Being married to Owen never felt wrong, it just felt like something I needed to do at the time. Not just for me, but for Alexandrine as well, for I always envisioned having the perfect, two-parent family everyone wants. I guess I was worried that if I didn't move out of my parents' house during my pregnancy—while subsequently keeping it hidden from the both of them—that they would ultimately tear her from my arms and make me give her up for adoption. Of course, that didn't happen, and while I think certain things could've been handled differently, I always thought I'd made the right decision for myself...

"Working hard or hardly working?" Carisi asks from behind the wheel, as the windshield becomes more and more splattered with unseasonal rain. "Hey, earth to Leia! You still with me?"

I snap out of it immediately, hand on my gun. "What's wrong?!" I demand, and nearly throw my arm across his front. "Are we being shot at?! Where are they?! I need to know if we're surrounded!"

"Hey, take it easy," Carisi says, managing to ease my arm from off of him as he puts his foot on the gas again as the traffic light changes. "We're halfway there now, Leia—it's all good. Breathe with me, okay? Breathe."

I nod then, vigorously, trying to get the flow of my breath to match my heart rate as best as possible. "Breathing—right. Breathing's good..."

"Thought I lost you there for a minute," Carisi says with a smile. "You doing okay there now?"

I slump back against the seat and sigh. "I'm not-not okay," I say, taking my other arm by the wrist and peeling my fingers methodically off my gun. "It's just a lot to take in right now..."

"What is?"

I nibble at my bottom lip. "Sonny, you're a traditional guy..."

"Yeah?" he asks.

I turn towards him slightly. "Well... When you and Amanda were together, you're the one who ended up proposing to her, right?"

"Yeah, I was," Carisi confirms. "We were very much in love. Funnily enough, she did make me take her ring shopping right after the proposal..."

"Was it just really spontaneous or something?" I ask. "Did you not have a ring when you asked her to be your wife?"

Carisi chuckles. "No, I had a ring. It just wasn't her style."

"Oh," I say, nodding. "She wanted a bigger diamond didn't she?"

Carisi's brow puckers. "No, not exactly..."

"Well, don't beat yourself up," I say, patting his shoulder ever so slightly as we go through another intersection. "It's not so unusual that a girl wants her husband-to-be to switch out the ring. I was just lucky enough to know what Kassandra's dream ring was and whatnot..."

"No, that wasn't it either," Carisi replies. "Amanda wanted a ring with a pearl as the center stone, in silver, all surrounded by diamonds."

"And Jesse?" I ask, mentioning Amanda's daughter. "What did she want out of all of this?"

"To call me Daddy-Sonny," Carisi tells me, affection in his voice. "And to be the flower girl on the day of."

"Did she get that?" I ask. "Did Jesse get what she wanted?"

"Sure, then," Carisi says. "We can't always get what we want, Leia. It's better you know that now..."

I blink then, confused. "Sonny... You're not telling me what I think you're telling me, are you?"

Carisi turns to look at me as we're stopped at yet another traffic light. "And what if I am?" he asks.

I shake my head. "I just..." I slump back against the seat, fully processing it. "You just put on a happy face because you were still married to Amanda, didn't you?" I ask, my tone quiet. "You seldom drink..."

Carisi lowers his eyes, gripping the steering wheel. "True."

I nod to myself, and I can't bring myself to look at him completely. "So, what you're saying is... You tried to make your marriage to Amanda work, based on you're being Catholic... But you really...?"

"Yeah," Carisi says quietly. "Yeah. I wanted to be with your mom. I saw the opportunity when we were in Texas together. Normally I wouldn't have done anything about it, but we were both blitzed out of our minds... I guess what I'm trying to say is, I only threw myself one-hundred-percent back into my marriage with Amanda when it became clear that your mom and dad were definitely getting back together..."

"Would you have done it any other way?" I ask.

