I never planned on being a mother at 18 years old. Of course I didn't. After all, who plans those kinds of things? Not me.

No I was the good girl. The one who was going places. The girl you asked questions because she somehow always knew the answers. I was smart. I am smart.

I'm busy too though. What with juggling school and raising twins, it's not easy to find time to do things. As can be expected.

There's no father to speak of. Why would there be? What 19 year old father would want to help an 18 years old girl raise two little boys? Not a sane one. That's for goddamn sure.

But I'm not telling this story right. I'm making it sound like what it isn't.

I am not a mother of twins. Not in the literal sense anyways. I didn't give birth to them. They don't really look like me. Dark hair, sure, but after that, we couldn't' be related.

My best friend got pregnant when she was 16. It was one of those stories that parents tell their daughters to warn them away from sex but the stories never work because hormones over-rule logic. She was a statistic. She was unlucky. And nine months afterwards, she was a mother.

But she was still my best friend. My only friend really. So I stuck by her. How could I not? She may not have been a genius or always made the best choices but she wanted to raise those boys. She loved them. So I helped her, because the asshole who knocked her up wanted nothing to do with the situation.

Riddle and Ronan. Beautiful names for beautiful boys with brown hair and giant hazel eyes. I understand why she wanted to keep them. Why she wanted to raise them. They were wonderful. Difficult at times. Noisy. Messy. But wonderful additions to the world.

Inevitably, I fell in love with them. I worried over them. I helped her pay for things they needed. I babysat when she needed a break. My parents trusted me. Or at least they knew enough to stay out of my way. I wasn't about to let the situation compromise my future. And they didn't have to worry. I had full ride to Brown. Pre-med.

Like I said, I'm smart. So my senior year was spent largely being a parent, because it seemed to be more and more often that my bestie needed a break. And then she was having a breakdown because she realized this whole being a parent thing was a lot harder than she'd first thought. She was going to give them up for adoption.

And this is what you must understand: I couldn't let it. I wasn't angry at her. I was disappointed maybe, but not angry. I just couldn't lose those boys. When you spend so much time with someone, when you look into eyes that are so blissfully unaware of the horrors of the world and see the adoration there, you become addicted to it. Because for once in your life, someone really needs you. Needs you in a way that adults can't. And they trust you to take care of them. To love them. To cherish them.

And I just couldn't lose them. It was too much to think about.

So I convinced her to give me custody. It wasn't easy. Hell no. I was only 18. The courts didn't want to hand two one year olds over to another teenager. But we had people speak for me. Talk about how good I was with them. How money wasn't an issue. I could take care of them. My parents were going to help.

So I got them. Riddle and Ronan are my sons not by blood but by law and choice. And they are two of the most beautiful people in my life. They mean more to me than anyone.

And so yes, this is my story of love but not just with some famous boy. It's my story of love with my two little boys and the man that helped me rediscover the amazing joys of being a mother.

I am Lily. It's nice to meet you.