APRIL

Jackson's words linger like laundry in the wind. Not dirty, but demanding attention as they move in the breeze, expectant and in need of action. His eyes are full of emotion like I've never seen; he's not usually one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but it's all over his face. I have no idea what to think, let alone what to say.

"You love me?" I echo, knowing I'm only making myself sound stupid. We're both fully aware that I heard what he said. There's no reason for him to repeat it, except to buy time.

He clears his throat and lifts his chin, steeling himself. He lets out a long breath and says, "Yes, April. I love you."

My throat constricts and I nearly choke because of it. I press a hand to the base of my neck, blinking hard and fast, unable to process any of this. It's hard not to go back and remember how he treated me upon arrival, back when we first tied the knot. He acted like I was a bug to be crushed, scum on the bottom of his shoe. And now he loves me? I can't wrap my head around it. I don't see what I did to be so worthy of love, let alone his love. It can't be real; this isn't happening. "You don't love me," I murmur, keeping his eyes no matter how hard it is. "You can't."

His brow furrows with confusion. Now, that's an expression I recognize. "And why is that?" he prompts.

"I… I…" I stammer, fingers spreading as I try to find somewhere to put my hands. I don't know what to do with them. "There's just no way that you do. There's just… it's not… you can't, okay?"

"No, not okay," he says calmly. "I promise, I'm telling the truth. I've loved you for a while, I just didn't know it. And I'm sorry, I know I'm not well-versed in showing it."

Tears prick the backs of my eyes and make them burn. I close them for a long moment and open them wet, but I wipe hastily at my cheeks so the moisture can't linger. I sniffle loudly, breath hitching as I say, "Well, you couldn't have picked a worse time to tell me." My voice wobbles and sounds different than usual. I hate it, so thick and vulnerable.

"I am sorry about that," he says softly.

My voice is anything but soft, though. "Because I don't know how to feel about anything right now!" I burst. "Literally nothing! I really hate how that feels. My whole life belongs to the public and nothing is mine anymore. I feel stripped and bare and… I have no idea what else. It's all so confusing, and I don't know what to do about it. I don't know if I love you, I don't know if… I don't know. I know I don't hate you, which is good." I meet his eyes for a brief second. "That's all I know. I'm sorry. I don't know what else to tell you."

"You don't have to tell me anything," he says. "I understand where you're coming from. I didn't expect you to say it back."

"Yes, you did," I say weakly. "People don't say 'I love you' hoping to be left hanging. Jackson, come on."

"I didn't have any expectations," he says. "Please, don't put words in my mouth. I don't like it when you do that. As much as you think you might, April, you don't always know what I'm thinking."

"Clearly," I say. "I would've never guessed that you…"

He blinks and I know he understands what I mean. "Well, I do," he says. "Very much. You snuck up on me in a way I didn't know was possible. But if you're not ready to say it back, I can deal with that. If you're not ever ready… well, I can deal with that, too."

"Why?" I ask. "Why would you be okay with that?"

He shrugs and something about him diminishes. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I've never seen him this bare-faced before. It's almost more intimidating than his usual persona. "I suppose I just wanted you to know," he says. "I want you to be aware that someone in this house loves you, and you're not alone. I get the notion that you feel alone quite often."

I duck my chin and look at the floor. I wasn't aware it was so obvious. "That's not your fault," I mutter.

"But isn't it, though?" he says. "I'm your husband. Out of anyone, you should be closest to me."

"I am," I say, lifting my eyes.

"Not all the time."

"I told you my secret," I say. "That's the closest I've ever let anyone get. And I told you because I wanted to, not because I had to. That means something."

He nods and says, "I know."

I cross my arms and bite my lip, tears still looming. "I just wish… I don't know."

"I'm on your side, April," he says. "From here on out, I always will be. But specifically, right now, through all of this."

I let out a short, teary breath. "I don't want there to be an 'all this,' though," I say, pressing my first finger against my nose to quell the burning sensation. "I want it to go away. I just wish it all would stop."

"I know," he says, and the air between us crackles because of how bad he wants to touch me - I can tell. He feels like he can't, though, since I didn't return his affection, and it's blatantly clear. But he's wrong. Just because I'm not ready to return the sentiment doesn't mean I don't want to be near him anymore. So, I initiate it. I close the space and wrap my arms around his waist so spontaneously that he jumps, going rigid before softening and reciprocating the hug. He presses his face to the top of my hair and takes a deep, cleansing breath, hands mapping my entire back. "Would you like to see your family?" he asks. "They always make you feel better."

