Michael lay in bed next to Maria that night, feeling far away from her. She was lying on her side, facing away from him. She was so close to the edge of the bed that she was probably going to fall off. It was as though she were afraid of being close to him.

He got out of bed in the middle of the night and slipped out into the hallway with his cell phone in hand. He softly shut the door to the bedroom and leaned back against the wall, sinking down to the floor. He stared at the brightly lit buttons on the phone for at least a full minute before working up the courage it took to press them. He dialed his home phone number and waited for his father to answer. It didn't take long.

"Hello?" his father said in a groggy voice.

Michael felt tears spring to his eyes. He was talking to his dad, just like his son or daughter would someday talk to him. "Dad?"

"Michael." There was a slight pause, probably as John was slipping out of the bedroom to talk to Michael without waking Sylvia up. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you today. Or tonight, I guess it is. It's late. Or early." He chuckled slightly and asked, "How're you doing?"

"I'm not . . ." Michael shook his head, barely managing to finish his sentence. "I'm not doing so good."

"What's wrong?" John's voice immediately rose with panic. "Michael?"

"Dad . . ." Would his own child call him Dad or Daddy or Father or . . .

"Do you want me to get your mom on the phone?" John offered.

"No. I might as well tell you first."

"Tell me what?" John waited a moment, obviously concerned, then said the one word that caused Michael to break. "Son?"

The tears began to fall. He couldn't control them. He wasn't macho; he wasn't tough. He was afraid. "I got Isabel pregnant," he cried. "I got her pregnant, Dad. I'm gonna have a kid."

Stunned silence was the only response he received.

"She's back in town all of a sudden," Michael went on, blubbering like a fool, "and she's sayin' it's mine. I don't know what to do."

"Oh my god," John said in astonishment.

"I feel so stupid," he confessed. "I feel so stupid."

"Now, Michael, you shouldn't blame yourself. There's no blame at all here."

"Yes, there is," Michael persisted. "I'm sorry. You must be so disappointed in me." He knew this wasn't what his parents wanted for him, fatherhood before he was a full-fledged adult himself. And with a girl he no longer loved at that. It couldn't get much worse.

"No," his father assured him, sounding surprisingly calm. "No, I could never be disappointed in you."

Michael sniffed back more tears and wiped his cheeks clean. "Everything was going so good," he wailed, "and then this happened. I don't know why this had to happen. And now Maria's freaking out, and I'm freaking out. I don't know what to do."

"It's good that you told me."

"I was scared to," he confessed, though he had to admit that he felt much better having gotten it off his chest. He still had to tell his mother, though. Maybe his dad would take on that responsibility. "I'm so sorry."

"Would you quit saying that?" John snapped. "This is not your fault; this is no one's fault. It's . . . unexpected. It's something we'll all have to get used to. But we're a family, Michael, and this is your child. This is somebody you'll love as much as your mother and I love you."

There was no doubt about that. As inconvenient and unexpected as this baby was, Michael knew he would love it. It was a part of him.

"Congratulations, Son," his father said.

Michael swallowed hard and nodded, trying like hell to see how anything about this could be congratulatory. "Thanks." It was life. It was a new, small life. That was the kind of thing that was always a miracle, and he knew that. He was still crying, though.

...

Maria lay in bed with the covers pulled tightly beneath her arms. Even though Michael had shut the door, she could hear him out in the hallway, talking to his dad and crying. She was so unused to seeing Michael cry, yet he had cried without restraint twice in the past few days. And it wasn't the good kind of crying, either, not the happy kind. He was so scared, and so was she.

She buried her face in her pillow and muffled the sounds of her own tears. She didn't want him to hear her. He wouldn't. His own sadness was overpowering him, as it should.

...

"Why are you so upset?" Max couldn't for the life of him understand the pissed off look on his sister's face. He stood in the doorway to the hotel room he had gotten for her. She sat on the bed with a breakfast cart in front of her. He'd had the chef downstairs in the dining room prepare it especially for her. "It's a first-class room, almost as nice as my suite."

"It's not the room; it's the fact that I'm in the room that bothers me," she explained, nibbling on kiwi. She'd been adamant about the kiwi.

Max grinned, understanding now. "Oh, I see. Guerin threw you for a loop when he kicked you out, huh?"

