"Without further ado, it gives me great, great pleasure to officially open the brand new corporate office of Norman White Public Relations!"

The audience surrounding the new high rise located in the heart of downtown Los Angeles cheers, their clasps and voices molding into one. Reporters came in droves, mostly to set their sights on Giovanni, and study every move he makes in his support of his very, very pregnant wife on this huge day. Over the past two weeks, as the inevitable due date crept closer and closer, we've barely had a moments peace. Some have even camped outside the house, wanting to be the first to report that Martinelli's baby is being born.

Now nearly two months after the shooting, the night that Dixon Routh, decorated cop and hero, suddenly became a monster to the world, the press has found a way to hound us in every sense of the word. It was an explosion of publicity, and overnight, we were the center of all news outlets, all reputable magazines and papers. There were hundreds of guests who recounted the chaos to reporters and paparazzi—some real stories, some fake. And even though both Giovanni and I refused to comment on what occurred that night, it took only a few days and some digging to recover the security footage, which gave the world a play by play of our horror.

I've had to relive it every time I've passed a news stand, a television.

The police found evidence of tampering to the security systems, which ultimately began to explain our difficulty to connect our own devices to it earlier in the evening. Dixon's police cruiser was a few blocks down, parked and packed with enough to back up his claims against me.

And the more I've thought about his rushed words, and that night, and listened to every horrible thing said about him, the more it's sunk in just how sick he had become, and how easily it was for him to manipulate that sickness with malice.

He'd been on a dark path for years now, but never did I think this is what awaited his life. And even reassuring myself on the years I spent trying to make him better doesn't help. It just doesn't. The moment he died, replacing the hate that had become a consistent in my life when I thought of him, was sadness, and disappointment.

I can't stand what that sickness made him become, right from the start of the downfall. I have an endless scrapbook of terrifying memories in my brain that I can pull out at any time, with just the sight of a specific color or shape, or a smell. He's left me so much to overcome, and sometimes it feels impossible.

But it's not.

Especially on days like this I feel it, where the sun is high, and the air is crisp. On days where my friends are close, and my husband is even closer.

"Thank you for coming," I say in an end to the speech, offering a nod to Connor, who slices through the ribbon with oversized scissors in one fair swoop. The applause begins again, and Connor smiles, enveloping me with his arms.

"He'd be very proud of you, Scarlett," he says over the noise, grabbing my arms, holding me at a distance to look at me firmly. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," I murmur, surprisingly emotional. "For taking a chance on me. For everything."

"Not many people are worth investing in...you are. I look forward to our next project together."

I laugh, glancing up at the intimidating building behind us. "Next? How about let's see if this one takes off."

"You're at the height of your career." He begins to back up, to head over to his daughter. "All of this is only the beginning."

Only the beginning.

It's in this moment I'd normally feel a flip inside of me, a strange creeping down my spine, something to make me unsure to accept any of this good in my life. Where I'd think of Dixon, or of Tony and immediately know that to believe the storm has passed is naïve, and unrealistic.

However, Tony was sentenced a month ago. He is finally locked away, unable to do any harm.

Dixon is gone.

And my "father" should know better than to ever attempt to speak to me again. Giovanni made sure of that.

We've successfully beaten the demons, and for once, as Connor walks away, I allow myself to feel the excitement I should feel for the days ahead. It's much warmer in California compared to New York, and I'm not used to the lack of layers yet. Wearing a turtleneck dress that is stretchy enough to accommodate my massive stomach, a scarf and heeled leather boots, I am sufficiently warm.

Ignoring the pestering from the reporters, I turn in search for Giovanni, instantly blushing when I find him waiting. In a custom-made suit, as usual, he stands out like a sore thumb amongst the rest of the onlookers. His gravitational pull brings me to him within seconds. He kisses my cheek chastely, refusing to give the reporters any further insight into our private life.

"Congratulations, baby," he says low, next to my ear.

"Thanks." He helps me down the step off the stage, and behind the pillar, shielding us from the cameras. "When are you going?"

