I turned eighteen approximately two and a half weeks later, and thankfully I wasn't showing yet. My mother decided that we would be going to the Bronx to visit our great uncles who were a restaurateur and a doctor respectively for Thanksgiving weekend, but I managed to beg off the trip. Jensen and Fairfield were going with my parents, while Thompson would be off with his family for the weekend. I was left to my own devices on that first afternoon, but a plan was then set in motion for the rest of the time I had the house to myself.

After I was sure that my parents, Jensen and Fairfield, and my siblings wouldn't be running back home, I called Owen and told him that the coast was clear. He arrived shortly thereafter, with his car, and soon we'd gotten all my important things into the back of my vehicle and his, and soon we were off to the races. As I followed him on the most direct highway back to his apartment in New York, all I could think about was my parents' homecoming.

There was a note tacked to the fridge with a magnet, which explained that Owen and I were in love and that he and I were going to be together and to live together and there was nothing that anyone could do to stop us. I'd been sure to authorize that my parents' names wouldn't be on my various bank accounts anymore, so money would continue to be a constant—until they decided to stop putting money into the account, that is. Owen told me not to worry, that our baby would be well-provided for, and that we would be able to continue to go to school, given that we'd bought all our books in advance and that the education itself was all on a scholarship.

I was shocked to see that Owen had already done some shopping; he definitely knew me well as a person, and it was clearly represented in the new décor. I was touched by this lovely gesture, and vowed to think of some way to thank him as soon as I could. I went to use the bathroom as soon as we brought the last of my things upstairs, and my jaw dropped to see that, in the little caddy beside the toilet, were a bunch of parenting books. I found I was surprised all over again; sure, Owen had said he'd be on board with everything I did, but it was quite another thing to just go through with it, wasn't it? The literature did nothing for me—it was all "How to be a good Daddy" books, so I decided that I would need to go to the bookstore soon to get some books—what else?—for myself.

Owen says he's going to head out after we both have studied for a few hours and tells me that he's going to pick us up some dinner. I cross my fingers that he won't ask me to make him an impressive turkey dinner as I kiss him goodbye. I go to what is now our bedroom and lie down upon the bed, staring up at the ceiling. I feel my eyelids growing heavy as I consider what is going to happen to the both of us over the next few weeks, and months, and years. It's not like I can just magically wish this all away; I chose Owen; I chose to keep the pregnancy; I chose all of this. It is then that, for the first time since I was about fourteen-years-old, that I consider my biological mother—Henrietta—and wonder, in that moment, if she would be proud or ashamed of me...

. . .

Dad's tirade on the day that he and Mom first found out about my condition still echo in my ears as my screams of agony fill the delivery room. Your mother would be ashamed of you, Leia! I heard him shouting in my mind. If she saw you now, she would be so beyond angry at you... I allow my screams to drown out my father's words of anger, five months old...

I remembered it was a week after New Year's when he and Mom had come for a visit. I could tell by our conversations over the last few weeks that they weren't altogether on board with Owen's and my relationship, nor were they pleased with Chelsea for keeping it from them. However, they knew that I was eighteen and that Owen was nearly nineteen, so there was nothing to be done, really.

I wasn't expecting them; I didn't have a class that afternoon, but Owen did, so I was alone in the apartment. I peeked through the spy-hole as I'd been taught to do and immediately felt myself tensing up when I realized who was behind the front door. I quickly made a grab for a sweater of mine hanging up on a peg by the door and pulled it around me before unlatching the door and smiling at them. I greeted them and invited them in, telling them to sit down while I went into the kitchen to get them something to drink.

"Traffic okay?" I ask them casually.

"Fine," my mother replies. "Light. Your father and I took a couple of hours off for lunch to come by and see you."

"I'm sure she figured that out by now, Edythe," my father said, a light chuckle behind his tone.