"He didn't kick me out," Isabel denied quickly. "He . . . packed up my things and asked me to leave."

"And the difference?"

"There's a difference," she assured him, pushing the breakfast cart aside. "What're you still doing here anyway? Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

He shrugged. "Dad always said you don't have to show up on time when you're the one in charge."

"Interesting philosophy." Isabel rose to her feet and walked over to the other side of the room, sitting down in front of the vanity. She took a moment to gaze at her own reflection in the mirror, and Max rolled his eyes. Isabel was convinced that she was the best-looking person on the planet, but she couldn't be. He held that title.

"But when I do get there," he went on, "things are gonna change. No more sitting around on our hands. It's time for expansion, and profits to go along with that expansion."

Isabel smiled at him in the mirror. "I like your ambition, Max," she said, picking up her brush. She ran it through her hair slowly, almost strand by strand. "If only you had a touch of realism to go along with it."

Max frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Max." She set the brush back down and turned around to face him. "Will you do me a favor?"

"I thought I already did you one." The hotel room wasn't cheap, and he was giving it to her free of charge.

"I mean another one."

He sighed and shuffled into the room, shutting the door. "What do you need?"

"I need help."

"Since when?"

"Since you were right about Michael and Maria. They're super close, and I don't l like it." She made a face of disgust and inquired, "Is there any way I could convince you to rape Maria again?"

He wasn't sure what was more shocking, that she would even ask that or that she sounded one-hundred percent genuine in her request. "No," he said.

"Darn. That would've caused her some nice emotional distress." She shrugged it off. "Oh, well. You can still be of use to me."

He wrinkled his forehead in confusion. She made it sound like he had strings attached to him and she was pulling on them. "Whatever you're planning, I'm not gonna be your willing puppet," he warned.

"No, of course not." She stood up and walked toward him. She was so huge. "Max, you're very smart—practically an evil genius. You're the perfect person to do a little . . . gardening."

"Gardening?" What was that supposed to mean?

"Yes. I need you to plant some seeds."

He raised his eyebrows and pointedly looked at her round stomach. Those kind of seeds? If she wanted a knocked-up playmate, he was going to have to pass.

She rolled her eyes. "Seeds of doubt, Max."

He nodded. "Right." That made much more sense. "And where would I be planting these doubtful seeds?"

"In Michael's head." She grinned and grabbed the last slice of kiwi off the breakfast cart. "Make him doubt that he and Maria can survive this. Be subtle, but not too subtle. Just get the job done."

"Hmm, it's almost like I work for you now."

"Almost."

He smiled a little and shook his head. "No, no, as much as it kills me to say this, Guerin's too smart to fall for that. He'll see right through any attempt I make."

Isabel popped the kiwi into her mouth and nodded in consideration. "I see what you're saying. So we need to plant the seeds in the head of someone stupider, somebody like . . ."

"Maria," he filled in.

"Exactly." Her excited grin stretched from ear to ear. "Perfect. I love that we're so on the same wavelength here."

Max was still skeptical. Besides, he had other things to do. He was owner of a multi-million dollar company now. His sister's vendetta, though entertaining, was of no benefit to him personally. "I don't know," he said. "I'm not sure if I feel like getting involved. I have a lot of other things to do."

"But none so fun," she pointed out. "Think about it, little brother. You have the chance to instigate an incredible amount of chaos here, and I know you're interested in chaos."

That was true. He was . . . or at least he had been.

"Come on, Max," she pleaded. "You might as well. It's not like you're ever gonna be one of the good guys."

He knew that. He stood in that hotel room with his sister, and he knew that. He didn't even want to be one of the good guys. Not really. Good guys never got the girl. But then again, he was living proof that bad guys didn't, either.

...

Max searched all over campus for Maria that day. He figured she had to be around there somewhere. If he were her, he would have wanted to be anywhere but at home. Class was probably a welcomed distraction to the reality in which her life was a combustible piece of crap.

He found her sitting outside the library, on the grassy knoll on the east side of the building. She was alone, looking down aimlessly at the activity going on outside the Student Union. She looked depressed. New look for her, not so hot.