He glances down at the sleek watch I gave him for Christmas, and grimaces. "Now, actually."

"Thank you for coming."

He chuckles, clasping my cheeks. "Wouldn't miss it."

His mouth is warm, and inviting, but the flashes from paparazzi that have found their way to us force us apart. He smiles though, instead of sighing like I do.

"I look forward to working with you, Mrs. Martinelli."

My smile creeps wider as he backs up. "Likewise, Mr. Martinelli."

...

"You know, I'm really glad for all this publicity actually," I say with a grunt, sitting down onto the large couch in my office. Rebecca extends a large present. My stomach against my hand feels stretched to its limit. "It means Giovanni and I may not have to go through the dreaded marriage ceremony after all."

She shakes her head at me, pointedly. "Um, you're having that wedding. I fully plan to be your maid-of-honor. Since you denied me a proper baby shower," she gestures to the small cake on my desk and the array of presents sent over the months that I've refused to open until now, "I get to demand a wedding."

"This is great, Bec. A cake and you. I don't need a bunch of girls, fondling my stomach and trying to make me feel good."

"It's tradition!"

"Which I hate, as displayed by my quick and hasty flight to Niagara Falls."

"These presents aren't even going to be good! Half of them are belated wedding gifts by sponsors and clients. And the other half is for the unveiling—"

I smile, softly. "Bec."

She huffs. "What?"

"This is great. Exactly what I want."

She rolls her eyes, growling rather loudly as she stomps her way out of my office, to inform the office that there is cake left, which will no doubt send them in flocks. I rip open the small envelope on top of a slim box and pull out the card.

Sweetheart,

I know there is a pretty large divide between us now, and I hate that. And the way I treated Norman in the end, and you. I should have been there, through to the end, and I'm sorry...I didn't expect it to be so hard. I'm not writing to ask you for anything, or to forgive me, but I want you to know that I am so happy you can move on with your life. For so long, Dixon haunted you, and your father. He always wanted the best for you.

You are going to be a wonderful mother.

Monica

Her card stuns me—to my core. I stare at the words, finding a link to Norman in them. He's been heavy on my mind over the past month, when it hit me the birth was rapidly approaching. In so many ways, I still feel like a child, even though I'm not. When I think too hard on it, and try to imagine myself packing lunches, or consoling a toddler through a temper tantrum, I begin to think I'm trying to accomplish the impossible.

Giovanni's excited for the day, but I think it's starting to hit him too. After this month, it won't just be us anymore. And I think that's why he's found a way to take more time off work, why he's gone out with me randomly in instances where we don't talk about the baby. Theatre, movies, dinners, walks.

As we prepare for this event, we'll also try to savor this last phase of our lives before, both realistic enough to know this baby will change everything.

Tugging on the ribbon around the box, I pull off the lid, and peek inside. There's a small note. I pull it up, and breathe in deeply, finding a framed picture of a newborn inside of the box. I tear my eyes from the photo, scanning the words she wrote.

I found this going through Norman's things, and thought you should have it. I know he meant to give it to you.

This is from the day you were born. He took it moments before he gave you to your aunt. I was in the apartment with him when he found this picture...he was very sentimental toward the end, would rummage through his things to latch onto memories, as I'm sure you know better than I do. He told me that even in his anger that night; he felt he needed to take it, to remember. But when he realized his mistake in letting you go, he couldn't bear to look at it, and had thought he lost the photo until that day with me. I saw his tears. I saw his regret.

You were very loved, Scarlett, even if you didn't know it.

The baby in the picture is so small, still wrapped in a pink and blue blanket. I was wearing a little cap on my head. My eyes weren't even open yet. It was taken at night.

I don't remove the frame from the box, leaving it lying on my lap.

"They should be running in here momentarily," Rebecca grumbles on her way back into the office.

"There's plenty to go around," I murmur absentmindedly, setting aside the photo for now, until I can prepare myself properly for the emotions that will come with a photograph like that.