I lift my face, but I don't pull away. I'm not ready to yet. "I don't want you to think that I don't have feelings for you," I say. "You know that I do." He nods and I continue. "I just don't know what they are. Sometimes, I think I might. And then… everything turns upside down. It's scary."

"Okay," he says, tucking my hair behind both ears.

"If you still feel like kissing me, I'd like that," I whisper.

He smiles and leans in, saying, "There will never be a time where I don't feel like kissing you."

He presses his lips to mine slow and sweet, and I tighten my grip around his waist to get closer. His kisses are like home, they tie together my loose ends and pull me back to myself, right where I need to be. They're so familiar, so unlike any other kiss I've shared with a man. His are the last lips I want to taste and I'm sure of that. But if that fact is so solid, why is returning the statement of love so hard? Why do I feel like I can't do it, or that I shouldn't? "I would like to see my mom and sisters," I say. "It does make me feel good to spend time around them. But… I feel like you think I like them more than I like you, or that you can't give me what they do." I touch the sides of his neck softly with my fingertips and watch his eyes glisten. "Being with you makes me feel good, too," I say. "It didn't used to, but it does now. I like being with you, Jackson. I love being with you."

"I like hearing that," he says, then kisses me again. "I also want to tell you… I'm sorry for how I treated Matthew."

I let the words sit for a while as I sift them between both hands, like sand. It's true, it wasn't right to open up our home to Matthew only to ban him from it. But on the other hand, I don't think it was the right choice to welcome him at all; that was my fault. "You don't have to apologize," I say. "He shouldn't have come. I shouldn't have let him. It didn't do any good."

"I couldn't stand the way he talked about you," Jackson says. "I couldn't see straight. But I should've kept myself in check."

"It's over now," I say, shaking my head to brush it off. "I won't ever see him again. At least, I don't want to."

"You won't have to," he assures me. "I promise."

"Okay," I say, then rest my cheek over where I can hear his firmly beating heart. Now would be the perfect time to say it, to reciprocate, but my lips stay together. The words would fit perfectly into the silence, like they belong there; the presentation would be perfect. But I can't say them.

He pets the back of my head and runs his nails along my scalp, letting out a deep exhale. "Call your mother," he says. "See if they'd like to come here this time."

…

The first thing my mom does when the door opens is wrap me in a huge hug. "Oh, baby," she says, holding me so tightly that I can barely breathe. I don't say anything, though; I let her. She rubs my back with ferocity and gives me one last squeeze before pulling away. "Oh, honey," she says, cupping my cheeks with both hands. Her eyes say plenty - it's clear she saw the magazines. I hate that she did.

"Hi, mama," I say softly.

"Sissy!" Kimmie and Alice chorus as their bodies collide with my own. Their faces press against my stomach until I kneel down and give them proper hugs, breathing in the scent of their little-kid shampoo.

"Sissy, you live in a mansion now!" Kimmie says, in awe.

"This is all yours to have forever?" Alice asks.

"Well, not all mine," I say, interlacing my fingers with Jackson's as he stands beside me. "Jackson and I share it."

"This whole huge house just for two people?" Kimmie says, eyebrows raised.

"It's a little excessive, I know," Jackson says, giving her a smile.

"Jackson," Alice greets, hugging him. Kimmie follows her lead and does the same, both of them giggling as he pats their backs with those big hands of his. "We missed you! You didn't come see us for a long, long time. You left last time. Remember?"

Emotion flits across his face - too fast for anyone but me to notice. "I do, and I'm sorry," he says. "I'm here now, though."

"We all are!" Alice says. "So you can play with us!"

"Yeah, please?" Kimmie says. "Play with us?"

"Guys," I say. "Jackson doesn't have-"

"No, I will," he says. "I'll take them outside. We'll find something to do." He looks between me, my mother, and my older sister. "You three should take some time to catch up."

"Oh," I say gently, then squeeze his hand in gratitude. "Thank you." He nods and leans in to kiss my cheek, then follows the incessant calls from my little sisters as they head towards the back of the house. When I turn around, my mom and Libby are watching me with big eyes, waiting for what happens next. "Do you guys wanna go sit?" I ask, gesturing towards the front room where Jackson and I like to have coffee in the morning.