Carisi presses his toe against the gas pedal again and we drive out into the intersection, closer and closer to Harlem. "I would've liked to have known Fin more," he confesses. "Other than that?" He shrugs. "Who can say what would be better at this point?"

I nod, accepting that as a form of an answer before turning to look out at the abundance of rain again.

. . .

I remember being so head over heels in love with Owen, back when I believed that it was the only option my life had in store. He always said I looked the most beautiful when I was pregnant; of course, given the momentary resentment I felt during our marriage breakdown, I thought it was because I'd be less willing to get into bed with him. Now, I saw it as a reflection period, although, of course, it was all different, back when I was living the façade of what so many women believed was "it".

My weeks at rehab only went smoothly because of Kassandra; I would awake after what should have been soothing night sleeps, drenched in sweat, after having dream after dream about her. I thought it was a side effect of withdrawal from the alcohol, as well as seeing Kassandra as my heroine, so to speak. As my heroine, I thought the dreams I was having were completely normal, in that they mainly involved us sitting and talking, as we usually did. As time went on in the clinic, I found myself only wanting to have one-on-one sessions with her; I knew that I had to get my compassion back by listening to other people's issues with alcoholism or drug abuse, but it wasn't that easy to do.

"And that's when I realized I had to do something," said Ruth Claymoore, a woman who was raised by her white mother, while her mixed heritage father, Silas, had left the family. "I blamed my father for so long because I thought it was all his fault. My mother never kept alcohol in the house, so I automatically assumed it didn't come from her side of the family." She brought up one leg close to her chest, nibbling on her bottom lip, slightly thicker than the upper one. "I guess I didn't realize at the time that my mother was in recovery herself; I had everything—she worked as a marketing executive for this carpet company." She smiles a little then, as tears are brought to her eyes. "She was so compassionate about math, and it killed her that I didn't have that enthusiasm. She tried to convince me to give up painting, but I just couldn't. I took up a job at sixteen as a junior tour guide for the local art museum in Detroit—where I was born and raised—and I just felt so much like myself... That's when I met Clark Breckenridge and he was everything I wanted..." She stops for a moment, almost as if reflecting on her misdeeds as a young woman.

"Go on, Ruth," says the group leader, Sadie Bentley, a kind woman in her thirties who had received her PhD as an eighteen-year-old. Her eyes are blue and kind and her skin resembles sun-kissed beach sand. "Tell us a bit more about Clark as a person. Was he someone older?"

Ruth nods, hunching her shoulders—she's insecure. "Yeah. Yeah, I met Clark just after my eighteenth birthday—his dad was the current owner of the museum and Clark took it over when he turned thirty... He said I was beautiful and said that he loved how my eyes looked like rare onyx beads... He would become lost in my skin tone and always attempted to come up with a name for its color. I continued working on college and showed him my portfolio, and he was so impressed that for my twenty-first birthday, after I graduated, he gave me a wing of the museum for my own show. Everything was coming up roses; because I'd gone to school on a scholarship—because, let's face it, my mother wouldn't have paid for me to attend art school, even if it was Cranbrook Academy of the Arts—I had no debts. During my wing opening, two wonderful things happened... Watson Lamonia, an art gallery owner—coast-to-coast—told me he liked my work and wanted to set me up with my own space. I got the loan from the bank and was allowed to pick any property I wanted, and I did..."

"What was the other wonderful thing that happened?" asks Charlene Bradford, another member of the group.

Ruth squares her shoulders, and says what anyone who's halfway decent about knowing what a plot point will be in any kind of film, book, or play. "Clark asked me to marry him," she replies.

"And then what happened?" Sadie asks gently.

"I said 'yes'," Ruth replies. "Why wouldn't I? I was in love with him."

"It's just on and on with her!" I raged quietly to Kassandra during our therapy session the following day. "It's so boring—it seriously sounds like a cautionary tale that's somehow required reading in the eighth grade..."

Kassandra raises her eyebrows. "That response surprises me."