"Well, it's good to see you," I say, walking into the living room with a glass of iced tea for each of them. "I'd come by more often, but the commute is exhausting and what with all the schoolwork I have to do..." I shake my head, perching in a chair next to the couch, where they sat as I handed over their drinks. "I had no idea that a double major would be so difficult..."

My father nods. "Well, it'll be good to have another lawyer in the family, sweetheart," he says with a smile.

"Henrietta would be so proud of you, Leia, really," my mother tells me.

"She had me pretty young, didn't she?" I ask.

My father nods. "Yes—she was twenty-two. Although by then she'd already built-up her dental practice. She had been in her position for well over two years, due to her graduating from high school at fourteen and college with a Master's Degree at twenty-one. Of course, she was a receptionist throughout high school and became an assistant by her second year of college. She was well-prepared and equipped to take on anything, what with her salary of eight hundred thousand a year, and change, of course..."

"All of course, which went to you," my mother assures me. "The account is set to open for you when you turn twenty-five, although when you're twenty-one, and if you and Owen are married, it will go to you then."

I give a small smile. "Strange how certain trust fund rules are," I muse softly. "Of course, Owen and I are planning on marriage eventually."

"Of course," my mother says, smiling, although my father looks a bit annoyed. "I want you to know that I am here for you every step of the way."

"Thanks, Mom," I reply, "that means a lot..." I sigh. "Owen and I have been together for a while..."

"How long?" my father asks, and I see my mother's eyes glaze over then and then proceed to become preoccupied with some magazines on the coffee table.

I sigh. "The night I broke up with Ulysses, during junior year," I reply, finding that the guilt washed over me immediately.

"You never said why you ended things with him," my father says. "Just a cover story, really, but you never went into detail..."

I bite my lip. "He tried to rape me," I reply. "On school grounds—I left out that part of it. I know it was stupid—you don't have to tell me that. Owen saw the whole thing and told him to get lost but Ulysses wouldn't listen. He beat Owen up pretty bad and I finally managed to drag Owen out of there. I thanked him for helping me and then..." I feel my cheeks heating as I force myself to study the patterns on the used area rug beneath the coffee table—one I had made Owen promise to get rid of.

"I see," my father says. "So... This is why he refused to be adopted?"

I feel the sigh waft through me. "Yes," I reply. "I told him that we could end things and he could get adopted, but Owen was firm. He said that as long as I wanted this relationship, so did he. We both wanted it."

"I see..." My father is quiet for a time, before turning to my mother. "Edythe?" he asks her. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

My mother looks up and, upon feeling her eyes on me, I look up at her. "I knew about it," she said softly.

I grip the arms of the chair I'm sitting in. "What?" I whisper.

"I saw the two of you in the guest house," she tells me. "It was a few months before the adoption and everything... I didn't say anything because I knew that it was already too late..."

"Edythe!" my father admonishes.

"I saw the way you two looked at each other," she continues, ignoring my father's outburst. "It was—is—the way that Lincoln and I look at each other. I wouldn't be so selfish to take that away from you, Leia."

"Edythe, are you insane?!" my father demands. "If anyone—anyone—got word of what they were doing behind closed doors, we could have lost Chelsea! She would have been taken away from us...!"

"Ah, yes, Chelsea," I mutter, leaning back in my seat. "She knew the whole time, you know—about me and Owen."

"Yes, we know, sweetheart," my mother replies.

"Did she tell you that when she found out the only way she'd keep her trap shut is with money?!" I demand.

My father's eyes turn and lock to mine. "I don't believe you."

I whip out my phone immediately and pull up my video voicemail system. They are time-stamped—nobody could tell me that they were faked. I manage to find one of the many I'd saved of Chelsea, for this very purpose. Did I feel bad about ratting out my sister? Not in the slightest.