I get them each a glass of water, not wanting to waste time with the kettle, then sit opposite the bay windows. Sun pours in from outside and washes the room with light, but I don't feel sunny inside. Mostly because of the way my mother is looking at me, like she wants to scoop me up and protect me from the world. She's wearing the same expression she wore when I was 16 and told her everything. And then there's Libby, who doesn't know a single detail - and she needs to be told.

I trace the lip of my glass and stare at my knees, one of which is bouncing with the inability to keep still. I swallow hard and lift my head to see that my mother is looking at me with teary eyes, waiting for me to make the first move. I open my mouth to speak, but only a small sound comes out. No words. So, instead, she fills the silence. "We saw the magazines," she says.

My chest aches. "Kimmie and Alice didn't… did they?" I ask.

"No, no," she says, blinking earnestly. "They were at school. We were doing some shopping and…"

Libby looks at me with desperations. "You were covered in blood, April," she says. "How are you okay right now?"

"It was fake… fake blood," I say. "We'd been at a Halloween party. It was for show and I got caught up in it. But it… it triggered something else that I've been hiding for a long time." I'm finding it hard to meet her eyes. "Only Mom and Matty know. Well, and Jackson."

"Is it about you being a baby killer?" Libby says.

"Elizabeth," Mom snaps, her voice stern. "Don't you ever say that again."

"I'm sorry," she says. "It's what I saw on the cover of the…"

I lean forward and press my face into my hands, shoulders curving in. I feel my sister's hand on my back, rubbing slow circles, and take a big breath. "I can't say it," I mutter. "Mom, please."

"You want me to tell her?" Mom asks, and I nod. "Okay." I lift my head and Libby keeps her hand where it is, gentle and unassuming as she traces my spine with her thumb. "It happened a long time ago," she says. "April was only 16. She was with a boy named Matthew, remember him?"

Libby nods. "Yeah. Wasn't he older?"

"Yes," Mom says. "It was right after your father passed. And… well, we thought it was what April needed. He was so good to all of us. We were having such a hard time. And they started seeing each other romantically…"

"Yeah, figured that out," Libby says.

"And she got pregnant," Mom says, dropping the bomb. Libby falters and goes pale as she looks between our mother and me, waiting for the rest of the story. "The baby died," she says. "He was stillborn and April delivered him in the bathroom at our old house. They made a lot of mistakes, but there was nothing that could've been done for the baby. His little soul just wasn't ready to be on this earth. But as you can imagine, it was very scary for both of them."

"That's why we never saw him again?" she says.

"You can't just leave it out, mom," I say, blinking hard. I look at my sister. "The baby was born dead after Matthew tried to cut him out of me. The cut didn't go deep enough, though; all I did was bleed. When he was born, the baby fit in the palm of my hand… he was blue. I didn't know what to do and neither did Matty. So, we wrapped him in a towel and put him in a dumpster. That's what really happened." My face screws up with emotion and I hide it from both of them, turning away with shame. "I hate myself for it," I whimper.

"You were a child," my mom says sternly. "April, I don't want to hear you talk like that. You were just a baby."

"I don't deserve… sympathy, or whatever," I say. "I did an awful thing."

"And you've clearly spent years punishing yourself," Libby says. "This is why you dropped out of high school, didn't go to college. You could've gotten a full ride, but you didn't even try. This is why."

"Why should I get a life when he didn't?" I say, voicing something I wasn't aware I'd been thinking. I cover my mouth after I say it, shocked and upset.

"It wasn't your fault he died," Mom says. "Your body wasn't ready to carry a child."

"But I put him…"

Libby does let me finish my sentence before she wraps me in a tight hug that I melt into. I press my face to the side of her neck and cry, shoulders trembling as I let it all go. "It's over now," she says. "You didn't know what you were doing. You have to let it go."

"I can't," I say. "Everyone knows what I did."

"And?" she says. "The ones who love you still love you."

I wipe my eyes and sit up, amazed at how that could be true. I can't think of a thing worse than what I did, yet my mother and sister still claim me. They don't look at me with scorn or judgment, they look at me like a member of their family. They're looking at me in the soft manner Jackson did; Jackson, the other person who hasn't left my side. "Jackson said the same thing," I murmur.

"What?" Libby says.