"Why?" I demand, turning back to her, my hands on my hips, my pacing officially interrupted. "Why is it so surprising that I don't give a damn about Ruth Claymoore and her poor me life?!"

Kassandra shuts her book and, effectively, her case notes. "It's just that you seemed like you were a much more compassionate person, Leia," she says quietly, her perfectly arched eyebrows narrowing in concern.

I sigh, sinking back onto the couch. "Somebody should sue me then," I mutter, my tone bitter. "Gawd, what's wrong with me?" I demand of myself, leaning forward and putting my head into my hands.

Kassandra gets to her feet and moves to sit beside me; she places a hand on my shoulder, and I feel my skin prickle immediately at her touch, although I just manage to keep my cool. "Tell me what's really wrong here, Leia. Don't you want to talk about it?"

I bite my lip. "I guess I just saw a little of myself in Ruth, you know?"

"Because her husband was an addict, who plied her with alcohol and drugs, or because the marriage failed?" she asks, a trickle of what I soon realized was hope entering her eyes.

"No," I reply, hating myself for causing the fire in her eyes to die. "No, because I don't know who my birth father is." I lean back against the couch again, the green wool irritating my skin and causing me to stiffen in discomfort. "I mean, do I want to know who he is? Sure. But... I don't know. I think there's a few things holding me back..."

"Like rejection?" Kassandra asks, opening her notes again.

I nod. "Yeah. That. And then potentially anger from one or both my parents and the accusation that I wasn't enough for either of them..."

Kassandra nods. "Well, being upfront and honest is always a good policy," she puts in gently.

I scoff. "Yeah, and look where I ended up, by being the opposite?" I say, and the question hangs between us, in an uneven balance.

. . .

"Leia."

I turn at Carisi's voice, straightening up in my seat. "Yeah?"

"We're here," he announces, pulling the car into park and getting out of the car. He stands on the sidewalk in the rain, not bothering to move back under the awning, and just waits for me. "You good?" he asks.

I nod, slamming the door behind me and moving after him. "Yeah. Fine. Do you remember where exactly it is where we're going? She described the crossways but couldn't give us the exact address..."

"Close to the Harlem River—just around this corner," Carisi replies patiently. "It's sick what these people do—pimping out children to the highest bidder with no regard to the law..."

"Or common decency, or the children's feelings on the matter," I reply bitterly as we walk around the corner, the rain splattering down onto our raincoats. "You think they'll be waiting in an alley—like an ambush?" I hiss at Carisi then, and proceed to throw out my arm to stop him.

Carisi stops dead, nearly slipping on the rain-covered sidewalk. "Never thought of that," he mutters, lowering his hand towards his holster. "What do you suggest, then Leia?"

I bite my lip, becoming momentarily distracted by the rain rather unceremoniously pounding down on my hood. "Don't give away your weapon, for one thing," I say in a hiss at him. "You know as well as I do that certain gangs favor guns, whereas other prefer knives. There's no way of knowing which territory we're walking into in any case... You called the Harlem SVU didn't you?"

"Your mom wired them just before we left, while you were saying your goodbyes to Kassandra," Carisi replies in affirmation. "She sent them our coordinates and let them know the general area. She gave them my car GPS signal and they were supposedly right on our tails from the opposite direction..." He raises his eyes upwards, through the rain, as two people come towards us from down the street, each wearing nondescript raincoats. "The code word today was eggplant, although I don't know why they would choose something so distracting..."

"Only because you're Italian," I say, giving him a wry smile.

The two men on the opposite side of the sidewalk come into our midst, and the senior of the two steps forward, closer to us, ever so slightly, a tight smile locked onto his face. "Code word?" they ask, catching the glimpse of our badges, slightly hidden beneath the edge of our raincoats.

"Eggplant," I say without hesitation. "Color of the day?"

"Bronze," says the other police officer. "Detective Alex Remington, this is my partner, Sergeant Isaac Alden."