He approached her and sat down beside her, waiting for her to say something. He half expected her to just get up and walk away from him, but apparently she was too tired for that, because she just cast a sideways glance at him, then looked back down at the Union. "What do you want?" she grumbled.

"I have everything I want," he said. "Almost everything."

"Then what're you doing?"

"Annoying you, I'd imagine."

She rolled her eyes. Clearly he was accomplishing his first and foremost goal. "I'm not in the mood to deal with you, Max."

"When are you ever?"

"I'm serious," she growled. "Leave me alone."

"Ooh, she doesn't even have anything witty to say," he teased. "That means my sister's really gotten under your skin."

She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. It wasn't even cold out, even though it was the middle of February.

"Don't worry," he said. "She'll be gone soon enough."

"You know, a very naïve person would think you're trying to make me feel better."

"A very naïve person would be wrong," he assured her. "You want me to leave?"

Surely she did, but her curiosity got the best of her. "What do you mean she'll be gone? She's leaving?"

"Well, actually . . . I don't know what I mean," he confessed. "Come to think of it, she'll probably be around for awhile. Entry into motherhood and all that. And Michael the father . . ." He trailed off and waited for a reaction. She tried to conceal it, but her frown lines were becoming prominent. He saw an opportunity to start his 'gardening,' so he seized it. "I wonder where you'll fit in when that happens," he said. "It's gonna be hard on you. I suspect you know that."

"Go away, Max," she muttered.

"It's not even just the kid that's gonna be a problem," he went on. "It's Michael and Isabel. You see, they have this pertinent little thing called history . . ." As he said that, he caught sight of the most familiar girl walking out of the Union bookstore. Liz didn't see him watching her, but he noticed that she was carrying a large box in her arms, a box full of books. Her hair was flapping lightly with the breeze. Pretty girl.

"What?" Maria said, apparently noticing his dazed look. She followed the his line of sight and saw what he was seeing. "Liz is back in town?"

"Has been for awhile now." He wasn't surprised she hadn't known. She had other things going on. Besides, she and Liz weren't exactly friends anymore now that he'd gotten in the way . . . or gotten into Liz, rather.

"Great," Maria grunted. "More drama."

"Doesn't concern you," he pointed out. "What was I saying?"

"Something about Michael and Isabel's history. I really didn't care."

"Right." He tried to shake the image of Liz out of his head, but knowing that she was right there, just a short distance away from him . . . "They dated for two years," he went on. He'd promised his sister he would do this. "That kind of connection never really goes away. And you two haven't been together long . . ." He made the mistake of casting another glance at Liz. She was walking past the fountain now, struggling to hold onto the large box in her hands. "You should probably . . ." He wanted to reach out and touch her, but he couldn't do that anymore. Michael and Maria were nothing like him and Liz, but perhaps they were going to end of the same way: apart.

He looked Maria right in the eye, and he still hated her. Hated the girl. Hated. Her. And he knew she had every reason and more to hate him. "Stay together," he said. "You and Guerin. You should probably stay together." It was a good thing Isabel couldn't hear him. These weren't the seeds she had given him to plant. "You probably have something worth fighting for, so you should . . . fight."

Maria looked to be contemplating what he was saying for only a moment, then glared at him and bit out, "I hate you."

"But you should listen to me," he told her. "Don't give up just because there's an obstacle in the way. Sooner or later, you're gonna have to make a choice." He looked at Liz again, remembering the choice he'd been forced to make: her or the company. "Make the right one." He had his damn company now and the lifestyle that accompanied it, but he still wasn't sure if it had been the right choice.

"God, just leave me alone." Maria got to her feet and quickly walked down the hill, brushing past Liz without a word. It was as though they were strangers. Max sat there for a moment after she had gone, then stood up and approached his former flame. "Liz," he said when he was only a few feet behind her.

She turned around, looking startled. "Oh, Max," she gasped. "You scared me."

"Don't I always?" He was a scary guy.

"Always," she practically whispered. "Oh!" The box began to slip from her hands again, so he grabbed it from her.

"Here, let me take that," he said, happy to play the part of the big, strong man. "You goin' to the parking lot?"

"Yeah."

"I'll walk with you." Whether she wanted him to or not didn't really matter. He wasn't going to pass up the chance to spend time with her. He'd lost a lot of time already.