"Hey, Leia—it's Chelsea, of course you could tell by the person talking to the screen right now," she said into her phone. "Listen, it's about four-thirty on June nineteenth, two-thousand thirty-six. I saw that you weren't at the graduation rehearsal, which is where you promised to meet me to hand over the two-hundred you promised me to keep quiet about you and Owen going to Bobby's party. Well, you know where I live," she says with a laugh. "Give it to me by midnight, or Mom and Dad'll be kicking you out! Love you, sister!" she says, in a voice dripping with sarcasm before the screen goes black.

My father looks shocked. "You're kidding..."

I shake my head, pulling up another video.

"Hey, Leia, Chelsea here," she says. "We're at September of two-thousand thirty-six," she goes on. "Listen, I'm not here to pass judgement or anything like that, but when you ran off and threw up while we were shopping with Mom, and then just up and left, I mean—come on! You're begging for attention here," she said with a scoff behind her tone. "I know you've been throwing up for a couple of weeks now, Leia, and believe me, you're not fooling anyone. I expect a doubling in my payments to keep quiet about you and Owen, and an additional fee to keep quiet about my niece or nephew," she says with an evil smile before waving to all of us on the screen, followed by it turning black.

"Please tell me she's lying—that this is all part of some epic, practical joke," my mother says, her voice begging me.

I sigh and shake my head. "Sorry," I reply. "It's true."

My father immediately gets to his feet, making a grab for my sweater and tearing it off me. "Dammit Leia!" he screamed, getting a good look at me.

"Lincoln!" my mother yelled.

"Dad, stop!" I cry, getting to my feet and walking away from him. "I've made my decision! I am keeping this baby, and nothing you say or do is going to influence my decision!"

"We're leaving," he says, glowering in my direction. "Edythe, let's go," he growls at my mother, walking towards the door. "Your mother would be ashamed of you, Leia!" he thundered in the direction of the front door. "If she saw you now, she would be so beyond angry at you..."

"Lincoln, okay... That's enough," my mother says, crossing the room and putting a hand onto his back. "Let's go." Once he is out the door, she turns back to look at me and gives me a rather sad, pathetic expression. She mouths, I'm sorry before going out the door and leaving me there.

. . .

It was a full two months before my mother saw me again, this time to offer me a set of keys. She offered me—and Owen, and the baby—the penthouse apartment in TriBeCa that she and my father had lived in before they were married. It was certainly enough room for the two of us and a baby, and since they owned it outright, they didn't expect rent. She said that Thompson had agreed to come once every two weeks to help with the cooking, and that Jensen and Fairfield would be on-call for us until other help would be brought in. She also recommended a nanny who would provide us with the utmost discretion.

Owen and I officially moved into the penthouse two weeks later. We found the extra space invigorating, and we immediately set plans in motion for where the nursery would be. We decided on a room at the end of the hallway, along with a generous bedroom attached to it, which was where we decided the nanny would sleep when off-duty.

The interviews commenced within the week, and Owen and I ultimately decided on Cosmo Richardson, a flamboyant, openly-gay gentleman in his late twenties who had childcare experience fifteen years long. Once he passed the background check, we had him move in immediately. It was a bonus that he cooked gourmet meals as a hobby, and had an impeccable memory.

My water broke approximately a week and a half before my due date, and I found that I was more frightened than I initially suspected. Owen and I immediately called for an ambulance which got us there in under ten minutes. He'd texted my parents to let them know what was happening, but it was close to two in the morning, so I had little hope that they were awake. The pain was unbearable but when we streaked through the double doors of Mercy Hospital, all I knew was that a shot in the spine would be a welcome prick.

In an effort to join the modern world, Owen and I had decided not to know the sex of the baby, in order to better raise the baby as gender neutral. Owen, I knew, would be happy with either, but I knew he secretly wanted a boy. He was so keen on decorating the nursery with Yankees and Jets jerseys and other various sports paraphernalia, but I urged him not to waste the money on the off-chance that we were having a girl.

At just after six in the morning, the doctors were urging me to push something that resembled a basketball out of my body. With Owen clasping my hand, and the effects of the epidural worn off, I was screaming at the top of my lungs, with beads of sweat dripping down my face and sticking to my slicked-back hair. Finally, the doctor straightened ever so slightly.