"Pleasure to meet you gentleman," Carisi replies. "I'm Lieutenant Dominic Carisi—call me Sonny. This is my partner, Detective Leia Beckett."

"Beckett?" asks Sergeant Alden, looking me up and down for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. "You're Captain Beckett's daughter?"

"Her oldest, yeah," I reply. "Nice to meet you both. Thanks for letting us invade your jurisdiction—this'll mean a lot for a young girl who feels really alone and scared right now."

"Well, you can have them as soon as they're processed," Sergeant Alden replies with a tight smile. "As soon as they get sentenced, we want them back. We have a laundry list of potential crimes for them as well."

"Not a problem," Carisi replies. "We'll give them a hell of a time before you get them, as long as you're willing to return the favor."

"No problem," Detective Remington says.

"Great," I say, turning and walking down the alley, the three men of various ranks at my heels. "Let's waste these sons of bitches."

. . .

This twin XL bed takes a bit longer than I would've liked to really get used to, and believe me, having had a queen bed since high school, it took days if not a full week to do so. The very fact that it was my therapist that was keeping me up at night was a new sensation entirely. It was much easier with Kassandra than it had ever been with Owen; I knew this was likely due to the fact that Kassandra was not in a place to judge, rather, to help me on the road to recovery.

Morning came at long last after fading in and out of sleep for a miserable seven and a half hours. I went down to breakfast, ordering a specialty omelet with a couple sausage links and potatoes. I next went to the smoothie bar, requesting an acai smoothie with an energy protein boost to help me get throughout the day, with granola as some extra fiber content. I went to my typical table by the window, the sun creeping up past the trees, trying not to make it obliterate my vision entirely as I stirred the contents of my smoothie.

"I soon realized that love wasn't enough to sustain the union," Ruth Claymoore said later that morning in group therapy. "Clark and I had a good five years before things changed completely. Our twin sons, Cornelius and Angus, had been born in our second year of marriage, and I had another baby on the way..." Ruth hesitates, wiping the tears from her eyes before continuing. "The fact that I was working inside the home and Clark was busy expanding the museum to Chicago seemed like a good business venture... I guess I just wasn't on my guard about things I should've been," she says quietly, rolling her shoulders. "It was when Clark's assistant Gianna called me to warn me that Clark was having an affair that finally broke me..."

"Who was the affair with, Ruth?" Sadie asks patiently.

"Scarlett Sutcliffe, the property owner of the historical building in Chicago that Clark wanted for the new museum," she replied. "Scarlett was a fourteenth great-granddaughter of Baron Edmund Sutcliffe, a landowner in England who was an anti-slave member of the peerage in the 1690's—a revolutionary for the time. It was when I found out that Scarlett was heading the organization that I didn't even bat an eye—genuinely and foolishly thinking that Clark's womanizing ways were behind him..."

"What happened?" I asked then, surprised that the question had escaped my lips at all, and that I was genuinely curious about Ruth's story.

Ruth blinked, surprised that I'd said anything at all, yet not displeased. "Well, I confronted Clark about it, and I was shocked when he didn't deny it. I left one night while he was still in Chicago, going as far away as I could get—which just so happened to be to New York. Clark found us and he...he..."

"It's okay, Ruth. Remember, we're in a safe place," Sadie said gently.

"Clark beat me and raped me," she replies. "He took the kids, leaving me alone in that apartment... I lost the baby," she said quietly, her vision eliminated by the sudden onset of tears. "It was a girl... I named her Zara Rowena Claymoore—because there was no way I would give her the name of the man who murdered her—and buried her. Then I took up drinking... Clark sent me paperwork for divorce and promised me that he wouldn't file kidnapping charges if I signed over custody to him and to Scarlett, who was now his fiancée..."

"You didn't consent, did you?" Olivette Winston, aghast.

