Four weeks. One short month was all that I had left before my due date. A few months ago, I would have been ecstatic, overwhelmed with joy at the thought of greeting my baby for the first time. A few weeks ago I would have been shopping for him like mad, buying clothes and other such essential things. I would have smiled every time I felt him move or kick.

With each passing day, however, I was becoming more and more nervous about this undertaking. Every time I felt his movements now, I thought of all the thing that could be wrong with him. I thought of the damaged future he might have if I did something wrong.

Although, truth be told, I was more worried about the things that were out of my control, like his looks or his personality. I was worried he would strongly resemble his father, and I didn't think I could handle looking at a miniature Quigley for the next eighteen to twenty years. What would I do when the baby asks about his daddy? I couldn't just tell a small child that his father forced his mother to have sex with him. I doubt even the most intelligent toddler would understand the concept of sex, let alone rape. I know he'll wonder why he doesn't have a daddy like the other children he plays with.

Then, there's the problem of him having no father-type figure. He has Klaus and Duncan, sure, but I didn't think either of them counted. They would be important people in his life, but they couldn't step up and take the place of My Baby's Father. I wondered idly if the people I worked and lived around would think less of me for being a single mother. I couldn't help it if the baby's father was in jail.

And suddenly, I realized Quigley wasn't going to be in prison forever. When the baby was about fourteen or so, Quigley would be released. I dreaded the thought of him showing up at my door wanting to see his son. I wouldn't let him.

I decided there was no point in worrying about it now. I'd cross that bridge when I came to it.

A problem that was slightly closer at hand, however, was the baby's name. I had looked at a few Internet sites with no luck at all finding a name I liked. Isadora and Klaus had been trying to have a baby and had bought several baby name books, along with a book on Etymology, in the hopes that positive thoughts would indeed produce positive results. That had been four years ago. The only luck they'd had ended in a very messy miscarriage.

When I arrived at Isadora's house, she was ready and waiting for me, with books scattered all over the kitchen table. I walked over and hugged her as best I could and sat down at the table. She smiled at me.

"First of all," she said, "do you have any ideas about the baby's name?"

"His middle name is going to be 'Bertrand' after my father. I'm sick of naming children after dead people, but I suppose 'Bertrand' is the exception. My dad and I were very close. Anyway, the baby's a boy, so it has to be a guy's name. And I don't want it to start with 'B' because then his initials would spell BBB. I would not want to force that on even my worst enemy."

"You know Quig's middle name is Quentin, don't you?"

"Quigley Quentin Quagmire? Oh, what a sense of humor you parents had."

"I know." Isadora said. "What about Michael? "

I shook my head. "David?" she continued.

"No."

"Louis? Thomas?"

"No."

"Timothy? Alexander? Alex? Josh?"

"No. Nothing sounds right. I've looked on several Internet sites and can't find anything that sounds right."

"What about Matthew?"

I considered the name for a moment. 'Matthew Bertrand' sounded great. Well, if not great, then it was the best sounding name so far. And I liked it.

"Anthony?" she suggested. "Richard? Mar—"

"I like Matt."

We sat in silence for a few moments before Isadora asked, "Violet, why did you…?"

"Why did I what?"

"Why did you keep the baby?"

The question surprised me for a second. As I'd told Klaus when I was in the hospital, I couldn't have had an abortion. I just couldn't. It went against everything I'd ever known. In my mind, abortion equates to murder. I would never (intentionally) murder anyone, nor could I (intentionally) murder my child. It had been a simple decision for me: I could not have an abortion.

I knew other people held opinions that differed from my own, which was fine. If everyone thought and felt the same about everything, there would be no spice to life, no joy in living. Everything would seem grey and monotonous, boring and sad. There would be no point in having free will.

I knew there were some people who supported abortion, but I wasn't one of them, at least not for myself.

I tried to answer my nearly-sister-in-law, but I couldn't. I sat there stupidly, my mouth opening and closing slightly. I must have looked like a fish. I finally formulated and answer and replied, "I…I just had to."

"But why? What if the baby has something wrong with it? What if it's deformed or something like that? What if—?"

