"You're pacing. But that, that in itself isn't worrying. Although it's 1am and you're in here pacing instead of in our bed. But that's OK. What is worrying is that you're pacing in circles and you only pace in circles when you're upset." She doesn't lift her head, doesn't look at him, no she just keeps pacing. He walks up to her, blocking her path, his hands on her shoulders, and then, then she looks up. "Liv, what's going on?"

"We have to tell Zoey, about the baby." There's panic in her eyes, flashes of fear and angst intertwined. He hadn't realized. He hadn't realized she was upset, or that she thought Zoey could mind, he just hadn't realized.

"Liv, it'll be fine." He's squeezing her shoulders, trying to catch her gaze, but she's lost in her mind; she's drifted away. His arms move along hers, trying to soothe. But she's still a prisoner of her own psyche; trying to find a way out of her mind's maze. Finally, he lifts her chin with his finger and lays a soft kiss on her lips. That breaks her out, brings her back; now's the time to try again. "It" – kiss on the cheek – "will" – and a kiss on the other one – "be" – the side of her neck – "fine" – he can feel her artery, the heartbeat under his lips.

She keeps her eyes closed for a moment longer and then opens them slowly – still filled with worry. "What if she's not ready for it?" Her voice almost cracks, but not quite; no she's trying to pull the Olivia and shut the tears down. His face isn't hiding the shock well, he doesn't understand; his eyes nudging her to explain. "It was just us. And then you came, and we got engaged and now we're married and then… there's a baby. It was just us for a long time and now, now that's gone. What if she's not ready?"

"Liv she loves us, she loves that we're married, she'll love this baby. And you know that, because you know Zoey. So what is it really?"

"What if I'm not ready?"

"For what, for a baby?" He doesn't understand. He tries to pull her in a tighter embrace, but she steps away.

"What if I'm not ready for a baby?"

"But you already have Zoey!"

"It's different. She instantly got attached; she liked me. What if our kid doesn't like me? What if I suck at it? I never did the baby thing. Zoey, Zoey was a kid; an amazing, fantastic kid. I mean she basically raised herself. She liked to read; she always studied; she was a friend, more than a child half the time. She was a pal, that I'd occasionally help with math or take to a ballet class. It was easy. I-" And he cuts her off; his voice soft but strong; she needs to believe him when he tells her why she's wrong.

"No, it wasn't easy. You were just great at it. She wasn't a kid Liv, she was barely done being a baby and she just lost her parents – that's hell. And somehow, miraculously, you made her OK. She likes to read, because you read to her and you told her stories, you brought her into the world of books and helped her explore it. She studied because you taught her to work hard; you taught her the value of school; the beauty in knowing stuff. And she was a friend because you let her – you didn't treat her like a child; you respected her as an adult. You let her make choices you let her make mistakes; you gave her advice and you let her pave her way. None of it was easy, none of it is easy; but to you, it just comes naturally. I see it with her; I see you with my kids – it comes naturally. So our kid, our kid will love you, adore you and think you're the best mommy. Until right about when they hit puberty." With that last line a smile played on his lips, a smile inviting her in; a smile inviting her laugh – inciting it.

"Promise?" She sounds childish; the insecurity overtaking the adulthood.

"I promise."

"Good, because I really want this baby. With your charm and my mind." She looks up into his faux-wounded eyes.

"You mean your charm and my mind."

"Ha. Ha." But the sarcastic laugh is replaced by the real one; and the distance between them disappears – she's in front of him, cupping his face, kissing him.

"Liv, how are you feeling?" The doctor's in; breaking her out of her thoughts; out of her guilt. She was afraid, she doubted and now she's being punished. She was terrified of becoming a mom and now she might not get a chance. She looks up for a second, but then her eyes return to her stomach. The doctor proceeds, walking standing at the foot of the bed; trying to flip through her chart quietly. "We stopped your contractions, and from what I can see you both seem OK." – a sigh of relief – "But, Liv, that was still pretty bad. It is pretty bad." She nods her head, but she has yet to speak. "We'll keep you here." With that she lifts her eyes again.

"No. No, you can't. Someone could call. Someone could call to let me know…" And her voice breaks; drifts away. The hope swayed by the reality of her lying in this bed alone, and him, he' somewhere, somewhere alone – and she doesn't know; not where, not for how long; not if he's breathing or not – she doesn't know.

"We're keeping you overnight. This is not a negotiation, you were nearly in pre-term labor. I am not going to pretend to understand; to know the hell that you're going though; I don't and I wouldn't wish to; but you need to pull yourself together. You have a daughter who's out of her mind in that waiting room, trying to play a grown up; and you have a baby who needs you to stay calm. So we're keeping you, and you are going to stay. You will lie in that bed and you will rest." She looks up, shame coloring her cheeks and nods OK sheepishly. She'd be offended, scandalized – if it were lies.

"Mom!" She runs around the bed throwing herself around her mom's neck; burying her head. She pulls away slightly – "You're OK."

"I'm OK." And with that she's pulling her back in, running her hand in soothing circles on her back. "I'm OK." They stay like that for a while, until she lets the girl out of the embrace. She steps away, but then Liv scoots to the side, patting the empty space. "Get in here." She hesitates for a little bit – her smile not masking the fear. "It's OK. You can't hurt me. You're my girl, you'll cure me." And with that Zo is discarding her shoes on the floor and climbing into bed; crawling into the open arms – the safe haven.