"I told him, too," I say. "And he… I expected the worst from him. Why shouldn't he hate me? But he doesn't."

"Of course he doesn't," Mom says.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

The three of us turn as we hear a commotion come through the door, then see Jackson, Kimmie and Alice bound inside. Not towards us, though. They stay a few rooms away, playing without a care in the world. The smiles on my little sisters' faces are enough to brighten my spirits at least a little. And when I look to my husband, I see that he's smiling too as they chase him. It dawns on me that I've never seen him play before. It suits him well.

Libby gets up to join them, giving my mom and me a moment just for ourselves. "Of course he doesn't hate you," Mom says, looking at me gravely.

I look back with the same intensity. "He actually told me he loves me," I say quietly.

"It doesn't surprise me," she says.

"How?" I say. "This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to be real."

"But now, it is," she says. "And it's clear how he feels. I see it in the way he looks at you. You didn't need to tell me that he loves you. I already knew."

"But…" I say, looking at him for a second time. He's chatting with Libby now, nodding along to something she's saying.

"Don't keep him at a distance because you're scared," Mom says. "I see it in your eyes, too. I know you have feelings for him."

I chew on the inside of my cheek, breathing shallowly. "But why shouldn't I be scared?" I ask. "I'm allowed to be afraid." My voice wobbles, so I clear my throat to try again. "Loving a boy killed my baby last time."

I close my eyes as she takes my hand. She strokes my skin slowly and gives me grace, lets me take a moment to compose myself before she chimes in. "You were so young," she says. "And Jackson is not Matthew." I open my eyes to find that she's giving me the softest of smiles. "Jackson looks at you like you're the stars. He's given you a beautiful life."

I wrinkle my forehead and say, "Yeah, because it's in the contract."

"April," Mom says seriously. "Having a confused heart is fine, but you have no reason to drag him through the dirt because you're feeling badly."

I press my lips together tightly and look to Jackson once again. I can't seem to stop. Now, he's holding Alice on his hip like he's been doing it his whole life, while he stands near the open fridge. Kimmie bounces on her toes next to him, looking inside, too, and Alice leans the side of her head against his. They fit together perfectly. He's a good man; I see that, and I know it. And though I think my heart already knows, I'm not ready to love him. I'm not ready for everything it entails; I'm not ready to give myself away. It took so long to get my heart back last time, and the feelings were nowhere near this strong. What happens if something goes wrong? What happens if I mess it up again? What happens when I do something to make this good man see that I'm not the good woman he imagined me to be?

I already love him, but my heart ran ahead. I need time to catch up with it.

A few moments later, a new voice sounds through the main entrance. "Hello?"

I turn around along with my mother, who seems to recognize who it is before I do. Only by a split second, though. "Catherine," Mom says, standing.

"Karen," Catherine says. "Nice to see you." She nods towards me. "April."

"Hi," I say meekly.

"Would you happen to know where your husband is?" she asks. "I'd like to have a meeting with the both of you."

"Oh," I say. "Right now?"

"As soon as possible," she says, giving me my answer.

"He's in the kitchen with my sisters," I say. "I… I can get him."

"Sit," she says. "I will. You say your goodbyes. I'm afraid this meeting is a private one."

"Oh," I say, feeling powerless and small. "Okay."

I give my family lasting hugs before they depart, standing by the door. "I didn't even get to see you that long, sissy," Kimmie says, threatening tears. Her lower lip trembles, so I place the pad of my finger on it.

"There'll be a next time," I say.

"I wanna come here to this house next time!" Alice cheers. "Please, please, can we?"

"Sure," I say. "As long as it's okay with Jackson."

"Of course it is," he says. "And I'm happy to beat you at hide-and-seek again."

"You did not beat us!" Kimmie says, smiling.

I linger on the hugs I give my mother and Libby, knowing much more is traded with affection than what I'm able to say with words. "I love you guys," I tell them. "I'll see you really soon, okay?"

They all give me affirmative answers before leaving, and when I turn around, Catherine is making her way towards the conference room and expecting us to follow. I look at Jackson with caution, eyes guarded, and he winds an arm around the small of my back. "It's okay," he murmurs, lips moving against my temple before he kisses it.

I'm scared, but I don't tell him that as I'm sure he knows. We sit side-by-side across from her at the long table, and she taps her nails as she looks briefly at her phone. When she looks up, I avoid her eyes and stare at her lips instead - they're painted a flawless red. "The magazines have been pulled," she says. "Successfully. All of them."

