"I don't understand any of this!" I said, pacing back and forth. We'd managed to get back to the penthouse in one piece, after making the necessary apologies to Katherine and Karissa at the park. I'd immediately put Alexandrine down for her nap after Henrietta had met her properly, yet now, even as I attempted to distract myself with the impressive skyline outside the living room window, I found myself an empty shell. "What could you have gone to prison for, Henrietta?" I cried out, and turned to face her, immediately feeling guilty when she winced at the sound of me calling her by her first name.

"Extortion," she said softly, perching on one end of the modern couch, while my mother took the other. "I was charging so much for patients, and for about five years it didn't catch up to me. However, I upped the prices drastically, and it got to the point where everyone was onto me, especially after I neglected to pay my taxes as well as lying on some insurance forms..."

"So, you've been locked up all this time?" I ask her.

She nods. "I have," she replies.

"And you just let them adopt me?" I cry out, the resentment and betrayal I felt now bubbling to the surface. "Without even telling me about any of it?"

"You were five-years-old, Leia," Henrietta says, getting to her feet and attempting to stop me from walking away from her. "Edythe and I decided it best to wait until you were older to discuss all this with you."

"Eighteen is usually a good time to do that," I reply, my voice cutting into the both of them like a knife. "Why wasn't I told then?"

"We tried to tell you, sweetheart," my mother replies softly, crossing the room towards us. "Remember? I said it was pertinent for your father and I to come over to the apartment you had with Owen..."

"But instead we ended up discussing Chelsea and my pregnancy," I say, breaking away from the both of them and practically falling into a sitting position on the couch behind me.

"Sweetheart, you couldn't have known..."

"Stop," I reply, my voice numb.

Henrietta sighs. "Darling, I just want you to understand that..."

I raise my eyes to hers, feeling how cold and icy they've truly become. "Don't," I say, my voice firm.

"Leia," my mother says, moving to sit beside me and attempting to take my cold, unfeeling hand. "I know you must be in shock..."

"No," I say, pulling my hand away from hers. "I don't want either of you to even try to rationalize this."

"What do you want us to do?" Henrietta asks.

"That's right," my mother replies. "Just say the word, and we'll do it."

I feel my hands shaking momentarily before drawing my fingers into my palms, thus creating fists. "I want the two of you to leave."

"Darling, I really think..." Henrietta begins.

I focus on a part of the slate gray wall opposite me, and force my voice to become as dead as a fish. "Get out," I say, and, mercifully, the pair of them leave instantly thereafter.

I get to my feet, wandering into the kitchen, where I see there is a cupcake with my name on it. Stepping forward, there is a quick love note from Owen, telling me he'll be home at six and how excited he is to celebrate with me later. Beside the cupcake is an automatic lighter, in case I want to light the pink, swirled candle, pressed into the cracked surface of the icing. Picking up the lighter, I light the candle and shut my eyes for a moment before a worthy wish comes to mind. I open my eyes again, forming an 'O' with my lips as I pout them outwards, thus blowing out the candle, the smoke curling upwards like long, tapered fingers and making its way to the ceiling.

"Happy birthday, Leia Torrance," I say quietly to myself.

. . .

"I know it's dangerous and probably thoughtless of me, given my good score on the bar exam, but it's in my blood. Can't you see that?"

"Of course I can see that, Leia," Owen says, shaking his head at me. "It's the logic behind it that I don't get..."

I sigh. "All I know is that I'm not cut out to be a lawyer," I reply. "I had to shadow my dad for god's sake, and half the time he was yelling about a coffee order and the other half he was telling me my skirt was too short. I read the uniform section of the shadowing pamphlet, Owen—to the knees or below! My skirt was at the knee, not above the knee, at the knee. And the whole time, my father—or uncle, now that everything's really out in the open—made me feel like a slut! I can't work under those conditions!"

"You know, every firm won't be like that..."

"No." I shake my head. "I took the physical aspect of the whole big test they have you take to get in—I passed. I took the psychological exam as well—I passed. I took the IQ test mandated by the government—I passed. Now all I have to do is to pass the twenty-week training course."

Owen takes me gently by the shoulders, concern in his deep blue eyes. "And you're absolutely sure?" he asks.

I nod. "Yes. I did the math and it's around seven thousand for the tuition and ammunition... I have some money set aside. We'll be fine."