"Yeah, yeah. Well, it's your party."

"That it is." I grab onto the hand rest, and pull myself up. The sound of a splash, the sudden warm feeling of water gushing down my legs causes me to freeze in place.

Slowly, Rebecca's eyes travel up from the puddle on the ground, meeting my awed expression.

"Oh, shit," I whisper.

"It's happening!" she shouts, loud enough so the others hear us and takes my arm. "Hey! Call for the car immediately! She's having a baby!"

"It's okay. I'm okay. It's all—"

My uterus tightens quicker than I thought it would, and I stop talking all together. It's a dull pain, an intense cramp, but it hurts enough to frighten me.

"Oh my god," Rebecca says to herself, holding my shoulders as I breathe. "Oh my god. Breathe."

"Get me to a car. Get me to a car!" I say quickly, as soon as I can, my heart racing in my chest. I hope it doesn't get worse. God, why was I so stubborn? Why didn't I read the books?

Michael fills the doorway. "Shit! Is she—?"

"Yes, Michael! Call her husband! Have him meet us!"

"He's not here," I blurt out, unable to dwell on the timing in this particular moment. "He's not here."

"Well, where the hell is he?"

"Correctional facility. Hour away... he's seeing his brother."

"The money-stealing, woman-stealing jerk? Why?"

"Because it helps ease his conscience, I don't know! He said that-that maybe they could repair their relationship if they could sit it out, take the time to work through everything. You know how he feels about family."

"I bet you it was his evil mother, telling him to do it."

I laugh, and regret it. "Oh god, don't make me laugh."

She guides me into the elevator, as the office shouts out well wishes, watching with excitement. This wasn't supposed to happen for another two weeks. I can't believe this is happening.

"I'm going to try to call him." She digs into her pocket, pulling out her phone. I watch her dial, and raise the phone to her ear. It must go to voicemail because she growls.

"Giovanni Martinelli, your wife is in labor. You got her into this, you better be there to get her out of it!"

"Rebecca!" I gasp, eyes wide. "Stop—"

Another contraction.

I reach out for the handrail, sucking in my breath as I feel this one everywhere. "Ah!"

"Oh my god, call me back," she pleads, hanging up.

...

It's hot, so hot.

I hold onto the counter as the contraction rolls through my body, even to my legs. I'm in the drifty, uncomfortable hospital gown, but somehow it's like I'm standing directly under the sun.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I whisper through clenched teeth as I wait for it to pass. Rebecca is outside on the phone, speaking to someone from the prison, trying to find someone to reach my husband.

I've dwelled on his absence quite a bit now. I'm dwelling on all of this.

It passes, and I exhale, closing my eyes, nearly ready to cry, knowing the next one isn't far away. The doctor mentioned the words rapid labor, intensified pain, eight centimeters dilated...none of it sounds pleasant.

I want to do this already. I just want this to be over.

The door opens, revealing the nurse. She watches my noticeable disappointment with zero affect.

"Where is my husband?"

"Your friend is still on the phone, sweetheart. How are the contractions?"

"Fucking bad," I snap, too nervous to be polite.

"Do you want to rethink the epidural? I know you wanted a natural birth...but—"

"Give it to me. Give me anything," I say, impatiently. While I loathed the idea of any substances in my body during delivery, this pain outweighs that by a damn mile. She's just made me sit, which brings along the next contraction. While I bear through it, the doctor walks in.

"Doctor, she's requesting the epidural."

"Demanding," I breathe, crushing her hand. "Demanding."

The doctor, who is as tall as a basketball player, snaps his gloves on. "Well, let's see, Mrs. Martinelli, how much your cervix has extended, because I really don't want to give it to you too close to pushing."

The nurse combs my hair from my face as Rebecca pokes her head in.

"Where is he?" I breathe.

"He's on his way. He's on his way right now," she says, holding up her hands placatingly.

"Well, I have to tell you, you may have a little boy or girl by then," Doctor Harney cuts in with a smile, looking up at me from under the dress. "It's time to start pushing. You are fully dilated. Ten centimeters."