"Where's grandma?"

"Outside. She wanted to give us a little bit of time."

"I'm sorry Zo." The girl looks up, a confused look in her eyes. "For messing up. For freaking out. I should have been a better mom."

"That's OK. You are scared."

"Yeah." And there's a brief pause, a moment of quiet; a moment to catch her thoughts and assemble them; a moment to put a dream back together, again. "I'm scared, but so are you. And I freaked out and shut you out. I should have known better. The only way to make this less scary is we stick together. You and me. It's always been us; and you'll always have me. And even if-" She can't say it, it's lodged in her throat; she's trying to breathe in, to push it out; trying to find the strength. "Even if Fitz, even if they, even if he doesn't come back, we'll have this baby, and Karen and Gerry. And they, they're all little bits of him. And most importantly; you and I – we have our whole hearts filled with him."

"Mom." Her little hand is reaching for Liv's cheek – comforting and reassuring. "He's coming back. He promised." There is conviction in her voice. A childish conviction. It's loud and unwavering, the faith in victory. The faith that at the end of the day He will keep his promise; He will come back; He will always come back. The belief that she, they are more important than anything; that their lives are too important for Him to miss. She believes. Like a child. Oh, so foolishly. And Liv, she loves it; she needs it. She needs to hope against hope, and she needs faith despite reason; she needs that truth that so easily comes to Zoey, the truth that lets her breathe easily, that lets her drift off to sleep; the truth that He will live. Not just in their hearts, in their memories. That He will live not within them; but as him – He will live. She needs to believe, because without him breathing she can't breathe; and without him sleeping she can't sleep and without Him – she can't be. And she has to, for herself, for Zoey, for the baby. She has to – for Him.

Her mom comes in quietly. She thinks they might be asleep – she hopes. And Zoey is, but Liv, Liv is stuck in reality.

"You're still awake." There's a brokenness in her voice. Helplessness only a mother can understand; helplessness of seeing your child in pain that you can't take away. So she tries, the best she can, to make it better; because she can't make it OK. "Can I get you anything?"

"Could you just hand me my phone. I need to check my emails. I missed a whole day of work."

"Liv, you really shouldn't be working."

"I can't do nothing." And her mom nods, she understands, so she hands her the cell phone from the nightstand next to Zoey's head. She sits at the bottom of the bed and puts her hand on Liv's stomach, closing her eyes, for a moment, just to relax.

Liv is flipping through the emails, replying to what she can, flagging up things to get back to, things for another day – because she, she gets another day. And sometimes, for a moment, a second she almost forgets where she is and where he is and what is happening. But then she closes her eyes, it's just a blink; no, it's a flood of feelings of memories. All it takes is a blink and the reality hits. She's scrolling and then her heart stops, it sinks and then it rises – the phoenix from the ashes. There's an email from Him. Sent yesterday. He told her he sent it but she forgot. Her finger hovers above the screen, but then she presses it, opens it.

Here it is. We'll pick the cover together. Check out the dedication.

I miss you and I love you and you're calling me now so I'll just tell you.

F.

She opens the PDF and there's a blank page, the title in the middle – LOOK TO THE STARS. She smiles a little to herself – Zo came up with that. It's his story, stories – about the orphanage – no longer in papers, but in a neat little PDF. Each is about a different kid – their stories, their fears, their hopes – the children that lost homes, lost everything. Zo read it and somewhat surprisingly understood it better than most adults, she understood the complexity; the interplay of sadness and strength; of desperation and hope. She came out of her room after she had finished, clutching her iPad – "You should tell them about the stars." He looked up, slightly confused; she could tell by his look. "Everyone and everything is gone – their lives are in the past, so if you tell them about the stars, it might make them feel better. Tell them, when they're sad, tell them to look to the stars." Liv smiled – it was poetic, and it fit the theme; it fit his aims, it fit the writing. It was dreamy and serene; it was irony; pointing to the cracks, to the ugly face of war; to kids stuck in the past, kids who only had the stars. It's the perfect title and she wants to cry - she doesn't want to spend the rest of her life looking at stars; no, she wants him, his eyes, his smile.

She scrolls through the first couple of pages and then stops, closing her eyes for a moment – forcing them to open.

To my kids – Karen, Gerry and Zoey – this book is for you, so that one day you'll live in a better world.

And to Liv – you are everything; you are the stars, the constant light guiding me home. You taught me the beauty of reality, magical beyond my wildest dreams.

She breathes in and closes her eyes, but then opens them wildly. "Mom, wake up." And her mom looks up instantly. "Something's wrong."

"What Liv?"

"There's a flutter in my stomach." And her mom shifts her hand slightly and closes her eyes and then there's a weak smile – "The baby's kicking."

"It's kicking?" Her voice is quiet, just above a whisper; afraid that is she says it louder it might stop; afraid that the universe will instantly move to squash her moment of happiness.

"Yeah, honey." And with that she falls asleep; their baby kicking.

Her phone wakes her up; vibrating somewhere on the bed. The light is her guide – in-out-in-out – flickering like candlelight; like candles in that room, that night. She finds it and picks up; a person she's never met on the other line. She doesn't remember the name, but she remembers his voice; the voice that made her cry; the voice of – "Yes ma'am he's still alive."

Hope you liked that! So, all three are fine, but there's a long road ahead - for everyone.

Thanks for your reviews for the last couple of chapters, you guys really seemed to have liked them and it just means so much to me!