He glanced down into the box as they walked together and surveyed all the books in there. Textbooks. Lots of biology and chemistry and physics. "I thought you were just staying here temporarily," he remarked.

"Yeah." She looked down at her feet as she walked.

"Looks permanent to me. Are you taking classes here again?"

"Oh, no, that's just light reading."

He raised an eyebrow.

"That was just sarcasm," she informed him. "No, I'm gonna keep doing my online classes for now, finish them up. But maybe next fall . . . or even this summer . . ." She shrugged. "Maybe."

"Right." The news thrilled him, but he didn't dare show his excitement. "How's Matt feel about this?"

"Matt?" she echoed. "Oh, boyfriend Matt. Right, um . . . he's fine with it."

"Really?" What kind of guy would be fine with his girlfriend leaving home to start her college life over again? "There is no Matt, is there?"

"What?" She laughed as though that idea were absurd.

"You made him up to make me think you moved on. Clever." He'd even fallen for it for awhile there.

"That's ridiculous," she dismissed.

"Is it?" He didn't think so. He stopped walking and turned to face her, still holding the box full of books in his arms. "What's Matt's last name?"

"Wilson."

"Middle name?"

"Lee."

"Age?"

"Twenty-two."

"Occupation?"

"He's a construction worker."

Max smirked, having caught her in a major lie. "You told me he worked with you at the vet's office."

"Dammit," she swore.

He chuckled. "Do you even work at the vet's office?"

"Yes," she insisted. "I'm gonna quit, though. I'm not cut out for animal excretions."

Max nodded. She was definitely meant for more. "I have the company now," he said as they started walking again.

"Good. That's what you wanted, right?"

"Yep, that's what I wanted." It was what he'd chosen, at least.

"The parking lot's just up ahead," she said, taking the box back from him. "Thanks for helping me with my books. I think I'm gonna go . . . start reading."

"Yeah, I'm gonna get to work."

"Okay." She smiled at him just slightly. Just slightly. "Bye, Max."

"Bye, Liz." He watched her walk away from him, and the thought of her being in town again, and not just temporarily . . .

No. He didn't want to get his hopes up. But Michael and Isabel weren't the only ones with history.

...

Kyle was on his way back from class when he saw Liz walking through the parking lot with a box of books in her hand. She didn't see him, though, and before he could say something to get her attention, she had climbed into her car and was already driving off. It didn't matter. His attention was diverted when he saw Tess heading up the steps to the library. She was with a group of people. She saw him, too, though, and she said something to the people she was with, then approached him. He met her in the middle, willing to talk to her. He missed her.

"Hey," she said, smiling softly.

"Hey." He shifted his backpack on his shoulders, feeling nervous. This was going to be their first talk since the night she had slapped him at the movie theater and he had, in essence, called her an idiot.

"You look good," she said. "I mean . . . it just feels like it's been forever since I've seen you."

He nodded, understanding that feeling. "New friends?" he asked in reference to the people she'd been heading into the library with.

"Oh. Study group," she explained. "Biology midterm coming up again. I gotta do better than last semester if I wanna pass."

"You will," he assured her. She wasn't an idiot. He'd never meant to insinuate that she was.

"You think?"

"Yeah. We've all had so much bad stuff happen lately. Something good has to happen soon." He sure hoped something good would happen. Between his own unhappiness, Tess's unhappiness, and now Michael and Maria's unhappiness . . . no one was happy.

"Something good," she echoed. "Yeah."

Yeah. Getting back together with her might have been something good, but he wasn't sure when that was going to happen, if ever.

"How's Michael doing?" she asked. "I haven't had the chance to talk to him much. I've mainly been trying to be there for Maria."

"Well, he's, uh . . . gonna have a baby, so he's doing about as well as can be expected," Kyle replied. He could only imagine what he would be like if he were in Michael's situation. For once, Michael was the unlucky one. "And Maria?" he asked.

"She's . . ." Tess trailed off.

"I figured."

"Do you think they're gonna make it?" she asked. "Do you think they're gonna survive this? 'Cause that can be kinda hard, the surviving."

Kyle sighed heavily. "I don't know. I hope so."

Tess looked right at him when she said, "She loves him."

He got the sense that Tess was beginning to use Michael and Maria's relationship as an analogy for their own. "He loves her, too," he returned.