"This doesn't have anything to do with Henrietta, does it?"

I smooth his collar ever so slightly. "What gives you that idea?"

"Well, you and I both have gun permits—we keep them locked in the safe in case Alexandrine wants to go exploring. If you just want a trip to the shooting range, I'll take you on my next day off..."

I reach up and cover his lips with my hand. "This has nothing to do with the fact that my biological mother is alive," I reply. "Like I said, it's in my blood. And I'll also have the satisfaction of arresting Chelsea if she ever decides to get out of line with me again."

Owen nips at my fingers, forcing me to withdraw them. "Well, I just hope it's not a rash decision," he replies. "Remember, all I want is for you to be happy."

I smile up at him, standing on my toes to kiss him. "Thank you—that means a lot to me, Owen, it really does."

"When do you start?" he asks.

"First thing Monday," I reply.

. . .

I find my mind going backwards, back before I'd been adopted by Lincoln and Edythe, so long ago...

I remember one night when they got home on the late side, but I was so happy to see them all that I ran down the stairs to meet them. Next, I immediately jumps into Edythe's arms and told her that I needed to go shopping as soon as possible.

"What you need is to take a bath," Edythe said, gently reprimanding my supposed impertinence at the subject.

"But I need a dress and cards!" I proclaimed.

Edythe raised her eyebrows at the declaration, before leaning down and kissing me on the forehead. "Is that right?" she asked. "Why is that?"

"My birthday!" I cried, triumphantly.

"That's right, sweetie," she replied, taking me upstairs and beginning to run my typical evening bubble bath. "I'll tell you what—I have some time off work this week. How about if after school one day this week, you and I go out for some lunch and then we'll get you a new dress and everything you need for your extra-special, super-duper, fifth birthday party?"

I squealed and threw my arms around her. "Yay!" I cried.

Edythe laughed. "Well, now that that's settled, we have something else to figure out," she tells me as I begin taking off my clothes to get into the bath.

"What's that?" I ask, handing her my dark pink sweater.

"Well," Edythe says, helping me with my tights, "we need to figure out just what kind of birthday party you want."

"I want a princess party!" I proclaim immediately. "I want the boys to be princes and the girls to be princesses!"

"Leia, sweetie, remember how Uncle Lincoln and I explained to you about Thompson's living situation?"

I nod. "Yes, Thompson is gay," I reply, proudly. "He has a husband—like you have in Uncle Lincoln. And you said that there's nothing wrong with it."

She nodded. "That's right. I mean, you've seen them together when we have little parties with all our friends."

I sighed. "Yes... Mommy liked Thompson..."

"Yes. Yes, she did. But you've seen Thompson with his husband, honey—how did it make you feel?"

"A little weird, at first," I confessed, not wanting to say anything hurtful. "But you told me that they love each other."

"Do you think people that love each other—regardless if they're a man and a woman, or two men, or two women—should get married?"

I smiled up at her. "If they love each other."

Edythe smiled back. "Well, that thing you said earlier, honey, about the girls being princesses and the boys being princes..."

"Yeah?" I ask, watching her as she tests my water temperature.

"Well, honey, how would you feel if, say, a boy wanted to dress up as a princess or a girl wanted to dress up as a prince?"

I felt my eyes widen. "Do some kids do that?"

"Of course, even I did sometimes when I was younger. Sometimes, I wanted to be a pirate for the day or something, but most pirates have to wear pants—it makes getting around easier."

"So... Thompson is gay..."

"That's right, sweetie."

"And Mommy said she was a l... What was it?"

"Your mommy was a lesbian, sweetheart."

I nod. "Right. And is it called something if a boy wants to dress like a girl or a girl wants to dress like a boy?"

"Well," Edythe replies, stopping my water, "it's called quite a few things. There's something that happens to some people who, when they're born, think that they're born into the wrong body."

"The wrong body?!" I demand, horrified, as I get into the bathtub. "What does that mean?!"

"Well, sweetie, it means that some girls who were born with girl parts, or some boys who were born with boy parts think that they were born with the wrong private areas," she replied patiently. "They think, and feel in their hearts and minds, that they should have been born the opposite gender."

"Does every boy and girl think that?" I ask.