"Come on, Leia," she said encouragingly. "One last big push and then we've got it at last. Come on! Give me a big one!"

I let out a scream and, finally, felt relief as I felt something coming out of me. I then immediately collapsed back against the bed, while Owen kissed me on the cheek and went to cut the cord. I then sat up, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep, but drawn to the mewls which I heard from across the room. I watched the doctors cleaning up the squalling infant and giving the mandatory injections before swaddling the little thing, and proclaiming the little mite at a perfect weight of seven pounds, four ounces.

"What is it?" I managed to get out, my voice hoarse as Owen quickly returned to my side.

"It's a girl, Leia," the doctor told me with a smile, crossing the room and holding her out to me.

Immediately I raised my arms up and took her, the light mewls subsiding almost instantly as I took her in my arms. "Hi, there," I whispered to her, and saw that she looked up at me with the darkest blue eyes I'd ever seen.

"She's beautiful," Owen said softly. He perched on the bed beside me, and was eagerly counting her fingers, although I saw that he sensed it would be rude to count her toes at the moment. "She's so beautiful, Leia..."

"Well, we'll leave you to get acquainted," the doctor said to us with a smile, and gave a nod to the nurses, who moved to leave. "Just let us know if you need anything, or if you've decided on a name for her. We'll be back to check in with you in a little while," she said before leaving us alone.

I felt a smile spread across my face as my daughter discovered my body, and then moved to move the hospital gown aside. She quickly found my swollen breast and then began to eat, her first meal post-utero. "I love her so much already," I told Owen softly, touching the soft raven down on her head.

"Do you have any ideas for a name?" Owen asked. "Do you want to name her after your mother? Your biological mother?"

I shake my head. "No, I don't think Henrietta suits her."

"What do you think suits her?" Owen asked, marveling at the way her eyes moved around the room, trying to get the feel of the atmosphere. "She is as pretty as a picture, as an empress, as... Well, anything, really..."

"An empress," I whisper then, stifling a laugh as Owen reaches out towards her hand, and how she immediately made a move to grab one of his fingers. "She is like a little empress, isn't she?" It is then that I recalled a most extraordinary name in all the reading I'd done as a teenager, and, looking down at my daughter, I thought it was the most beautiful thing ever...

"Have you thought of one?" Owen asked in the lull.

I nodded. "I have, yes. I'd like to call her Alexandrine," I reply, leaning down and kissing her forehead.

"Queen Victoria's first name?" Owen guessed.

I nodded a second time. "Yes. I think her name should be Alexandrine Victoria Torrance," I say, and I note how touched Owen is that I've decided to give her his surname, despite us not being married yet.

"Not Beckett-Torrance?" he asked.

I shake my head. "Doesn't flow off the tongue as nicely as I'd like," I reply. "I think that Alexandrine Victoria Torrance is just fine."

"Shall we give her a nickname?"

I nod. "Certainly not Drina," I reply, shaking my head. "Sandrine sounds lovely, in my book. Of course, it's merely lopping off the first part of the name, however, it still shows off the beauty of it, don't you think?"

"Beautiful," Owen proclaims. "We'll tell the nurses immediately," he says, making sure that her swaddling blanket is tightly wrapped around her.

"You're going to be a wonderful father," I tell him affectionately.

. . .

We managed to return home within a day and I could tell that Alexandrine and Cosmo hit it off almost immediately. He was constantly singing to her various show tunes which made me laugh, although he really was quite good. He also loved Cher and Madonna, and he and I would do duets to entertain the baby. It was all a wonderful experience to be had.

I was taking the summer off, while Owen was working as a janitor in a hospital to get the feel of the whole work environment there. It was nice to have an extra thousand dollars or so to play with, although my mother was able to get us all the basic necessities for babies.