Her eyes filled with longing, almost pleading. "That really should be enough," she whispered.

He swallowed hard. He couldn't do this. He couldn't be around her like this. He couldn't talk like this. "It should be," he agreed, walking past her. Sometimes it wasn't, though. They both knew that.

...

Maria walked inside the apartment and froze. Michael was in the living room, sitting on the floor assembling a crib. A real life baby crib. It was green, pretty much pastel, worked for either a boy or girl. He was about halfway done. He looked frustrated.

Oh my god, she thought, her chest tightening immediately. Where were they going to put that thing?

He finally looked up and saw her. "Hey," he said, stopping what he was doing. He almost looked ashamed to be putting that crib together. "How was class?"

"Fine," she managed to answer, still not taking her eyes off the wooden railings in his hands. "That's . . ."

"A crib, yeah," he filled in. "It was on sale at Sears."

So he'd gone shopping for it. He'd paid for it and everything. This was . . . really happening. "Where are you gonna put that?" she asked. "In your bedroom?" She didn't know why she'd referred to that bedroom as his. It was supposed to be theirs.

"Actually, I was gonna give it to Isabel," he told her.

So he'd bought it as a gift? "Oh." That was even worse.

"I just wanna make sure she has one."

It was as though he were defending his purchase. "Uh-huh." She walked into the kitchen, practically stupefied, and braced herself against the counter. For some reason, she just felt sick. "Great," she muttered. "She was the one who hurt you, and now she's the one who gets you."

"Gets me?"

She hadn't meant for him to overhear her. She thought she was talking to herself. "Never mind," she dismissed.

"No, not never mind." He climbed to his feet, groaning as he did so. He seemed so tired. "If you have something to say, you should say it."

"Michael, I don't wanna fight," she said.

"I don't either. That's why we're not gonna. You can tell me whatever you're feeling or thinking about . . . everything. And I won't hold it against you. And I hope if I need to talk to you, I can. Because we gotta communicate, Maria, now more than ever."

She rolled her eyes. "You sound like Kyle."

"I do? Oh, that's not good." He chuckled lightly and suggested, "Maybe we can laugh a little."

She shook her head. "Maybe not." She didn't meant to be so abrasive, but . . . things were just starting to boil over. After that brief and un-fun talk with Max, she was more on edge than he'd ever been. He said they should stay together, and probably deep down in his heart (if he had one), he believed that. But if Max thought staying together was a good idea, then it had to be the wrong thing to do.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, turning to face him. "I know I'm not helping. I just . . . I can't plaster a smile on my face and pretend everything's okay when it's not."

He looked her in the eye and nodded in understanding. "Okay, see . . . more like that. We need more of that."

"More of what?"

"Honesty."

"I thought you said you don't wanna fight."

"That's not what we're doing," he insisted. "We're getting things out in the open. That's good. We don't wanna let things bottle up." He took a few steps towards her and asked, "Are you mad at me?"

She stepped backwards just slightly. "Why would I be mad at you?"

Michael shrugged. "I don't know. 'Cause it's not like I did this on purpose."

"I know that."

"But that doesn't make it any easier, does it?"

It was as though he'd read her mind. "Oh, Michael," she said. "I don't wanna do this now."

"Well, when do you wanna do it?" he asked. "'Cause we have to have this conversation sooner or later. Why not sooner?"

She was starting to feel pressured, pressured into talking about something she didn't want to talk about. And the more pressured she felt, the more hostile her tone became. "I'm not mad at you," she promised him. "I'm mad at the situation. And I realize 'the situation' is your kid, so I feel pretty crappy for not feeling better. I know I should be more supportive."

"You've been supportive."

"Would you stop?" It was almost as though he was trying too hard to be so understanding. "I haven't. I've been selfish. And I think I'm gonna keep being selfish. Because, see, you . . . you don't have a choice. But I have a choice." She thought the words through in her head and nodded, liking the sound of that. "I have a choice." It made her feel less pressure.

"Maria?" Michael looked at her questioningly, as though he were trying to figure out just what she was saying. She was trying to figure it out herself when all of sudden it hit her, and she said what she needed to say.

"I can't do this."

He frowned for a moment, then seemed to just magically remove that frown from his face. "Okay, if you really don't wanna talk . . ."