"Izzy, what if the baby you want to have with my brother might have something wrong with it? Would you kill it just because something might happen to it? Maybe my baby will be born healthy, and maybe he won't. I'll never know what I'd be missing if I didn't give him a chance."

"But he was conceived because you were—"

"What does that matter?" I asked, getting a little angry. "The baby can't help that it was conceived the way it was. If anyone should die as a result of my rape, it should be my rapist, not my child!"

Isadora gasped quietly. I looked away, knowing I had gone too far. My rapist was her triplet, as much as we all tried to ignore the fact. I had thought about the differing ways to murder him many times over the past eight months. I had never let on—in front of Isadora or Duncan—that I had ever had such thoughts. Klaus knew about them, and had promised not to tell anyone else. Duncan and Isadora were still having trouble adjusting to the idea that Quigley raped me. Oh, they'd never denied it like I feared they would have—I'd thought they would defend him at the very least—but they had been very uncomfortable around me until recently.

I put my self in Izzy's shoes, and tried to imagine if someone—with or without my reasons—would have talked about killing my brother. I didn't like it.

"Isadora, I—"

"No, don't apologize. I knew what you meant."

"Isadora—"

"Just forget it, Violet." Her voice was slightly louder than normal. "Just—it's fine, I swear. Just leave it alone."

I could see a tear falling down her cheek. I felt like an insensitive brute.

Unexpectedly, she went on. "I know how you must feel about Quig. I'd probably feel the same about Klaus if he ever did that to me. But…I mean, I never thought in a million years that he would do that to anyone, let alone you. I know you don't think so, Violet, but he loved you. He really did." She was silently for a moment or two. When she spoke again, I could barely hear her. "I still love him. He's my brother, he always will be. I love him, but I want to hate him. And I can't. I just…can't." She slid down on the kitchen table, her head resting in her crossed arms. Her shoulders shook as she cried.

I didn't quite know what to do. Isadora was not prone to breaking down in front of anyone not named "Klaus" who she wasn't sleeping with. I don't think, in all the time since we'd been reunited with the Quagmires, that I'd ever seen her cry like this. Yes, she'd cried when we'd all found one another again and when Klaus asked her out, but those had been tears of joy. They weren't at all the same as these tears.

I was contemplating going over and trying to comfort her when I heard Klaus come through the front door. I looked behind me into the living room and heard him say, "I'm home, baby. I gotcha something." When he heard her cries, he added, "Izzy? Are you okay?" He walked into the kitchen with a long, slender box in a small white bag that he'd slung around his wrist. He looked at me. Not getting an answer quickly enough, he dropped the bag, went down on his knees in front of her, and put his arms around her as best he could. She turned into him and laid her head on his shoulder. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she kissed his neck lightly. Klaus was muttering comforting sayings in her ear in an effort to get the crying to cease. She stopped after a moment and sat back. He wiped her tears and running purple eyeliner away from her eyes, and she smiled slightly. As he straightened, she stood up with him and kissed his lips. Smiling to himself, he kissed her back and I caught a glimpse of his tongue. I looked away, wondering if they'd forgotten about me. I had to cough loudly twice before they noticed.

"Sorry," Klaus said quietly. He let go of his lover gently and asked me, "Since I'm not seeing your car outside, I assume you need a ride home?" I nodded and he offered to take me back to my apartment. I, of course, accepted.

As he was driving me home, I explained to him the reason Isadora had been crying. He nodded and said the explanation, while wanted, had not been necessary. He told me about a promise they'd made to one another about tears. If one of them was crying and told the other they didn't want to talk about it, the other was to leave them alone until they felt ready to "confess." Sensible, I thought to myself.

"So, have you decided on a name for the baby yet?"

"Oh, yes. It's going to be 'Matthew Ber—'" My sentence was cut short by a tightening pain in my abdomen. I'd been having "contractions" for a few days now. The doctor had told me it was normal, that my body was just getting ready to have the baby, but they'd never hurt like this before.

Klaus looked at me, and asked, "Are you okay?"

"No. Take me to the hospital," I said, putting my hand on my stomach.

"Why? What's wrong?"

I exhaled slowly as the pain dulled down. "I think I'm gonna have the baby."