"Of course I did—I didn't want to go to prison for life," she replies. "I was too broken to fight, so I didn't... Things changed after ten years, when I got my own gallery and met Peregrine Carlton, who encouraged me to get sober. I entered rehab after dating him for three years. Now we're engaged, and I only have a few weeks left. I'm proud to be almost three months sober. I don't even recognize the woman in photographs before now... I'm just me now," Ruth says, a small smile on her face, twisting the diamond ring on her hand, as the whole of the room—me included—applauds her. "And maybe, just maybe, one day soon, I can see Angus and Cornelius again... I just hope they'll forgive me..."

"The will," I say, instantly. "Or, at the very least, they should. I hope they do," I finish lamely.

Ruth smiles. "Thank you," she replies.

I nod, suddenly feeling like a talking doll on display. "You're welcome," I reply, my tone stilted in awkwardness and uncertainty.

. . .

I barely glance at the rain-slicked brick walls around us of the alley, and instead find myself look for any forthcoming false moves from the gang members we were searching for. I turn my head halfway, and Carisi smiles and nods at me, as if to say, I got your back, which sends relief washing through me. I feel my hand twitch as I want to grab my gun and kick down the door, but we are in Sergeant Alden and Detective Remington's territory now, and I know full well that we have to abide by their rules at all times.

I shuffle to the side then, allowing Alden to have at the door first; the case may be mine and Carisi's, but Alden had seniority here. Alden slowly and silently withdrew his gun from its holster, Remington at his side, before nodding at me and Carisi to have their backs. It was their call, and now the time had come for the appropriate reckoning for these no-good men. And just like that, Alden and Remington lift their legs and splinter the old, water-damaged, wooden door in front of us. Its nails, barely holding it down on one side, are rusty from the rain and moisture, due to a lack of awning, and the door gives way with ease. I barely have a moment to comprehend the shoddy manufacturing of the thing—that must've been generations older than me—now turning into halfway decent plywood as Alden screams aloud.

"Go, go, go!" he screams, and Remington and Carisi are just behind him, with me bringing up the rear.

"Simon Markham! Johnny Townsend!" I scream, putting on the most badass, no-nonsense voice I can manage to get out, despite my distraction and lack of sleep. I feel the rawness of my throat as we step into the place, which reeks of cheap, stale beer and vinegar—heroin, I know immediately. Even when my mother and father would have our house cleaned professionally once a month, I found that the smell of vinegar would make my stomach turn. Forcing the bile down my throat, I step deeper and deeper into the drug den, inadvertently smashing already broken beer bottles with my shoes.

"Markham! Townsend!" Carisi says, his voice far tougher than mine. "Come out with your hands up! Both of you!"

"We know you're here!" Remington puts him, sounding more intimidating than his innocent face would have you believe.

"Out here now!" Alden says, and, finally, we hear the tell-tale squeaking of an old door before the creaks of shoddy floorboard.

Footsteps—two pairs of them—come reluctantly out from a back room, and it is then that I know that these are the men we're looking for. They stand there, almost momentarily frozen at the notion that they're surrounded by three men and a woman, and look completely bewildered. I wondered then if the door we broke down was the only way out, and then I believed that there weren't any windows in the back, or, at least they were too small to squeeze through.

"Hands where we can see them!" Alden says, and they comply instantly. "Now, which one of you is Simon?"

"Me," says the guy on the left, his voice like he got the wind knocked out of him, and I know he is frightened. Simon couldn't have been more than twenty-one or twenty-two, and my heart when out to him for getting mixed up in this lifestyle so, so young. He had dirty blonde hair, which was sticking to his forehead—he was dripping in sweat. He looked like a fair-haired Jim Sturgess type, minus the British accent, and his silver eyes stood out to me most of all, beneath his hair; they were so pale for his ruddy complexion.

"Hands where we can see them," Remington says, and steps forward to haul Simon away from there and out the door.

Simon comes willingly, breaking down completely as he is walked towards the only exit. "I'll tell you everything," he weeps. "Just please help me..."