"It's not the talking. I can't . . ." Didn't he get it? He wanted to understand what he was feeling. Couldn't he just understand this?

"What're you saying?" he asked, his voice taking on a slightly more panicked tone now. "Maria, nothing's gonna change."

"Would you stop saying that? It's not true!" she shouted. Maybe if she talked louder, she'd get through to him. "So many things have already changed. There's a half-assembled crib on the living room floor. And . . . and I can't even touch you without feeling confused." She thought back to their awkwardness in the shower the night before, and tears sprang to her eyes. What was she supposed to do if she couldn't even touch him? "And you were crying on the phone with your dad last night, and I heard you. You're trying so hard to hold it together and act like you're not worried, but you are. You're so scared." And she was scared, too. She had been ever since she'd fallen in love with him.

"I'm terrified," he confessed.

"Me, too." But she was too terrified.

"Then we can be terrified together," he said, reaching out to touch her arm. She jerked away from him, though, and he looked hurt. "Maria." He put his arm back down by his side and said, "The one thing that terrifies me more than anything else is that I'll lose you. So just promise me that'll never happen."

She couldn't . . . she couldn't do that.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" His voice was rising, evidence of his growing concern. Finally, it hit its peak. "No. Come on, Maria."

"Michael. I can't do this." She started to cry, because she felt horrible.

"You've gotta be kidding me." His eyes erupted in anger, causing her to recoil a bit. "No, no way. What're you saying, you want out?"

That was such a board, all-encompassing question. "I don't know."

"What?"

"I want . . . I wanna go to Hawaii with you and Tess and Kyle for spring break. I wanna be able to make love to you. I want . . . I want all this to not be happening. I wanna go back to the way it was. Why did this have to happen?"

"So life gets hard and this is your solution?" he roared. "To bail on me?"

"That's not what I'm doing."

"Then what the hell are you doing?"

"I think . . ." She glanced over her shoulder at the front door, and she wanted to walk out of it. She wanted out of . . . his apartment. "Maybe I just need some space."

"Space?" he echoed furiously. "Bullshit! You're leaving me . . . just like she did."

That comparison pissed her off. More than pissed her off. "I am nothing like Isabel," she growled, stomping forward. If he dared compare her to that bitch . . .

"I should've known," he said, throwing his arms in the air, walking back over to the crib. He stared down at it and shook his head in astonishment. "I can't believe this is happening. Again. Only it's worse this time 'cause my life's upside down and I need you."

"Need me for what, exactly?" she decided to ask. "What's my role in your life now that your life's changing?"

He whirled around, clearly seeing red. "Your role? You're my girlfriend. I love you."

"Yeah, and not long ago, you loved her," she reminded him. Just a couple of months ago, she'd been the only woman he'd ever loved.

"Is that what this is about?" he said. "You think I'm gonna be with Isabel again?"

"I know you're gonna be with Isabel again," she said matter-of-factly. "Maybe not romantically or sexually . . . but maybe that, too. But no matter what, in some way . . ." Her lips trembled as she struggled to get the words out. "From here on out, she's always gonna have a part of you, and you're always gonna have a part of her, because you guys made this baby; and then there's . . . there's just me. And where do I fit in?" She was pretty sure she didn't. "I can't compete with that."

"Because it's not a competition!" he yelled. "Why're you being so stupid?"

That stung. "Gee, it's nice to know what you really think of me."

"It's what I really think of you right now," he told her outright. "I never thought I'd hear you say this. You want out . . . because you're jealous of my pregnant ex?"

That sounded so crazy, and she didn't want to admit that any part of it was true. "I am not jealous," she denied emphatically. "I'm just not ready for any of this."

"And you think I am?"

"I think you have to be; and I don't have to be." It was just as she'd said a moment ago: she had a choice and he didn't. "I didn't ask for this."

"Neither did I!"

"Would you just stop and think about this for, like, a minute?"

"All I've done for the past four days is think about this!" he cried. "And it doesn't stop! I don't have a way out like you do. And even if I did . . . I wouldn't take it. I'm not a coward."

"It's not cowardice, Michael. It's-it's . . . it's reality, okay? And the reality is that we . . . can't have it all anymore."