Edythe kissed my forehead. "No, sweetheart, not everyone. But I know in my heart and in my mind that if you feel that way, the most important thing is to have people around you who love and support you."

"Were you born that way, Aunt Edythe?" I ask her.

Edythe shook her head. "No, honey. I knew from the moment I could understand such things that I was a girl, and now I'm a woman."

"Am I like that?"

"I don't know. Are you?"

I considers it for a moment, but ultimately find myself shaking my head, finally sure of myself. "No."

"And that's okay, too. But I know that Lincoln and I have discussed it and if we ever had children in that situation, we would be supportive."

"I'm a child..."

"Yes, sweetheart, you are."

"Am I your child?" I ask.

"Yes. Yes, Leia, you are," she says without hesitation.

I smile. "Good," I say.

I finished with my bath shortly thereafter, and was pleased when Edythe read to me more of Half Magic by Edward Eager. It would be one of the first chapter books I'd ever read, but it wouldn't prove to be the last. I believed that the love I had for reading helped me in the early years, when I was unsure of how things worked, and how I coped with the loss I'd experienced after my mother left. Little did I know then what I knew now, and I wondered, had I changed one little thing, if we still would have ended up where we were...

. . .

Police academy wasn't all it was cracked up to be; halfway through, I considered giving up, especially after the constant reminders that both my grandmother and mother graduated with top marks from the institution. I sucked up my listlessness and swallowed my pride, knowing that I could do as best as I could, and it would be enough, on my own terms. I threw myself into the program, just determined to make it to the finish line, and to pass as well. When the graduation ceremony was just around the corner, I learned that I'd received top marks, especially in combat training, which was virtually unheard of for someone with my background. They said it was in my blood, and that was why they believed initially that I'd done so well, and not merely on my own merits.

Graduation day came and I stood with all the other fellow police officers, pleased to take on the title of Officer Torrance. I remembered Edythe telling me that she'd run into Lincoln at her own police academy graduation, and just how attractive she thought he really was. My godmother, Gina—although it was more for ceremonial reasons than for religious—met Lincoln when she and Edythe had graduated with their bachelor's degrees. Now she lived in Japan with her husband and their four children, and while we hadn't seen her since she'd come for a visit while I was in middle school, I knew she would be proud of me, too.

"Officer Torrance. Sounds good on you."

"Thanks, Olivia," I say, stepping forward. "You're still a legend in the department, and it means a lot that you came here today."

"Hey, I'm your great-grandmother," she says, putting her arms around me. "I may have just turned seventy, but I'm still going strong."

I was then handed off to Owen, before Edythe, Lincoln, Felicity, Fin, and Hunter all embraced me respectively. Owen was considerate enough to hand over Alexandrine, who was now five-years-old and didn't need to be carried, was doted on by absolutely everyone in her family, except for Chelsea, who hadn't attended the ceremony, much to my relief. Alexandrine's aunt Felicity, now at the end of her senior year of high school, had been accepted into Julliard and was going to be majoring in violin. As for Fin and Hunter, now fourteen and almost eleven respectively, would be starting high school and middle school, and I knew Edythe would be falling into more of her element on the job.

I managed to put Alexandrine down, and the three of us said goodbye to everyone who came out to see me—even Fin, Amanda, and Carisi had come to wish me well and luck—but I knew Alexandrine had to keep on her schedule. I remembered once again Cosmo and Ethan's voicemail about how their trip to Milan had prevented them from coming—the congratulatory basket had helped ease what little pain I'd initially had.

Taking both our hands, we walked down the sidewalk and hailed a cab with our daughter with us every step of the way. Owen lifted her into the vehicle one it pulled up, and we all piled inside. We gave the address to the penthouse, rolling down the window as we went to wave off the well-wishers, as the cab pulled further into the distance.

. . .

"Gun?"

"Strapped, locked and loaded."

Owen gave a rueful grin in my direction. "Pepper spray?"

"Tucked away in the side pocket for easy access."

My husband nodded in approval. "Okay... Nightstick?"

I reach out and swat him gently on the shoulder. "You've been watching your buddy cop flicks for too long, Dr. Torrance," I scold him.

"Ooh, I love it when you call me doctor, officer," Owen says, getting to his feet and putting his arms around my waist. "So glad your shift is over for the day and that you're back home, safe with your doctor husband..." He looks me over, desire in his eyes. "You look so hot in this uniform—too hot. Maybe I should be a good doctor and take your temperature..."