Johnny's dark eyes alight instantly in betrayal at Simon's willingness to come clean just like that. His head is shaved, and he looks Hispanic or Latino, and his teeth are stark white against his thick lips. With his teeth bared in anger, Johnny is shaking all over in a moment of pure fury. "You goddamned traitor!" Johnny says, and proceeds to fumble in his pocket.

"Hey, hey, hey! Hands up!" Carisi says.

"Gun... Gun!" Alden says.

It happens instantly—all in a span of a few seconds—but time all seems to become a separate entity, as it is suddenly slowed down. Both Carisi and Alden are loudly shouting for Johnny to put his gun down, but it doesn't do any good. Johnny pulls out two guns from his pockets—one for each hand—and points them at Carisi and Alden, pulling the trigger.

"Stop!" I scream, my voice shattering through the muted air as I dive for Johnny as quickly as I can. I tackle to him to the ground, using all my strength to hold him down and keep him there. I punch his head in, and, while bruised, he will live and, thankfully, he is knocked out cold. I get to my feet, turning him over, handcuffing him and lifting him up almost effortlessly—he couldn't have been more than a hundred and twenty pounds; the drug use had taken over completely. "Carisi, Alden, we'd better..." I begin, turning, which is when I see Alden seeing to Carisi, who has a gunshot wound to his abdomen. "Sonny!" I scream, my vocal chords feeling as if they will shatter from the impact. "No..." I say, dropping my grip on Johnny and running over.

"He'll be fine—the trajectory just knocked him out..."

"Call it in!" I scream at Alden, glaring at him. "For god's sake—you're not a medical doctor! For all we know, he could go into shock! Call it in!" I scream, my voice breaking as I cradle Sonny's head in my arms. "Sonny," I say, gently slapping his cheek. "Come on... You can't go out like this..."

"SVU Harlem—this is Sergeant Isaac Alden, Badge Number 5427. We're here at West 154TH Street—officer down. Repeat, officer down, requesting backup pronto, do you hear me?!"

"We all hear you loud and clean, Sergeant Alden. Paramedics are already en route," says the operator on the other end of the walkie.

. . .

Getting through rehab wasn't the easiest thing I've ever done, nor was it the hardest thing. After that, everything seemed to change; because I wasn't looking down the other end of a bottle for seventy-five percent of the day, I had more time to focus on Alexandrine, and my future. I had a new lease on life, and I wasn't just about to give it up.

For two solid years, Kassandra and I hung out as friends, and I was able to come to her for advice if I ever needed it. We were quiet about the body language I'd displayed during our therapy sessions, which many an outsider would describe as inappropriate, but it never came up in conversation. Kassandra was especially fond of Alexandrine, and it was wonderful to see them together. Alexandrine warmed up to her immediately, and it warmed my heart to see the positive interactions between them. Even Owen liked Kassandra, and he never begrudged me my time with her. The way he saw it, Kassandra had helped save my life, and had gotten on back on track towards our careers, motherhood and fatherhood, and our marriage. In his book, mind you, it was also great to discuss certain medical care strategies between them, and they would talk about such things for hours and hours on end.

Kassandra was especially helpful to me in looking over Alexandrine for hours on end when I did my work in police academy. After my passing, and me being a beat cop on the streets of New York, she and Cosmo would trade off in watching my preciously precocious daughter, who never ceased to delight anyone. While I had my work, my daughter—who was now five and positively delighting her teachers in school for six hours a day as well—I felt a little less guilty about working so much because of all this. Cosmo, Kassandra, and I took this opportunity for when Owen had a rare night off from his residency at Mercy Hospital to go out for some fun, and the both of them considerately did not drink in front of me.