I was quite shocked when she came to see me about two weeks after Alexandrine was born. I'd given Cosmo the day off and Owen was at work, so I was having a quiet day with my daughter. I greeted her at the door with a hug and was pleased to see she had brought yet another stuffed toy for Alexandrine, who was in her bouncy chair in the living room. My mother immediately approached her and picked her up, and, although initially fussy, Alexandrine settled after a moment in my mother's arms.

"She's certainly put on a good amount of weight," my mother said in a rather conversational tone before perching on the couch.

"Yes, she has," I reply proudly.

"Feeding her regularly?" she asks.

I nod. "Yeah—the pump is working great. She takes the bottle like a champ at feeding times and I only have to do it two or three times a week. The pumping, that is," I say.

My mother smiles. "Well, certainly easier now due to your intake of all the necessary prenatal vitamins," she puts in.

I nod. "Yes," I say quietly. "Did you take the day off or something?" I ask in a quiet tone. "Or is something wrong?"

She smiles again at me, although her tone is a trifle impatient, almost as if she hates being questioned at all. "Can't a woman come over to see her daughter and granddaughter without getting the third degree?"

"Of course... You leave Carisi in charge?"

She nods. "I haven't gotten the test results on making captain yet. I'm afraid that the department will think I haven't been a lieutenant for a long enough period in order to make the change."

"I'm rooting for you," I say quietly.

She sighs. "Okay... I do have a reason for coming..."

I straighten up. "If you're here to deliver a message from Chelsea about wanting to see the baby, the answer is still no. Owen and I seem to argue about it once every day, and it's enough now."

My mother shakes her head. "I understand your reasoning, darling," she assures me in a patient voice. "Of course that's not why I'm here."

"Okay," I reply, "then, why are you? Here, I mean."

"I just wonder how ready you and Owen are for all of this," she replies. "I mean, I know it would take a while for your father to warm up to the idea..."

I shake my head. "What are you saying?"

She sighs. "Well, all I'm saying is that maybe you two jumped the gun a bit on this one," she says softly. "Maybe it would be better for everyone if your father and I took Alexandrine and then you and Owen could focus on your studies and not have to worry about parental responsibility..."

I am tempted to yank my daughter away from her. "I know this wasn't Dad's idea," I shoot at her. "Who's was it?"

She looks away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"It was Chelsea's," I reply, my blood running cold from the moment my sister's name left my lips. "She's trying to make it seem like Owen and I are unfit so that she can take the baby and raise it herself, isn't she?" I demand, my voice not rising above a whisper. "Isn't she?!" I cry out, thankful that I don't disturb Alexandrine, who is, by now, half-asleep in my mother's arms.

"Yes," she admits.

"Don't try to keep secrets from me," I tell her, my voice ripping from in between my teeth as I manage to take Alexandrine from her and place her gently back into her bouncy chair. "God knows that you couldn't keep your biggest one long enough for me to move out..."

At once, her eyes snap to mine. "What are you insinuating?!" she demands, her eyes full of fear.

I lock my eyes to hers. "I know about Fin," I reply. "I know everything. Owen and I were in the guest house on the day that you told Carisi that Fin was really his and not Dad's. How could you lie about that?" I demand. "How could you lie to your firstborn son about that? How could you keep that from Dad? Does Dad even know that you slept around while you were married?"

My mother reaches out and promptly slaps me across the face. The sound echoes off the walls of the expansive living room, but thankfully Alexandrine doesn't wake up. She is staring at me, her hand still raised, almost as if she is fully prepared to hit me again, should I say something else out of line.

"You need to leave," I say, and, to show her that I mean it, get to my feet. I block her from attempting to say goodbye to Alexandrine, and she merely walks over to the front door. She steps outside, and is gone.

. . .

"I had a visit from my mother earlier this afternoon," I say to Owen as I watch him changing for bed.

"Oh, yeah?" he asks, running a hand through his freshly-washed hair before coming over to the bed. "What did she have to say?" he asks, giving Alexandrine a kiss before getting into bed.

