A/N: They all get one last chance to be happy before everything hits the fan, so to speak.

DISCLAIMER: Not mine.

_____________________________________________________________________ Willy home schooled Wednesday. He taught her things you couldn't learn in school, like how to make the perfect Gobstopper and about Vermiscous Knids.

He taught her outside at a table on the patio. He had a large chalkboard installed and was always writing on it.

One day she wasn't paying attention. She restlessly followed along, until she had to ask. "What was my mother like?"

"Huh?" he asked, spinning around.

"What was my mother like?" she repeated. "I mean, was she – was she anything like me?"

He sighed, and sat down. "Kind of like you but at the same time . . . not."

She snorted. "That was wonderfully vague."

He leaned in, moving his hands around to help him think. "She had this innocent quality, even though she was a homeless drug addict."

Her mouth fell open. "What?"

He smiled. "I'm getting a little ahead of myself, aren't I? You see, I met her when I was walking around one day. She curled up on a doorstep. I could tell she was homeless – her hair was dirty and uncombed, she wore ratty old clothes, and had the saddest look I had ever seen on someone's face before." He leaned on his elbow and glanced out into space. "I loved her even then. I gave her some money and my address. She came back a few days later in the middle of the night. She had stolen some drugs from this dealer. I took care of it, and she came to live with me."

"What did she think when she had me?"

"She was really happy about it. She spent a lot of time making a room for you and baby clothes and planning what we were going to name you."

There was a pause before she asked the inevitable. "What was it like the day she died?"

He swallowed. It was still difficult to talk about it. "She had had a difficult pregnancy. I thought we were going to lose you, not the other way around." He sighed, and then admitted it. "The last time I saw her, I was on my way to see another woman."

Her mouth opened wider. "What?"

"I only kissed her. And I realized that I was making a huge mistake and came back home. By that time, she was at the hospital in labor." He leaned in, and met her eyes. "You see, she died giving birth to you."

The color drained from her face. "So it's my fault?"

He smiled gently, shaking his head. "No, it wasn't you're fault," he assured her. "I used to think it was mine, but it wasn't. It wasn't anyone's fault."