Three more years went by and time came to a standstill again in the summer, just after Alexandrine had finished the third grade. When the discussion between Owen and I was opened about having further children, it was only natural to begin trying to expand our family. I confirmed my pregnancy in November, and Owen nor I could have been happier at this notion that more children would come from our marriage. When I told my parents, the reaction was the same, as were my brothers and sisters. Even Cosmo and Ethan had wonderful things to say about it, and when I figured out the proper way to explain what was going to happen to Alexandrine, I initially believed that everyone would be happy for us.

I invited Kassandra over one afternoon that I had off work, and when Owen had to go into the hospital. It was a weekend, and Alexandrine was out on the back patio doing her homework. Kassandra came at the correct time and we embraced before I put the kettle on and situated her in the living room with a plate of crudité before her and waited for the water to boil. Once it did, I put out our favorite tea cups and placed them onto a tray, after pouring the boiling water into a tea pot, which was full of tea bags. I placed the cream and sugar holders onto the tray as well along with a plate of cookies, and brought them out into the sitting area.

"Smells lovely," Kassandra complimented as I set the tray down. "Did you bake those cookies?"

"I did," I replied, nodding out to where Alexandrine was sitting. "How do you think I got her to sit out there quietly doing her homework?"

Kassandra laughed. "An incentive, or as a healthcare professional would call it—bribery."

I raised my eyebrows in mock anger. "Are you suggesting that I bribed my own daughter, Kassandra?"

"Of course not," she replies as I pour her tea. "Well... Maybe a little," she admits as she proceeds to add sugar to the hot drink. "But it was for a good cause, so I don't think negativity will come out of it." She pours some milk into her tea, stopping halfway so as I'll have enough for me. "Where's Cosmo? Will he be joining us?"

I shake my head. "No, Cosmo and Ethan went away for a long weekend," I reply, waving it away. "Some anniversary or other."

Kassandra nods, stirring her tea. "I see," she comments.

I set down my tea after preparing it and smile, contented. "I just... I don't know. I called you over to tell you something..."

Kassandra smiles. "You look happy..." Suddenly her face darkens. "What is it, Leia? Are you all right?"

I nod. "Of course—everything's fine."

She breathes a sigh of relief. "Oh, good..." Her eyes raise ever so slightly, so as they lock with mine. "What are you telling me, Leia?"

I smile at her again. "I'm pregnant," I reply.

Kassandra nearly drops her tea cup before returning it safely to her saucer, although her hands don't stop shaking. "I— What?! Pregnant?!"

I nod, ignoring her shocked outburst as merely surprise. "Yes. We just found out last week. We've been trying for almost six months—"

Kassandra looks up to see that Alexandrine is shut outside, before her eyes wet with tears and she looks away from me. "I... I thought..."

"What?" I ask, utterly confused.

"Leia... I thought you were using this period to break away from Owen... And now this pregnancy changes everything..."

"Break away from Owen?" I demand, incredibly shocked at her. "Why would I break away from my husband? I love him!"

Kassandra shakes her head before grabbing her purse and getting rather shakily to her feet. "I can't do this," she says, moving as quickly as possible out of the living room.

"What?!" I demand, getting up and immediately going after her. "Kassandra—can't do what? I don't understand!"

She turns around to face me, shaking her head as tears flow down her cheeks. "I love you," she says, reaching behind her and opening her door. "So unless you're telling me you're going to leave your husband and be with me, I can't be around you now—not for a while, anyway," she says, opening the door and slamming it shut behind her.

. . .

"BP 145/90," says a paramedic as they check Carisi in the ambulance en route to Mercy Hospital. "Upgrade to 'Priority One'. He's in significant distress—I need more oxygen..."

I am sitting on a makeshift seat just beside Carisi, just watching silently as the paramedics and EMT's work to do their job. I am just silently watching as they attempt to save him; they don't ask me anything, and I am steadfastly aware of their conversation to offer anything they may need. I am stiff as I get to my feet as we arrive at the hospital, walking in with him, but am barred from entering the surgery room. I am relieved when people are already there—Alden or Remington must've called somebody.

"Liv!" I say, my voice filled with relief when I see her standing there, and collapse into her arms, not wanting to be anywhere else.