With fear, I look from Rebecca to him. "No, no, no, no. I-I'm not doing this without him. I'm not—"

"When the baby wants out, it wants out, Scarlett. It's time. Miss, are you going to be in the room, or wait in the waiting room?"

"I want my epidural!" I shout over him.

"I'll stay."

"Lori, get her scrubs," he says, pointing. "All right, Scarlett. We're going to move you into position. Place your legs up here on the stirrups." He helps guide my legs onto them. I'm seconds away from true tears.

"I'm scared."

"There's nothing to be scared about. I've got you. We're going to deliver a beautiful, healthy baby. And you'll finally know if you've got a boy or a girl."

I begin to feel the dreaded tightening, and begin to blow in breaths, preparing for the pain.

More nurses begin to enter the room, followed by Rebecca, in scrubs, head to toe.

"We can do this, Scarlett."

...

"I don't want it! I don't want it!" I cry out, dropping my head back onto the bed when the contractions subside enough to breathe. "Oh god."

"It's okay, Scar. It's okay," Rebecca says, patting my face with a damp towel.

"I can't. I can't do this."

"Yes, you can. Breathe. Breathe."

"You're doing great, Scarlett. Not far now."

I'm positive I never want to do this again. It's all I can think about. I want to kill Giovanni. In fact, I'm glad he's not here or he'd feel my wrath. The contractions build within seconds, and pulse throughout my whole body, to the point where I can't feel my legs.

"Eat some ice chips," Rebecca says, but I shake my head, pushing up onto my hands as I feel another one coming on. There's no stopping it.

"Push, Scarlett. Push."

The scream starts as a growl, morphing into a piercing howl, and dies out with the contraction. I push again, desperate, and deflate, blind for a few moments. I blink up at the ceiling, skin burning, and scare myself with thoughts of my own mother, and what Norman said happened to her.

What if I'm like her? What if my body can't take it? What if something goes wrong and Giovanni's not here?

"I want Giovanni," I pant in a panic, tears flooding my eyes to the point where I can't see anything. "I want him!"

"Scarlett, focus. Focus on your breathing."

How can I focus?

I nod, trying to concentrate. I grasp onto the railing, and dig my chin into my chest, struck senseless by pain. So much pain I lose all track of my thoughts. When I open my eyes, slowly, finding it hard, I find Rebecca ogling me in a quiet, private horror, unable to control her initial reaction to this process. I suck in a deep gasps, while the nurse murmurs softly to me, reminding me of breathing exercises I never completed.

I don't know how long it's been, but the contractions are close together, and strong as hell. I stopped trying to beg for drugs a while ago, realizing I'd have to bear through this without it.

"Good job, Scarlett. Good job!" the doctor proclaims loudly. "We're getting close!"

The door nearly slams open.

Giovanni enters, still in the process of getting the scrubs on. His eyes are panicked until they land on mine. He's completely out of breath.

"Oh, thank god," Rebecca almost cries, backing up when he rushes to the side of the bed.

"I-I-I hate you!" I snap at him as he gets to the bed, lowering the mask on his face. He takes my jaw between his hands, and his lips cover mine with brutal force. It's only for a moment, and then he pulls back. "I really do," I press, stubbornly.

"You didn't get drugs, did you?" I glare at him, and he smiles, grimacing while he's doing it. "I love you. You're going to be fine. I'm here."

"No, get out—!" I reach out, grabbing onto his arm hard enough to startle him.

"Another contraction," the doctor informs him. "Push, Scarlett."

Giovanni bends, grabbing my hand, and curls his other arm under my knee, forcing the leg up higher. The nurse does the other, with a smile.

"So, he did his homework then, did he?"

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," I gasp, too scared to care about what she's saying. Too scared to try to push.

"Push!"

Behind my deafening bellows, Giovanni speaks to me quickly, calmly. "Breathe, breathe, baby."

