In February 1986, Marilyn Walker's life changed for the better. For the best.

No, she hadn't made a lot of good choices in her past, but things were different now. This small baby boy had come to her at the exact moment she had needed him most. She'd been drinking too much, the drugs were too fun, and she'd done things she wasn't proud of. After the second month without her period, she'd finally gone to the free clinic and been tested, and there it was. Black ink on white paper: she was pregnant.

Several months later, and here he was. Peter Jeremiah Walker. Her son .

She hadn't realized that she could love anyone as much as she loved him.

Five years later, Marilyn was back living in her father's home with him and her sister. It wasn't where she'd wanted to raise Peter, but she'd had trouble keeping a job. She'd had trouble keeping sober, even with those big eyes blinking up at her.

It was late at night, Peter was in bed, and she'd been drinking for a while. She could feel her eyelids growing heavier as she lifted the cigarette to her lips.

Marilyn didn't even feel herself fall asleep.

The next thing she knew, the smoke was choking her and, in a drunken stupor, she stumbled out of the home and collapsed on the sidewalk, trying to get a breath of fresh air.

Even after the funerals, she still didn't accept it. Peter was her love, her one good thing, and he still had to be there. She couldn't go on if he wasn't.