He glared at her. "Why not?"

"Isn't it obvious? This baby's not even out of the womb yet, and we're already fighting."

"So you're blaming this on my unborn kid?"

"Actually, right now I'm blaming this on you." As mad as he was at her, she was starting to get pretty mad at him, too. Why couldn't he even make an effort to see where she was coming from? "I'm standing here trying to explain myself, and you just don't understand."

"You're right, I don't," he admitted. "'Cause I thought, when two people care about each other, when two people are in a relationship, they do everything they can to make it work. They don't give up."

"That's not what I'm doing." Maybe it was.

"Sure it is," he persisted. "When the going gets tough, Maria gets going. I thought you were stronger than that."

She hated that she was so easily demonized in this situation. "Fine, I'm not strong," she conceded. "I don't care."

"No, you don't."

"But I've tried."

"Oh, that's a laugh." He chuckled angrily, that look in his eyes still blazing. It was a mixture of exhaustion, anger, and sadness now. She knew she probably looked the same way. "Four days, Maria," he said. "We've been dealing with this for four days."

"Yeah, and I already feel like I can't breathe around here."

"Oh, give me a break!" he snapped. "You haven't even been around. You run off to Tess's every chance you get, leave me here to deal with the mess."

"Your mess," she reminded him. "Not mine."

"You ungrateful bitch."

That took her aback. That word coming out of Michael's mouth . . . directed towards her? Michael had never called her that before. He'd never called anyone that.

"What? That's what you are," he told her. "That's what you've always been. I don't even know why I'm surprised by any of this. Obviously I thought way too highly of you. You're a spoiled brat."

Well, he knew just how to play on all her insecurities, didn't he? "You so don't get it," she informed him. "You've been so wrapped up in this fatherhood thing that you've-"

"Fatherhood thing?" he cut in.

"That you've forgotten all about me!"

"Oh, well, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't check up on you twenty-four hours a day. It's not like I don't have anything else goin' on. Grow up, Maria."

She didn't want to. Not this fast. "And you know what else you've so conveniently forgotten?" she went on, unable to stop. "The fact that this kid's mother cheated on you!"

"I didn't forget. I'll never forget."

"Oh, really? Because you made her perfectly comfortable here, even though she lied to you, betrayed you."

"Oh, don't even talk about betrayal. Bitch . . ."

She winced when he said that again. "I'm just being honest. That's what you wanted, right? You wanted to talk. So let's talk. Let's communicate. Tell me about your whore. Because she felt right at home here, and you didn't mind."

"Well, what was I supposed to do, just throw her out on the streets? She's carrying my child."

"Would you quit using this baby as an excuse and just take responsibility for what you did?"

"That's exactly what I'm doing!"

"For what you did to me."

"To you? Oh, god, I didn't do anything."

"Exactly, you didn't do anything." There was no point in holding anything back now. So much had already been said. She figured it wouldn't hurt to add more fuel to the fire at this point. "You just jumped into this whole new life and expected me to jump with you. But I don't want to!"

"Oh, and it's all about what you want?"

"Don't make me sound so . . ."

"Selfish?" he filled in. "You admitted you are. You wanna be honest, but you can't handle the truth. What's up with that?"

"Oh, I can handle the truth, Michael," she assured him. "I'm handling it right now." She stormed right up to him, standing right in front of his face, blazing with fury. "The truth, whether you wanna believe it or not, is that nothing will ever be the same again. We will never be the same."

He looked away.

"You know I'm right," she said. "God, I used to . . . I used to picture the future, and you were all I could see of it. And then I looked harder, and I saw that I was with you, and we were happy. And maybe we were married and . . . maybe we had a few kids of our own. But that's all in the past tense. That's never gonna happen now."

"You're right about that," he growled.

"I picture the future now, and it's . . . it's just doomed. Because even if we have a family, you'll always have another family. With her. And we'll all have to pretend to get along and love each other, but I don't love her; I hate her. But you can't. Not anymore. You can't hate her. Not now that she's . . ." She looked him right in the eye and felt her tears starting to fall again. She'd been having these thoughts for awhile now, but to say them out loud for the first time . . . it hurt to say them just as much as it felt liberating. "I can surrender myself to you completely," she said. "I can give you everything I have, but you can't do that for me. She'll always have a part of you I can't have. I can't . . . I can't pretend to be okay with that."