I shake my head, tearless sobs escaping, crushing my chest. I'm trembling when it passes, leaving me anticipating more pain. Giovanni pushes my hair from my face gently, and I look up, relieved he's here, the anger I felt a minute ago completely gone.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, gasping. "I'm sorry. I don't hate you."

"I know," he says, smiling softly.

"I'm not ready, Giovanni." I catch my trembling lip with my teeth. "I'm not ready. I'm scared."

"This is our baby, Scarlett. This is our baby. You and me."

I sigh when he presses his forehead to my cheek, shaking his head.

"We can do anything, anything we put our minds to. You know that."

As much as I want to revel in his positivity, my body's persisting is more important. He moves back as I push as hard as I can, groaning through the contraction.

I lose count of how many times we go through the same process. Giovanni's sweet encouragements, rough minute of blistering pain and then back to his words. Repeat, repeat, repeat. I latch onto them whenever I can, reassured that he's the only person who has the ability to talk me down within seconds.

It's when I'm physically weak, finding it even more painful to push from the fatigue that the doctor begins to say things that actually matter to me.

"I see the head! The baby's crowning! Keep pushing!"

My eyes dart to Giovanni, and then to Rebecca, who's in the back, her hands on either side of her face in anticipation. I begin to feel the end nearing, and along with Giovanni, I begin to nod with awakened effort.

"Push!"

"You're doing so good," Giovanni murmurs tearfully, close enough that I can hear. "You're doing so good, baby."

I feel like I'm going to split open, right in half. I slam my chin into my chest, crying out as I push again, and again—and then, the baby slips out into the doctors hands, and releases a sharp wailing cry.

And so do I.

Giovanni lets go of my leg and captures my face, gasping as he lays kisses upon my lips, so many I can't breathe. I grab onto him, pulling him closer as they cut the umbilical cord, and begin to clean the baby off.

"My god, I love you so much," he whispers, trembling nearly as bad as I am.

"Well...Mommy and Daddy," the doctor says, which separates us from our embrace with gasps, "you have a healthy, beautiful daughter."

He brings her around the bed, cradling the bundle in his arms, and my heart begins to pick up again, anticipating her face. I hold out my arms after the nurse has pulled down my gown, glancing to Giovanni unsurely, before looking back when he settles her weight onto my weak bones.

I begin to cry, instantly.

Hard and ungracefully.

Her skin is pink, her eyes closed serenely. I don't reach out to inspect her, unable to do anything but stare. I bring her close to my chest, and lose myself in the feeling. I mourn the fact that my mother never got to experience this moment, and that Norman isn't here to see it.

I didn't expect to feel so much, but my chest feels full, so full it hurts.

I let the tears spill over my cheeks, realizing they are long overdue, experiencing overwhelming relief at my love for her. And for him.

My eyes drift up to my husband, moved by how hard he's trying to remain calm. I shake my head, smiling wide.

"I didn't know it would feel like this."

He smiles, so softly, so tenderly that my heart bursts and shatters, and I feel complete in every sense of the word. I drag my arms closer to him, wanting him to hold her.

Dressed in a suit and scrubs, he cradles the baby to his chest and straightens, and I hear an exhale leave my mouth at the sight of them together. I've never seen anything more beautiful.

He stares down at her, silently, his eyes sweeping over her face.

"I'd like to name her Anna, if it's okay with you...my mother wanted to name me Anna."

His eyes dart to mine, gently. He holds my gaze for a moment, nursing my vulnerability, and nods. "I like Anna."

"Yeah?"

He smiles, and looks back to her. "Anna's perfect."

He gives her back to me carefully, and I marvel at how good it feels to hold her. I catch sight of Rebecca, not surprised to find her crying in the corner.

"She's beautiful," she blubbers, shaking her head. Smiling, I redirect my attention back to our baby, Anna, and finally reach out to touch her.

Caressing her small, fragile hand, I feel Giovanni's mouth at my temple, his presence surrounding me in love, and protection, and I close my eyes...utterly at peace.