"It's okay—it's all okay," she assures me, patting my back. "Wait... Leia..." She pulls back from me and looks me over. "Leia...?" she asks, and I suddenly see that my vision is blurry and I can't see straight. "Doctor!" she yells, trying to keep a good grip on me.

"Liv... What's happening?!" I scream aloud then, my knees buckling, officers rushing forward to catch me before I hit the floor, bright lights, nothing, nothing, screams... Never stopping. I feel my heart threatening to leave my chest as I struggle back to the surface; it is almost as if I am drowning. "Save...me. Let me be saved!" I moan, struggling again as I am forced down; the blackness has taken on a life of its own, and its threatening to return.

Nothing...nothing...

Darkness...

...nothing...

. . .

That sound of a heart monitor makes me want to scream as I think about how utterly cliché it all is as I regain consciousness. Eyes fluttering, refusing to see momentarily as they are blinded by the lights overhead. I raise my eyes all around me, and see Olivia standing over my bed, relief flooding her dark eyes as she sees me coming to. She offers me a cup of water, which I take eagerly, the frozenness of it saturating my throat with ice.

"Thanks," I say quietly. "Ow..."

"Careful," Liv warns. "You're going to be all right."

"What happened to me?" I whisper, recalling blood—so much blood... Not Carisi's blood, I remind myself, my blood. "Where's my mom? And where's Kassandra? I want them here..."

Olivia sighs, gripping the counter nearby my bed. "Your mom is answering questions to the press, and they have Kassandra on air as well as your significant other pleading for other gang members to come forward—or their arrests, at the very least." She rolls onto the backs of her feet for a moment, thinking. "I heard about the engagement, by the way—congratulations."

I nod. "Thank you... But what happened, Liv? Tell me...please."

She looks around, almost as if the press could come barging in at any moment, and she doesn't want them to know... "Leia, did you know you were pregnant?" she asks me softly.

I shake my head. "No. No, that's impossible. I didn't... Owen and I hadn't had sex since February, before I found out about the affair..."

Olivia looks uncomfortable then, almost as if she feels compelled to ask me the next question. "Is it possible that Kassandra is assigned male at birth?"

I vehemently shake my head. "No!" I cry out. "I've met her family—her parents and siblings... They would've said... And I've known her for years. It would have come up, Liv..."

She nods. "And when did you two...?"

"Late February," I admit, feeling like a rat. "It all happened so quickly..."

Olivia sighs, unwilling to comment on that aspect of it. "The doctors confirmed the fetus had to have been at least five months or twenty-one weeks. You weren't carrying that far out, which is why the doctors didn't suspect. That, and you're with Kassandra..."

"Owen's then," I say, shaking all over again. "Was it...? What was...?"

"They said it was a boy," she confirms.

"Can I see him?" I ask, my voice breaking.

"I can ask, but I can't make guarantees, you know," she says, completely sympathetic for me. "You didn't...? You didn't know?"

I shake my head then, feeling terrible. "No..." I whispered.

"You were incredibly brave today," Olivia tells me. "You took a bullet for Alden and sustained a shot to your abdomen and shoulder..."

"Did that cause it?" I asked quietly.

Olivia sighs. "Could have, but the doctors likely thought it was preeclampsia that ultimately caused it to..."

She doesn't finish and I don't ask her to. She leaves me alone as I turn away from the door. I wish NO VISITORS signs with NO QUESTIONS or NO EXCEPTIONS were still the norm nowadays. All I wanted was to go into a fetal position, pull the blankets up over my head, and to not escape the darkness for a long time. I didn't even know the baby, and now I would never know him. And even though I may not get to see him, I decided then and there to have a proper funeral for him, and to give him a beautiful name.

"Oliver Lincoln Beckett-Torrance," I whispered to the darkness. "I love you," I said before the medication that was likely going through my veins put me into a hardly blissful slumber.