He pressed his lips together and shook his head angrily. He looked as though he were trying not to cry. His anger was probably the only thing keeping him from breaking down in tears. "If you for one second think that I would ever leave you for Isabel, then you don't know me at all. And I sure as hell don't know you. This person standing in front of me . . . this isn't the girl I fell in love with."

"Second," she bit out. "The second girl you fell in love with." He couldn't forget that.

"I never knew you were so insecure."

"Well, what do you expect, huh? You know it's not in my nature to be the perfect little Stepford stepmom."

"Stepmom?" he echoed. "No one's asking you to be a stepmom."

"Not yet, but you will. Someday, you will. It's inevitable. And I don't think it's fair for me to be pressured into that role. I don't even know if I want kids of my own, let alone someone else's. So call me selfish and call me a coward, but don't you dare blame me for feeling the way I feel."

"I don't," he said. "You're worried I'll get back together with Isabel and you don't wanna share me, and you don't wanna be a stepmom. Fine. But you also don't wanna fight for what we have. You're giving up because you can't deal." He shrugged. "I have no respect for that."

So now he didn't respect her. Great. "Michael . . ." She'd never known him to be mean like this.

"If you think that's love, you're out of your mind."

He was so wrong, and he didn't even know it. He had this perfect idealized version of love, and nothing could ever measure up to that. "Look who's talking," she snapped. "You're not fighting for me; you're fighting with me. You bastard."

Now it was his turn to look hurt. More hurt than he already had looked.

"You don't care about me," she went on. "All you care about is being right. But that's never gonna happen, because I'm not doing anything wrong here. And if you were in my position, you'd do the exact same thing."

"No, I'd stand by you," he proclaimed. "I'd never throw in the towel like this. I'd be the best damn stepdad on the planet. You know why? Because you mean that much to me, and unlike you, I have a backbone."

"Great, so now I'm spineless? Keep the name-calling coming, Michael. I can take it."

"'Cause you know it's true."

She made a face of disgust in regards to that remark. "God, you think you're so much better than me, don't you?"

"I am."

His response blew her out of the water. Calling her a bitch was one thing. Claiming to be better than her . . .

"Right now . . . I am better," he said.

On impulse, she slapped the side of his face. The moment the smack resounded and he stood before her with his head turned towards the side, she felt ten times worse. And she felt . . . she felt inferior.

"You really want out that badly?" he said. "Fine. Get out."

What was he doing, telling her to leave right that instant?

"If you can't support me, then I don't want you here."

She supposed she didn't want to stick around after all this.

"Leave," he growled. "This isn't your home anymore."

She felt as though someone squeezed her entire body when he said that. It hurt. It all hurt.

He walked away from her and sat down on the living room floor again, picking up the pieces of the green crib. Like a little kid himself, he tried to fit two pieces together, but they didn't fit. He tried to force them and ended up breaking both of them.

"So just like that, we're done?" she choked out, heartbroken.

"Just like that," he echoed angrily. "Isn't that what you want?"

She hadn't expected this when she'd first started talking. She'd expected . . . well, space. Space and time and the possibility that maybe there would be hope for them someday. But it was suddenly as though all hope were gone.

"Yes," she said. "I want . . . I wanna be done."

"Good." He refused to look up at her and kept his eyes focused on the halfway assembled crib instead. "Then get out of my apartment."

She stood there for a moment, in the kitchen, looking around at everything. She lived here. This was her home. Or at least it had been.

Couch, carpet, counter, ceiling, hallway, shower, sink, bedroom, bed . . . it was just a place. She knew that. But at the same time, it was so much more than that; and she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, the feeling that, if she left, she would never come back.

Dazed and barely able to stand on her own two feet, Maria staggered towards the door.

"I wish I'd never let myself fall in love with you," Michael mumbled under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear.

She hesitated with her hand on the doorknob. That was the worst thing he possibly could have said, and he'd just said it. "The feeling's mutual," she told him, her voice cracking. He was the first and only person she'd ever fallen in love with, and she'd been terrified of the immensity of her feelings the entire time. She was barely able to get the words out and keep the tears in, so she threw open the door and left. Just like that.