"Good," Jackson says. "I knew Yang could do something."

"Yes, of course she could," Catherine says. "But that doesn't mean that they disappeared from everyone's memories. People still bought them. People still saw them, at the very least." Shame riddles my gut. I know her scathing tone is meant for me, but I have no rebuttal. No retaliation. I might deserve it. "Damage control was done. But I'd still like to know the real story as to why your bloody mess of a body was on the cover of every gossip magazine known to man, young lady."

My mouth goes dry. I hadn't expected to be addressed like that. "I…" I croak, having no idea what to say. "I…"

"Mother, honestly," Jackson says. "Have some sympathy. If you can remember how."

"It's not sympathy I'm lacking, son, it's understanding," she says. "I have no idea what's going on, and as matriarch of this family, I'd like to know. Actually, I demand to know."

"Jesus," he mutters under his breath. He takes my hand atop the table and entwines our fingers, and that calms me a bit.

"I don't want to say it," I whisper. "I can't."

"Well, someone needs to," Catherine says. "I don't have all day. I have places to be, and I need to know what rumors to squash and what ones to keep safe. So, please, someone speak."

"Do you want me to tell her?" he asks, and I nod. As he speaks, I keep my face downcast and my body language shrunken. I don't want to hear the story again - it's been unearthed more times in the last 48 hours than it has in 5 years. I want nothing more than to bury it again. "April got pregnant when she was 16," Jackson says curtly, leaving out the details. I'm glad for that. It makes the story a bit less exploitative. "The baby was stillborn. The birth was very traumatic, and she was triggered by the amount of blood in the bathroom at the party."

"And the father of said child?" Catherine says.

"Out of the picture," Jackson says. "We don't need to worry about him."

"You're sure?"

"Very."

She's quiet for a few beats and I wonder what she's thinking. "April, I'd like you to look at me," she says.

With great difficulty, I lift my gaze. Her eyes aren't warm by any means; they almost seem devoid of any feeling entirely. It's off-putting, to say the least. "So, you've been pregnant before," she says. I nod. "You've birthed a child."

"Yes," I whisper.

She sits up straighter and clears her throat, folding her hands on the tabletop. "I'm not sure you've been made aware of the second inheritance constituent," she says.

My mind is blank. At the moment, I have no clear idea of what she's talking about. All that's on my mind is how badly I want to get out of this room and be alone, or alone with Jackson. The feeling of her eyes on me is one I desperately want to be rid of. "I… I don't know," I say truthfully.

Jackson turns to me and grips my hand a little tighter. "Sweetest, remember, I told you about-"

"I'm speaking, Jackson," Catherine snaps.

He gives her a foul look and she gives one in return. Once again, I recoil as their interaction is traded without verbal communication. That is, until Jackson snarls, "Go ahead, then."

She blinks to orient herself, then looks to me once again. "The agreement in Jackson's late grandfather's will stated that the other half of the inheritance - a generous sum, mind you - won't be available until you've produced an heir." Now, instead of unfeeling, her eyes have grown icy. My insides harden and freeze; I can't seem to catch a full breath. "Is that going to be an issue?"

"Mom, seriously," Jackson says, fed-up. "Right now? You're going to ask her about it right now."

"No time better than the present," she says, eyeing me still. "It's something I need to know. Because if it does prove to be a problem, arrangements can be made."

"That inheritance isn't yours to make 'arrangements' for," Jackson growls. "And I refuse to let you bully her. I've had enough."

"April can speak for herself, can't she?" Catherine says, though at the moment I feel incapable of doing so. "Use your voice, dear."

"I…" I say, but I don't know the direction in which my thoughts are headed, if anywhere. I can't think of anything to say. I don't have an answer; I can't begin to process the question. And I have no clue what she means by 'arrangements.' Does that mean if I don't help Jackson produce an heir, I'll be ousted and replaced with someone who can? I don't know, but that's surely what she made it sound like. I look to Jackson's face, full of emotion, and know I don't want to lose him. But I also can't picture myself pregnant, definitively bringing a vulnerable life into this world. I ruined it last time. What would make this time any different?

But it seems I have no choice. Jackson wants that money - he wants to help Chicago schools and such a large amount could do wonders for them. And me, I have my own ideas for a portion of it as well. It would be thoughtless to squander it. But the price is so high.