"Ugh," I groan sarcastically, pulling away from him and walking over to our wall safe, before immediately unlocking it and placing my gun inside. "Not officer for very long, you know..."

"What are you talking about?" Owen asks. From behind me, I can hear him hanging up his suit jacket and taking off his shoes. "Put in for early retirement already? Which would be great, because then we can have more kids and you can play mommy while daddy saves lives..."

I turn to face him, rolling my eyes as I secure the safe behind me, the password firmly locked into my memory. "I told my commanding officer that I think I might be ready within a year to take the detective's exam."

"Raising the ranks just like your mom?" he asks.

"Like Edythe, I suppose," I say, never liking to talk about my adoptive parents or my biological mother. "But... Well, I suppose I should tell you, I was able to call in a favor or two at the sperm bank...found out something pretty interesting when I got ahold of them the other day."

"Oh, yeah? What's that?" Owen asks.

I turn to face him, proceeding to take off my tie and putting my officers' cap on my nightstand. "Number 01487 was never a number in their database during the 2018-2019 donor year."

"Well, you know as well as I do that they can freeze the damn things for over a decade," Owen replies, throwing his socks in the hamper and placing his pants upon his clothes tree.

"Of course, which is why I had them go all the way back to 2006 and there was no record whatsoever," I reply.

"What does that mean?" asks Owen.

I sighed, rolling my shoulders as I unbuttoned my shirt. "Well, it seems like there could've been three possibilities—one, the filing system got messed up in the over twenty years I've waited to find out; two, I'm looking at the wrong sperm bank; or three, my mother's lying to me."

"If she's lying to you... Then that means..."

"Then that means she had a relationship with a man at some time or another," I reply steadily, unbuckling my belt and setting my pants beside Owen's. "Which means that my mother was either raped, or, at one time or another, attracted to a man in her life."

"Have any ideas?" Owen asked.

I shake my head. "None," I reply, crossing the room. I make my way into the bathroom, intending to take my hair down, brush it and my teeth, and then just climb into bed. It was a Friday night, so showering tomorrow morning wouldn't be an issue, I saw that now. I dragged my brush through my hair, not really gazing at my reflection in an active manner before I began working on my teeth. Brushing those canines in little circles got tedious after over twenty-five years of doing it, but it had to be done. It was when the brush contacted with my tongue too far back for my liking that I promptly turned towards the toilet and vomited into it like there was no tomorrow.

"All right, babe?" Owen called from the bedroom as I hastily washed my mouth out and brushed my teeth again.

I shake my head. "Fine, honey!" I called back.

I stared at myself in the mirror; a cold sweat had developed upon my forehead and neck, and I stared at myself in the pane of glass. Dark circles under my eyes stood out, as well as the fact that my cheeks were white as a sheet. I hadn't felt this way in almost a solid ten years; I knew then that it wasn't since...

"No..." I whispered. Immediately, I dove under the sink, thanking Christ for a previous scare we'd had about two and a half years ago. Grabbing the necessary cardboard box, I tore it open, the thin white stick resting in my hands. "Just going to use the bathroom!" I called to Owen, who was distracted by the latest episode in the thirty-eighth season of Modern Family.

I sat down on the toilet to relieve myself, savoring the feeling of the sensation of my bladder shrinking down to normal size once again. Fumbling with the test in my hands, I knew how quick I had to be. One false move, and I'd be sharing the toilet with an almost-thirty-year-old man who knew next to nothing having to do with boundaries when it came to bathroom privacy and hygiene. I set the test down on the edge of the counter, flushing the toilet and washing my hands with quick, jerking motions that could have ended up flooding the bathroom if I'd had a mind to do so.

"Honey, you'd better hurry!" Owen cries from the other side of the door, like a girl waiting for the final contestant on The Voice. "They're disputing Jay's will! Jay left everything to Mitch and Cam! Hurry!"

I roll my eyes, drumming my fingers on the marble that makes up the counter around the sink. "Almost done, honey!" I call back. I check my cell phone, willing the minutes to tick by faster than they ever have before. When my stopwatch vibrates a moment later, I quickly shut it off, not wanting to alert Owen to anything untoward happening behind closed doors. Picking up the test, a friendly-looking plus sign stares up at me. "All right, then," I say, taking the test with me as I opened the bathroom door and stepped out, switching off the T.V. almost directly thereafter.

