As she lies in bed that night she tosses, and turns. Beneath her heavy duvet her hand falls upon her growing bump. Against her palm she feels movement.

"Listen, we both know I can follow this train of dysfunctional thinking all the way around the city. Also we both know I am unwilling to take anything to lull me into a deep sleep while we are cohabitating. I would really appreciate it if you could keep your tap routine to a minimum. If there is even a small chance I can get a wink of sleep, I would really appreciate it. For the record, ma'am, I know that you can hear me in there. The books clearly convey that you can. I promise to purchase you a pair of tap shoes so that you can put your talents to use. Tonight perhaps you could practice sleeping."

She gently moves her hand back, and forth until her unborn child begins to settle. She lies there for several minutes even after the choreography ceases. Olivia lies on her side, and drinks in the swollen abdominal wall that her hand rests on. She tugs the duvet up, and closes her eyes hoping sleep will overtake her brain instead of a cycle of panic.

The following morning she heads out of her building wearing a baseball cap, and a loose fitting Mets jersey, a pair of stretchy dark wash denim jeans, and a pair of sneakers on her way to go pick Noah up from Amanda's for a baseball game. As she makes her way to the sidewalk Rafael leans against a tree. She outwardly groans.

"I don't have time for a heart to heart Barba. I am headed to pick up Noah."

"I am really sorry. I cannot stress how much of a fool I have been. I am troubled by how much I've hurt you. Please hear me out," he practically grovels.

"Barba, I've got to go," she maneuvers around him.

He makes the mistake of grabbing her arm. She nearly drops him to the ground. His fingers quickly release, and she turns to walk away again.

"Wait," he calls after her.

She completely ignores him. He races ahead, and jumps in front of her. He holds his hands up in front of him.

"Please, wait," he implores.

"What?!"

"Why are you going to a Mets game? You hate the Mets."

"Because Noah likes the Mets. It is what you do when you are a parent. You show up for what your kid is interested in."

"Did someone dare you to wear a Mets jersey?"

"Why are you so hung up on the Jersey?"

"Because something is way off. Why is it so loose on your arms? Is it a men's jersey?"

"Honestly, why are you questioning me about the jersey? It seems petty," she groans as the bag on her arm is strategically draped in front of her midsection.

"I know that I made a mistake, but why are you so pissed at me?"

"I am just trying to keep you from a world of heartache."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't want to ruin your relationship with Isabel."

"You said that you don't have any romantic feelings for me."

"Because I do not."

"Then how would you ruin my relationship?"

"By telling the truth," she huffs.

"That I am generally a decent guy, except for that one time I was a really huge idiot?"

"Did you tell her about the whiskey, and how you were doing the walk of shame the last time you saw me?"

"It seemed like a private detail that you did not want me to disclose."

She shakes her head, "I think it's a detail that you don't want to disclose. You know, shame, and guilt tend to have that effect on people."

"Is it relevant?"

"It would be pretty difficult secret to keep if I showed up at dinner to meet her."

He furrows his brow, "In what way?"

"Because actions have consequences," she answers as she puts the strap of her bag on her shoulder. "Sometimes lifelong ones."

His eyes nearly bug out of his head as he stares at her clearly swollen midsection. "Oh! Wow! I did not see that coming."

"Nobody did, especially not me."

He begins to anxiously rub his face, "This is why you wanted to talk to me in person?"

"Yes, obviously."

"You're having a baby?"

"Yes. Much to my dismay I am gestating a human being despite my incredibly advanced maternal age."

"Congratulations? Why would your condition ruin my relationship?"

"Did they not teach math, or biology at Harvard, Barba?"

"What do you mean?"

"There are two parties responsible for this collaboration. One of them is currently gestating this unborn human being, and the other one is you," her hand briefly connects with her stomach, "You are at least in part responsible for this."