He sits in his office, the one that smells of cologne, sweat, printer ink, and leather bound books. It has been over eight months since she left. He hasn't heard from her. There has been zero communication. Not a postcard, or a text message. Not even a bat signal. He sits in front of the computer, but he has no intention of writing. The machine isn't even turned on. He hasn't written a word in months.

He sits in his fancy chair feeling sorry for himself. It is early in the morning. The last time he glanced at the clock it was after three. His elbow balances on the wooden desk. His hand is balled into a fist. His chin rests on his fist. He sits in the silence of his office dressed in pajamas. A pair of blue flannel bottoms with thin black stripes forming a square pattern. A matching navy blue robe covers his chest, and his white v-neck t-shirt. His face is scruffy, he hasn't shaved in at least three days. He stares at the ring lying on the desk, in front of him. It's Kate's engagement ring.

He yawns, as he hasn't been to bed yet. He looks up, and to his left, at the clock sitting on the corner of the desk. It's twelve after four. He doesn't sleep much anymore. He dreams about her when he sleeps, so he chooses not to. He pushes the chair away from the desk, the wheels on the bottom of the chair legs squeak as the chair moves. He rises from his seat, and leaves his office, padding into the kitchen in his socked feet. He puts on a pot of coffee, and heads for the door of his apartment to retrieve the newspaper.

He unlocks the door, and pulls it open. He looks down, and finds the newspaper, and a little more than he bargained for. He finds a body nestled under his newspaper. He stares at the scene in confusion, and disbelief. He bends down, and picks up the paper, and the body beneath it. He removes the bag that lies on the floor next to the body. He retreats into the apartment, and closes the door. He heads into the kitchen with all of the evidence. He places it on the counter of the kitchen island. He places the newspaper to the side,to the left of the body.

He stares at the body swaddled in a blanket, nestled inside of a car seat. The baby sleeps soundly. He unfastens the buckle securing the infant to the seat. He lifts the angelic looking baby out of the seat. He finds a letter inside the seat. It is addressed to him, in Kate's scrawl. He manages to hold the baby, and rip the letter open at the same time. He pulls the piece of paper from the envelope, and unfolds it. He begins to read.

Rick,

I didn't know what else to do. I have yet to get to the bottom of all of this, despite my best efforts. I am sorry that is has to be this way. I know that you feel completely betrayed, and I am so sorry for that. You have to understand that I didn't know when I left. If I had known I would have made different choices. Once I found out it was too late to change course.

I know that you probably hate me. I can't change that. Maybe she will make you hate me a little less. I know that one day you will understand why I have done the things that I have. I hope to return before she is ever old enough to understand. I love her, and I know that you will protect her. She is our daughter. If I can ever be a good mother to her I have to see this through. If I don't make it back please tell Abigail how much I love her.

Kate

He tosses the letter onto the counter, as the tears fall from his eyes, and trail down his cheeks. He looks at the infant in his arms. She is wrapped securely in a yellow thermal blanket. She wears a yellow cap, and matching gown. He turns to the diaper bag, realizing that he has no clue when she was born, or any of the other pertinent details. He unzips the bag. He finds a hospital I.D. bracelet inside. It reveals to him that she was born the previous day at an New York hospital. He finds a flow sheet underneath with times listed of the last time she was fed, and changed. He shifts his focus back to the newborn in his arms.

"So I am going to go out on a limb here, and guess that she waited for the paper to be delivered, and then tucked you underneath."

The baby remains soundly asleep. He takes the paper out of the diaper bag. He finds a crib card. Abigail Johanna Castle. 8lbs 3 oz. The bag is full of baby essentials, diapers, wipes, clothes, formula, and bottles. He sets it inside of the car seat, and carries the car seat into the living room. When he returns to the kitchen he pours himself a cup of coffee. He takes a drink, but can't help being distracted by the fact that there is a newborn baby in his other arm.

"It's nice to meet you Abigail. Now I know that as of four o'clock this morning she was alive, and, now you're here. I'm your dad, by the way."

A few minutes later he's sitting in his usual spot in the kitchen reading the newspaper, and sipping his coffee. His mother descends the stairs, and heads towards him in her pajama's, and silk robe that is cinched at the waist.

"I thought I heard you talking to someone," she comments as she heads for the coffee pot.

"Mostly myself," he answers as her back is turned to him. He flattens the newspaper out, on the counter.

"So Richard I have to ask how much longer are you going to mope around here? Kate has been gone for nearly nine months. I know that this is a very difficult time for you, but you have to move on at some point."

"I know."

She turns around to face him, with her cup of coffee in hand. She stares at him in confusion as he sits on a stool underneath the counter with a baby in one arm.

"When I said move on I certainly didn't mean for you to start by kidnapping an infant."

"I didn't."

"Richard is it barely four thirty in the morning, and I have yet to finish my first cup of coffee why don't you just tell me what's going on here?"

"I went out to get the newspaper. Imagine my surprise when I found this little gem underneath of it."

"Where did she come from?"

"The baby factory," he quips.

"By way of?"

"Katherine Beckett."

"What?!"

He points to he letter lying nearby on the counter.

"You should read it."

"Where is she?"

"I don't know," he shrugs.

"She just left her baby on your doorstep?"

"She left my daughter on the doorstep."

"Your daughter?"

"Her name is Abigail."

"How long have you known about her?"

"What time is it now?"

"Four thirty two."

"Exactly twenty minutes."