"She mentioned Chelsea," I mutter, reaching into the mini fridge beside our bed and retrieving a bottle, before Owen hands over our daughter to be fed.

He perks up. "Have you changed your mind?" he asks.

I cock an eyebrow. "About?"

He sighs. "Letting Chelsea see the baby."

Immediately, I feel myself go ridged, and Alexandrine stops feeding, and proceeds to fuss a bit. I manage to get her eating again before looking up at Owen. "No, I haven't changed my mind," I reply in a short, clipped tone. "She may be your sister, Owen, but I'll never acknowledge her as mine. She stole thousands of dollars from me—extortion, which is punishable by law. She could have done twenty years in prison for what she did to me, Owen."

"I can get her to pay you back, Leia," he said patiently.

I shake my head at him. "It isn't about the money, Owen," I reply, desperately wanting him to see reason. "It's about the fact that I need to keep my baby safe from her selfish needs. Chelsea can't just waltz in here like nothing ever happened and demand to be Alexandrine's aunt and all that that entails. What she did was wrong, and I don't trust her."

"So, you don't want her anywhere near Alexandrine?"

I nod at him. "You'd be right," I reply. "I loathe her, Owen. I'm sorry, but it's true, one-hundred-percent. I don't want her anywhere near my baby."

He nods, unsure. "And what if I wanted her near the baby?"

I narrow my eyes at him. "Then we're out of your lives with a snap," I reply. "I go to court and get full custody, and you're out of the penthouse, buddy boy. I'd never say that you're not allowed to see Chelsea—you guys are twins, and you've got a bond that I'll never understand. But I'm not going to trust Chelsea anytime soon, Owen, not now, not ever. Until you understand that..."

"I understand it, Leia."

I sigh. "Good," I reply. "Because I would hate to find out what would happen should Chelsea grow jealous..."

"What?"

I bite my lip. "I'm afraid she'd take her away," I reply.

"Alexandrine?"

I nod. "Yes. My mother said that Chelsea was setting a plan in motion—not in so many words of course, but when I figured out the parameters Chelsea was putting in place, my mother confessed."

"What plan?" Owen demands.

I sigh. "Well, Chelsea plans on maneuvering things so that my parents get custody of Alexandrine," I reply patiently, wrapping up her late-night feed. "She will then take custody, once we are proved unfit to raise her ourselves, and keep her away from the both of us. Although I'm sure she'd find a way to merely label me as the unfit one, thereby allowing you to visit Alexandrine..."

"Chelsea has children, you know."

Immediately my eyes snap to his as he begins putting Alexandrine in her frilly, antique bassinet. "What are you talking about?"

"Chelsea's got PTSD," Owen explained patiently, getting into bed beside me. "I mean... Our biological father, he abused us pretty bad. He'd beat us, and he had a whole ring of teenaged prostitutes."

"Chelsea?" I ask him.

"Chelsea was really young when she became the star of the enterprise," Owen tells me gently. "That is, before our sister left the organization. She was older than we were, and she finally left because she couldn't take the whole sex for pay. Of course I understand where she was coming from—it's a degrading business, Leia, one you couldn't begin to understand unless you're part of it."

"Were you part of it?" I ask gently.

He nods. "I was, starting from when I was around thirteen or so. My father was against anything remotely homosexual, yet if the right guy paid enough for me, he would look the other way to make a quick buck."

"And Chelsea?" I ask.

"Her kids were taken by social services," he replies, detached. "They were placed with families who successfully petitioned to adopt them. The records were sealed and the adoptions were closed. However, when the kids turn eighteen and want to meet Chelsea—that's it. Other than that, Chelsea can't meet them."

"You think that's why?" I ask Owen. "You think that's why Chelsea may want to get her hands on Alexandrine?"

"It could be," he allows.

I turn and stare at my little girl through the darkness of our bedroom. "You're not going anywhere," I whisper to her. "You're our little girl. If anyone tries to take you away, I'll kill them."