The next morning I wake up alone, blinking in the sunlight, and the grief and loneliness hits me like a truck.

I stare at my window, looking at the patch of blue sky visible through it and listening to the sound of the gulls cawing outside, thinking that it's beautiful here by the sea. Thinking that Kent gave me this refuge away from everything so that I could have it no matter what happened to him. And I realize that he was clever enough to get me a house filled with rooms, because he knew I'd fill it with the people I love. The people we love.

And then I cover my face with my hands, unwilling to look at any of it, sick with the grief of knowing that I'm waking up here on this gorgeous morning, listening to the sounds of birds and the crashing of surf -

And he's, what? Sitting in a cinder block cell about three feet from his toilet?

Kent gave me everything.

And I...I have given him nothing.

My eyes still closed, I reach out my hand to stretch across the bed, to the place he should be sleeping.

And then I smirk, thinking that if Kent were here we wouldn't be sleeping in this little room. Janeen has the master, and while she offered it to me the night I got here, I waved her off. It would be ridiculous for her to give up the bedroom she's been sleeping in for months just because I technically own the house.

But if Kent had been there with me?

Yeah. Janeen would be out. I laugh a little to think on it.

Then I open my eyes, looking over at the empty expanse of my bed, and I smile a little to remember the last night when Kent came through the wardrobe and slept with me in my too-small bed, wrapped up in my floral comforter.

If I had known that was going to be our last night, I wouldn't have let him go so easily that morning. I would have...

But I groan, and cover my face with my hands, and force my mind away from it. Because it doesn't matter what I would have done.

What matters now...

... is what I'm going to do.

I exhale a deep breath, moving my hands down from my face and down my body so that they settle low on my stomach. And then I bend my head a little to look down at myself - though I of course can't see anything, since I'm covered in layers of blankets and pajamas.

Still, even though I can't see...I know it's there.

"How are you doing, little kidney bean," I whisper. And then, ridiculously, I wait for a response.

My head falls back on my pillow as I sigh a moment later, realizing how stupid I'm being. But really, sometimes I wonder...when the hell am I going to feel like a mom? Or even feel pregnant? Because honestly, so far, I've got nothing, and it makes me feel - sometimes - like this is all some kind of hoax.

Honestly, I never believed those TV shows before where the women are eight months pregnant before they realize it, but right now?

When I'm more than halfway through my first trimester and I feel nothing? I kind of get it.

But I know deep down that the baby is real. And that eventually my belly is going to look like I swallowed a basketball, and then I'm going to give birth and there's going to be a little person here. I wonder, passively, what they will be like.

And I smile, a little, when I realize that I hope...

Well, that I hope the baby has red hair. Like me.

And I start to laugh lightly as I realize that I want the baby to have red hair at least a little bit because...well, because I think it will piss off Kent.

And suddenly I start to laugh harder - and then I burst into tears, because I don't know how I know that it would piss off Kent to have a little redheaded baby, but I know for sure it would - that he would be jealous, and want the baby to have black hair like him. And then I realize that I'm also crying because...because I just had my first hope for my new baby. I actually hoped something, for the baby, and also for me.

And maybe...maybe that's the start of being a mom: making your first wish for your kid, even when they haven't been born yet.

I start to cry harder now, because maybe this is the start of it. Maybe I just started being a mom, all alone in this lonely bed in the house that Kent bought me. But he should be here for this. For all of it.

"Well, there she is," I hear Janeen say, and I sit up, sniffing and wiping at my tears. I didn't even hear the door open.

"What?" I ask.

"My little crybaby sister," Janeen says, smiling at me and leaning against my doorframe, wrapped in her ratty old robe. "Finally, she's back. Come on, spill," she says, grinning now. "What broke the dam?"

I sniff again and start laughing, shaking my head because I know it's ridiculous. "I hoped the baby has red hair."

Janeen bursts into laughter too, throwing her head back with it. "Seriously?" she asks, looking at me again. "And that made you cry?"

I shrug and nod as Janeen crosses the room to me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and giving me a big hug. "Good," she says, kissing the side of my head. "And for what it's worth, I hope so too. We need more redheaded psychopaths in this family." "Just because they're redheaded doesn't mean they're going to be a psycho," I mutter, leaning against my sister.

"Oh, baby," she sighs, petting my messy hair, "yes it does."

"Am I interrupting something?"

I look up to see Daniel in the doorframe, leaning against it the way Janeen just was.

"No," I say taking a deep breath as Janeen pulls away from me. "Just...sister stuff."

"We were just saying we hope the baby looks nothing like you," Janeen says, giving him a wide grin.

I shove her, a little bit. "That's not what we said, Janeen."

"Your baby would be blessed to look like me," Daniel says, flashing us a gorgeous smile. "My little brother could only hope to be so lucky."

"Oh?" I say, laughing again, "is it a boy now?"

"That's his bet," Jerome says, coming to stand behind Daniel and raising a cup of coffee towards me in a toast. "I'm team girl, though."

"Atta boy," Janeen says, tossing him a wink.

Daniel opens his mouth to counter, but I put up a hand. "As fascinating as all of this is," I say, looking around at them all but letting my eyes settle on Daniel at last. "There is no time for it. Because we," I say, giving my husband a significant look, "have to get ready." "Really?" he asks, surprised and suddenly suspicious. "Why?" "Because," I sigh. "We're having lunch with my father."

"Why do you have to get ready for that?" Janeen asks, confused. "He's just going to make ham and cheese in the kitchen like he always does -"

"No, sis," I say, lifting a hand to pat her cheek. "My other father."

"Oh no," Daniel moans, sinking further against the doorframe. "Can't I get out of this? Can I have morning sickness instead of you?"

"Sorry, dear husband," I say, giving him a sad little shrug. "We're going to go get you a job."

My father was more than happy to throw me a little last-minute luncheon when I sent him a message yesterday. He's incredibly excited about being a grandfather, especially when this baby comes with wealthy Italian connections in tow. Natalia and Alessi, when I sent them a message this morning, were only too happy to shift around their plans and join in.

We're all one big happy family now, after all. With this little Bianci/Alden baby at the center, holding us together.

"You'd better be cute, kidney bean," I murmur down to my belly. "We've got a lot riding on you."

"What?" Daniel asks, turning to me, thinking that I'm talking to him.

"Nothing," I say, beaming up at him, letting everyone at the table - mostly my close Alden family, along with Natalia and Alessi - see how in love we are. Daniel, understanding his role, smiles and takes my chin in his hand, planting a slow kiss on my lips before turning back to my cousin on his other side.

He was a good sport about coming today, though he was sort of the last to be told. But he didn't have any other plans, I knew. I smirk, thinking that if I didn't bring him to lunch with me Daniel would have spent all day laying on the beach with Jerome. And while I don't begrudge them a happy day, I have need of my husband.

Because, unfortunately for him, he has an even more important role to play in the upcoming weeks.

I sit and look down at my plate, playing with my food instead of eating it, listening quietly to the conversation around me, letting a very subtle pallor of sadness and worry settle around me.

As soon as I feel a meaty hand settle on my shoulder, I know that it worked.

I look up at my father with wide, anxious eyes.

"Come along, little daughter," he says softly to me, putting out a hand to help me to my feet. "Let us go and have a chat."

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