"Hey!" Owen whined. "Luke was telling everyone how he got a girl pregnant while in high school!"

I roll my eyes at him. "Honey, please be serious for a moment."

Immediately, Owen sits up from his propped-up against the pillows position. "Is everything okay?" he asks.

I sigh, handing over the pregnancy test. "Is that okay?"

Owen takes it immediately, looking it over. "What...? Really?" he asks, his eyes shining in anticipation.

I nod at him. "Really," I reply.

Owen gets to his feet, pulling me into his arms. "I'm never letting you go!" he cries out. "I want to shout it from the rooftops and into the heart of Downtown TriBeCa!" he proclaims, giddy as a small boy on Christmas. "We've officially begun procreating again!"

I laugh aloud at him. "Well, I suppose we have," I reply.

. . .

"Rank, name and badge number, please."

"Officer, Leia Torrance, 7028," I reply without missing a beat.

"Very good," says the rather portly gentleman from behind his desk which should have been discontinued seventy years ago. He scrawls something down in some illegible handwriting before reaching into a pile marked DETECTIVE and hands over a thick stack of papers. "Take any desk in the detective's section of the classroom and take your test. No talking, and we ask that you surrender your bags," he says, getting to his feet.

I hand over my purse. "No problem," I reply.

He regards me for a moment, quickly deducing that I am ready to pop at any moment. "There's a mandatory break in an hour and a half of thirty minutes," he says, quickly shaking his head as he turns and puts my purse with the rest of them, into some cubbies that had to have been cubbies for elementary school children in the early 2000's. "Then you've got another hour to fully complete the examination process... How far along are you?"

"Thirty-three weeks," I reply. "About another month to go or so."

He shakes his head. "No, I'd say two weeks, maximum."

I blink, shocked. "Excuse me?"

He sighs. "Lady, I got two sets of twins for my kids, and I was a twin, plus my wife's got twin brothers. I know these things."

I laugh at the assumption, shaking my head. "No, you're mistaken. I'm just having a boy right now. Not twins..."

"Lady, my wife is a midwife, and I have a lotta free time to do me some reading. It may seem like one, but trust me, it's two."

I shake my head. "No, just one baby growing in here..."

"Lady, you're cutting into your exam time," he says gruffly. "All I know is, that sometimes one twin'll hide behind the other."

I roll my eyes when he turns back to the paperwork that looks to be a mediocre outline for a new superhero project. I turn around and find the detective testing section, recognizing a few of the officers in my unit as I step forward. I pull out the chair of my chosen desk, setting down the paperwork and flipping through it. The questions were pretty straightforward to me, and I was able to complete all of them in the first hour and thirty minutes, and planned to use the last of the time to fully check over my work. I get to my feet when the watcher informs us that it is time for a break, and I immediately put my exam in the secure location before making my way from the classroom and towards the ladies' room. Using the bathroom had officially become a life skill for me at this point; I'd been able to work until the middle of my second trimester, and then I was on strict desk duty after that time had elapsed. I'd read more about parking ticket laws than I'd cared to admit, I thought to myself as I left the bathroom, making my way towards the vending machine and crossed my fingers for something good.

A single serving size bag of chocolate-covered pretzels beckoned to me, and I reached into my pocket for some of the bills I kept in there. After feeding the machine some of my life savings—not literally, but still—I had my prize. Popping the bag open, I savored the taste of the chocolate and salt mixed together, the ultimate pleasure within this pregnancy, not counting the mandatory once a week sex I had with Owen. Well, it was mandatory to both of us—we loved each other, and it was a way to feel closer at the end of the day, or the beginning of the day, if we chose to do it in the shower before work.

I walked along the maroon-tiled floor of this ancient building, pulling my scarf closer around my neck. It was May, and yet a thick rain had been corrupting New York for over a week. Plus, I'd been much colder in this pregnancy than I'd had with Alexandrine, so I was grateful for the adornment, bought for me at Christmas by my little angel herself. I rounded the corner, keeping my eyes on my own footsteps, despising the flecks of white within the maroon tiles—it wasn't even white, it was some sort of burnt cream color, and not the pleasant kind. I kept walking closer and closer to the testing room, when a sudden shot of pain seemed to erupt from inside me, causing my to let out a momentary gasp of pain and grip onto the brick wall beside me for support.