"Excuse me," I mutter, pushing my chair back while keeping my head down, hair shielding Catherine's face from view.

I hurry out of the conference room and know, by the footsteps that follow, that Jackson is behind me. I don't stop to let him catch up, though; I can't. I make it all the way to the back deck that overlooks the expansive property, and even though it's cold, this is where I want to be. The crisp, fall air awakens my senses and helps me come to a realization: I can't do this. I knew from the start that I wasn't cut out for a life like this, a life that I've tried hard to fit into. So far, it hasn't worked. It's silly to think anything will change. It was silly to have done this at all - it was a big mistake, and my heart got blended because of it. The person whom I hurt the worst was myself, as always.

"April," Jackson calls, joining me. "There you are. You ran off so fast."

I don't respond. I stay with my back towards him until he reaches my side, breathing heavily. He's looking at my profile, but I don't turn to meet his gaze. I can't look him in the eyes because my heart is breaking. I don't want him to see it.

"April," he says. "Forget what my mother said. You don't have to worry about the inheritance right now."

"But I do, though," I say, extending my arms to rest on the rail in front of me. "And you do, too." I shake my head. "I can't do this, Jackson. I just can't. You should find someone else like your mother wants."

"Like my… what?" he says. "Like my mother wants? April, no."

"Yes, it is what she wants," I insist, voice waterlogged.

"Maybe so," he says. "But I don't give a shit what she wants. I'm done giving a shit about that. She's kept me from living my life for much too long, and I'm done letting her control me. Or control you."

I shake my head vehemently. "You deserve someone who knows how to live this life," I say. "I'm sorry that… that you love me, but the feelings will go away."

"No," he says. "They won't go away. And I don't want them to. I don't want someone who can live this life. I want you."

"No, you don't," I sniffle.

"Yes, I do," he says. "I could take or leave the inheritance as long as I have you."

I finally look at him, shock written on my face and moisture shining on my cheeks. "You don't mean that," I say.

"Yes, I do."

"You can't take or leave it," I press. "Neither can I."

He looks at me with confusion, asking, "What do you mean?"

"You want to help Chicago Public Schools," I say. "I remember, you told me that. Their art programs are dwindling. You're going to fund them. That's what you want to use the money for. That's not something you can just leave. You're passionate about it. It's what your father would want."

"I… well, yes," he says. "But I can find another source. I can… I can figure out another option."

"I want to start a foundation," I say. "I've had it in my head this whole time. I've never said anything. I want to help underprivileged mothers. I want to start something I could've used when…" I let my sentence break. He knows enough to where I don't have to finish it. "That's what I want," I say, then shake my head. "I know I'm not making any sense."

His eyebrows come together with concentration. "How do you expect to start such a foundation if you force me to divorce you?" he asks.

I wipe my nose. "I said it doesn't make sense," I say.

"You're putting my needs above yours," he says. I'm quiet, which only proves him right. "I don't want you to do that anymore."

"It's what marriage is about," I mutter.

"We're married," he says. "Let's keep it that way. Stop trying to escape because you think I'd be better off without you. I promise, I wouldn't be. I'd be directionless without you. Gaining your presence in my life has opened up a new world for me. I feel like I did when I was younger, when my father let me be who I really am. You let me be who I am. You encourage it. You don't hold me to aristocratic standards or value my money. You see my heart. I made vows with you, April, and I take them seriously. I want to be married to you for the rest of my life, no matter what happens. If we have money or if we don't."

"You wouldn't know what to do without money," I say lightly.

"You'd teach me," he replies with a small smile.

I let his words wash over me and soak in, relishing their lilt and tone as they replay in my mind. I know he's telling the truth and I know he loves me. I only want him for the rest of my life, too, though I'm terrified. But knowing he's all in - and he always will be - makes that fear a little bit easier to control. "Starting a foundation is the only thing that feels close to atonement," I admit. "That's why I have to do it. Putting forth so much money into something like that… makes his life mean something. Makes mine mean something. I want to mean something."

"You already do," he tells me. "But if that's what you want, then we'll make it happen."

"We need the money," I say. "The other half." I take a step closer and link our hands together, tipping my face up slowly to look into his eyes. "I'll do it," I say, inhaling with clarity. "I'll have your baby."