Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: ...yeah. You guys aren't going to be happy with me. :)


Chapter Forty-Eight:

…How could I have done this to her? Put her in this position, twisted and distorted something that should have been so real and pure and honest?

If I had loved her—really loved her—I would have quit my job when it became apparent that she was more important and presented myself to her as an honest suitor. But I hadn't loved her—I had wanted to own her. And now I did. Her future was mine. Her body was mine. Her heart was mine.

But I found no satisfaction in the four letter word anymore.

She shouldn't be mine. Not the way she was.

I knew her history… I knew how hard she'd worked to get to this point. And yet I had allowed her to put her entire future on the line for me. …Allowed. No, I had manipulated her into putting it all on the line, and she had still done so more honestly and honorably than I had… with not nearly as much to lose. Me, with all the power.

Because he was right—how could I think that it had been a completely consensual affair? Even disregarding that I was fifteen years her senior and her teacher… I had made certain that the balance of power was off, because I didn't want an equal, I wanted a dependent.

Sara was far too beautiful to spend her life beneath someone else. She was fucking brilliant. God-damned amazing. She had her whole life in front of her and she was going to change the world, I knew it. I knew it as certainly as I knew the precise shade of brown in her eyes and the exact sound of her laugh. I drew in a shaky breath, feeling tears come to my eyes.

I had been so incredibly selfish. I had allowed my own insecurities to override any thoughts of what was right or wrong… any thoughts of what Sara deserved and what Sara needed and where Sara was going in her life.

And what could I do to fix it now? She was about to lose everything because I hadn't been able to control myself. She deserved so much better than I had given her, and I knew that I would never be worthy of her. My actions were unforgivable and I had destroyed her. Completely.

…She didn't even know it. She was just happy that I was happy, because I had conditioned her to fear my disapproval, and I was happy because it meant that she would be tied to me for the rest of our lives. I hadn't wanted the baby because I wanted to be a father and because I wanted to spend my life with her—I did want those things, but they had not been the reason I wanted a baby.

…We might have a tiny body, half-beautiful Sara and half-twisted, deceitful me, growing inside her at this very moment, and even knowing the amazing, unbelievable miracle that was life… my only thought had been that our child, too, could be used as a pawn in my game of how-can-I-increase-my-power-over-her.

...They both deserved better than me.

I forced myself to go home and behave as if I hadn't just been shaken to my core, because there was nothing I could do about it now. I wasn't about to abandon a pregnant eighteen year old girl and the baby who would bear my name. But I knew, in the depths of my soul, that the very best thing I could do for Sara would be to walk away.

She was young, she would recover… move on. I wouldn't—I never would—but she would. She was a fighter. She could survive anything.

I say so flippantly that I would walk away—I don't know that I would have the strength to leave her, even now, knowing what she risks and the extent of my abuses. Because I had abused her. As surely as her father had abused her mother and her brother and god forbid, my darling Sara herself, I had been no better. I had laid no hand on her, but she would bear the scars forever.

…I was selfish. And even lamenting the pregnancy now because I had never realized how much it would hold her back and threaten the life she'd tried to build and because I now knew that I could deserve neither of those blessed creatures… even knowing this, and wishing there were not a baby waiting for me inside her…

I was happy that she was pregnant. Because it meant that I couldn't walk away from her. The decision was out of my hands. I didn't have a choice—I couldn't walk out on either on them. My fate decided for me. I didn't have to trouble myself with the morality of staying with her after all I'd done or worry about what would be in her best interests—there was a baby who needed me.

We ate dinner, and I told her that I'd tell her what George had said later—I was so tired. I didn't have the energy now. She smiled sympathetically and rubbed my forearm and after dinner she fidgeted until I smiled softly and kissed her and asked if she wanted to take the test. She sprang to her feet, her cheeks rosy, her eyes bright.

The single most amazing thing I had witnessed, my whole life long—Sara happy. I breathed in the moment and stood outside the door, talking to her while she read the directions and fretted over doing it right and told me not to listen.

She emerged, stick in hand, moments later. She set the test on the counter top and wrapped her arms around me, kissing me and telling me that she just knew she was and she hoped it was a little boy with my eyes and my dimples and my brain. I held her tightly to myself, reveling in the moment, so happy that despite the rebirth of my conscience I could stay here and keep her for my own.

"It's time!" Her husky voice murmured against my ear and I gripped her tightly, simultaneously elated and immensely saddened. After this, there would be no going back. The end of everything Sara could have had and been, because of me, was here. It felt akin to Armageddon.

We moved to the counter again, as a pair, perfectly in sync, down to each bated breath.

It was negative.