"Okay, not now," I say, gently putting a hand on my stomach. "Mommy has to go advance in her career right now. If you must come today, please can you wait another couple of hours? Please?"

But in the next fraction of a second, everything changed; my water broke right there on the abysmal tile floor beneath me, and I had to practically stick my hand down my throat to keep from screaming at the pain. Carefully, I managed to walk down the hallway and back to the testing room, opening the door and feeling totally mortified as everyone turned in their seats to look at me. I walked up to the desk where the watcher sat, and stepped closer.

"Hey," I said, fighting to keep it together. "I'm kind of in labor, and I finished my exam already, so I was just thinking I could go and maybe... Oh...contraction," I said, breathing heavily and gripping the side of the desk. "...maybe go and have my baby now, if that's all right."

Immediately, the watcher hands over my bag and I refuse all help as I manage to run out of there. I was just a couple of blocks from Mercy Hospital, where Owen was as one of the children's oncologists. Making my way in through the main doors, I was greeted by many of the nurses familiar to me, but I quickly brushed past them and walked up to the receptionist.

"Hey, Flo," I say, gripping onto the side of her desk as well.

"I can't pull Owen out of work again for you," she replies without looking up at me. "I got lectured last time."

"It's more than that," I reply. "You see, I'm sort of in labor and I need medical assistance urgently. Owen wouldn't be much help for that, although I would like him in the delivery room eventually..."

Flo looked up, completely embarrassed, ordering me a wheelchair and the best delivery suite available. I was promptly taken back, and while I'd like to say I was comfortable, I had to constantly squirm and cross my legs every which way to prevent a squalling infant from falling onto the floor. Lawsuit waiting to happen, I told myself as we got to the maternity ward on the tenth floor. Owen had been paged and was waiting in the doorway, getting me up onto the delivery table and assisting me with putting my feet up into the stirrups.

"Is the midwife coming?" I asked, taking Owen's hand as a wave of pain overtook me again.

"Soon, they told me soon," he said. "We've been upped to top priority in the maternity ward because you're so early."

I rolled my eyes. "Just get me something for the pain," I groaned, blinded by the tears I felt coursing down my cheeks. "Call my...call my mom..."

"Which one?" Owen asked patiently.

"Ed-ythe!" I shouted. "I want her! I want my mom!"

. . .

Two and a half hours later, my arms weren't even tired from holding my twins. I'd been able to breastfeed them immediately after delivery, and the doctors said that they were five pounds six ounces and five pounds eight ounces respectively. They were the perfect size, fitting just into the crook of my arm on each side, and I felt more complete than I'd initially felt in a long time. We'd chosen the names Rebecca Opal Torrance and Henry Owen Torrance, and were the most popular family in the maternity ward that cold May afternoon.

I remember initially panicking when Chelsea showed up, embracing Owen at the door, a pink balloon in one hand and a blue one in the other. She stepped forward, but not so close, and peered happily into Rebecca and Henry's faces briefly before making eye contact with me. Her eyes were kind that day, but I was still on my guard, but knew I had to attempt to make peace.

"Owen, can you give us a minute, please?" I asked.

After giving me a shocked expression, my husband suddenly received a page and left the room.

"How are you?" I asked her.

Chelsea smiled. "I'm good," she replied, tying one of the balloons to one side of my back bed frame, before circling to the other side and tying on the other. "Really good... Listen, I'm sure you want to know while I'm here..."

I give her a tight smile, nodding for her to sit in the offered chair beside my bed. "I would like to know, yes."

She sighs. "Of course, I could give the easy answer and say I wanted to meet the twins, but I won't do that." She rolls her shoulders for a moment before continuing with what I assumed would be a confession—I was right. "The reason for me blackmailing you was because I needed money for drugs."

"Who knows about this?"

"Mom and Dad, plus Owen," she replied. "I came fully clean to him about the whole thing after Alexandrine was born. That's why he didn't fight you after you told him that you didn't want me around her. At the time, I was furious, and even got Mom to ask you to give her custody so that I could get her eventually... It was a rotten thing to do, and I'm so sorry..."

"What drugs?" I ask.

