gravidarum, a severe kind of morning sickness that can cause dehydration and jaundice. Chase puts her on some intravenous fluids to restore hydration, electrolytes and vitamins and an antireflux med to stop her from throwing up. If she had waited much longer, she could have gone into liver failure and miscarried or even lost her own life.

Chase gets out the sonogram to make sure everything is okay and when he lowers the covers, I see she has the slightest curve, the beginnings of a belly. I almost leave the room but the sound of the normal, perfect heartbeat stops me. I look up at the screen and I see the profile of a sixteen week old fetus, perfectly normal, no signs of trauma or deformity. Chase looks at me and tells me it's my baby and it looks fine for being the devil's spawn and I sit down.

I tell him to leave and for a long time, I sit, looking at the still image he left on the screen. I rest my chin on my cane and look at Henri, who, despite being yellow, too thin and exhausted, is a sight for sore eyes. I've missed looking at her and just being in the room with her is a soothing thing. When I heard she'd collapsed, I'd thought the worst.

I'm not sure what I would have done if something really bad had happened; the gunshot scared me, but this is far scarier. I would have hated myself if something happened to her and the baby.