"Cocaine, mostly," she says. "I was snorting it more than twice a day. It got to the point where I was doing it upwards of five to seven times a day. I was in denial for a long time, and it was after Alexandrine turned three that I started to turn my life around completely. I did my design school simultaneously with rehab."

"How much time to do you have clean and sober?"

"Seven years, four months, three weeks, and five days," she replies. "When I get to a decade, we'll think about starting a family."

"We?" I ask.

Chelsea holds up her left hand. "I got married," she replies. "We got married a year after I became clean and sober."

"That's amazing!" I say, finding that I am genuinely happy for her.

"Her name is Charmaine D'Arcy—maybe you've heard of her..."

"She's only Victoria's Secret, Vogue's, and Ford's number one girl!" I cry out, shaking my head. "How'd you get her?"

"We met at a gala during the height of my coke phase," she replies. "Charmaine only did it to decrease her nerves, but she stopped cold turkey after we got serious and she found out my problem. When I was in rehab, I designed my Snowflake Line..."

"Wait—that was you?" I ask. "But it's under..."

"My stage name, Chelsea Crabtree," she replies. "From my Snowflake Line came my Flaming Line, when I felt rejuvenated after the rehab stint. Then the Fire & Ice Line, the Empress Line, and the Wicked Line."

"You've certainly been busy," I reply, noting how healthy she looked despite what must've been the crazy work hours. "Does Charmaine wear your designs?" I ask, for I was genuinely curious.

"That's a stipulation of her contract," I reply. "I have contracts with every agency she signs with that I reserve the right to alter the costumes in any way I see fit. So far, I've made each company millions."

"Did you design this?" I ask, taking note of her scoop-neck, gray sweater dress. It was paired with plum-colored sweater tights and black Prada boots.

"I did," she replied. "Do you like it?"

I nodded. "Yeah, it's gorgeous."

Chelsea looks me over. "You're about a four?"

I nod. "Yes."

"My sizes are odd numbered," she explains, "which means in my sizes, you'd either be a three or a five. I'll send you both, and after trying them both on, send back the one that doesn't fit you."

"What does this run for? Two hundred?"

"Three-fifty," Chelsea says with a grin. "But you're my...sister...so of course there's no charge. All I ask is that you give a positive review on the website. Those add up and I get more sales."

There is a knock on the door then and a doctor pops her head in. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she says as two nurses follow her. "But the babies need to be placed in their cribs for proper relaxation, and I need to have a word with you, Officer Torrance."

"Of course," I say, watching Chelsea making a move to leave. "No, it's all right, you can stay," I tell her. "She's my sister," I tell the doctor.

"That's quite all right, then," the doctor replies. "Well, as I'm sure you recall, you experienced some blood loss, so we asked a family member to donate for you. It was a perfect match—you have a wonderful mother."

I nod. "Yeah, I guess. My biological mother... Please, I don't want to see her. She can't see my kids. I don't really talk to her..."

"I don't understand," my doctor said.

I blinked. "Excuse me?" I ask.

"Your biological mother was here during the birth, Officer Torrance."

I shake my head. "That's impossible. The woman that was here was my aunt by marriage and my mother by adoption..."

"The blood work showed a maternal female match to you."

The door opens and I see Edythe standing here, her gaze haunted. She steps inside, and says, "Could all of you give us a minute, please?"

After everyone has filed out, Edythe takes Chelsea's seat. "Honey, I think you and I need to have a talk."

"You think so?" I demand. "What's going on?"

"I met your... Henrietta, when she was very young," Edythe replies, reaching out to take my hand. "She wanted to have a baby, and I was money-hungry at the time, so I took her pay-off to donate an egg. Lincoln had given her some of his sperm to fertilize the egg, and then Henrietta was implanted with the egg. Henrietta soon discovered her pregnancy..."

"Wait, stop!" I cry out, pulling my hand away from her.

"Honey..."

"What are you telling me?!" I demand then, my voice shaking.

"I'm telling you that your father and I are a 99.9% match," she replies. "I'm your biological mother, and Henrietta adopted you as a baby."

"When did you...?"

"Today," she replies. "Honestly, Lincoln and I—we neither of us had any idea. I am so sorry, sweetheart."

I shake my head, digging my nails into the rather flimsy fabric of the hospital blanket. "Not as sorry as Henrietta's going to be," I whisper.