As the hours flew by as I returned to the United States, I found myself growing more and more worried for my unborn child. Due to my recklessness, I'd gotten pregnant either on the fourteenth or fifteenth of August, meaning that it was a free for all at this point. I knew I would have to get a DNA test while still pregnant, and knew it could be done as early as the eighth week, meaning that I had to wait another month. Another month, which would mean potentially bonding with this child, and likely having it taken from me.

I checked my phone again as I arrived within the Chicago city limits in mid-morning on Sunday, knowing full well that I must look like a wreck, but desperate to know what this letter said. I drove to the house, parking outside and grabbing my things from the back of the car and making my way up the stairs of the house. As I fumbled for my keys, the front door open and Ian stood there, just staring at me for a moment. When I opened my mouth to speak, Ian merely closed the distance between us and held me for a moment. I didn't cry; I didn't need to cry; I just needed to be close to my twin for a moment.

"We've been waiting all weekend," Ian said quietly, breaking the silence as I pulled away from him and stepped into the house, allowing him to take my duffel and purse and place them on the stairs. He followed me into the living room, and I saw Fiona, Lip, Debbie and Franny, Carl, and Liam all staring at me.

"Hey, guys," I said, wandering over to a chair and sitting down, Ian automatically following me and presumably standing guard. "Look, I'm sorry. I had to take care of something in a hurry. I'm going to try and be more open about things in the future." I turned to Fiona then, who looked the most concerned for me. "Fiona... Can we have a moment, please?" I asked, and, at last, my voice broke for, if anything, I needed my big sister right then.

"Of course," Fiona replied, getting to her feet.

I followed, clasping Ian's hand for a moment before I left, and Fiona put her arm around my shoulders and led me out to the back porch. I shut the door behind us and turned to face her, and noticed that her eyes were red-rimmed—either from lack of sleep or crying, I didn't know. "I just want you to know, first of all, that I love you."

Fiona sighed, pulling her fingers though her dark hair. "I love you, too, Murph," she replied. "I just... I want you to just go ahead and tell me, okay? I mean, you're not... You're not dying or something like that, are you?"

"No, I promise you that," I said, stepping forward and taking her hand. "I am perfectly healthy, that I can say."

"And what can't you say?" she asked, watching my face.

I sighed. "I can't say that I'm scared," I replied.

"Scared?" Fiona asked. "Why would you be scared?"

"Because I'm pregnant," I replied, and Fiona automatically covered her mouth. "I'm pregnant, and I know that yours and Debbie's relationship hasn't been the same since she decided to keep her baby, and—"

Fiona cut me off then, pulling me into her arms. "The circumstances are entirely different here, Murph," she said gently. "You have a degree, a good job, a great income..."

I pulled back then. "No, you don't understand," I replied, dashing the tears out of my eyes. "I don't know who the father is."

"Murph?" Fiona asked.

I sighed, gripping the side of the house. "It could be Lip's," I whispered. "There's a possibility that it could be someone else's, but it might be Lip's..."

"Oh, my god," Fiona whispered. "What about the other possibility?"

I scoffed, looking away from her, the shame washing over me as the tears continued to fall down my face. "It could be Mickey's," I replied.

"Mickey? As in Mickey Milkovich?" Fiona demanded.

I nodded. "Yeah. Remind me never to drink tequila again..."

"Jesus Christ, Murph," Fiona said, putting her hands on her hips. "I honestly don't know how to respond to that... Does Ian know?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I told him first—after I went to Mexico the first time, and after I found out I was pregnant."

"Why would you tell Ian first? What about Lip?"

I turned and looked at Fiona. "You know as well as I do how awkward it's been since he got the news about us being siblings," I replied, gesturing in between us. "Besides, it's different with Ian, Fi. It's a twin thing, I guess. I can't really explain it. All my life, I heard about twins having this unique bond. I guess I thought it was crazy, but now that I know I'm a twin, I understand it now more than I ever could've imagined."

Fiona nodded, seeming to get why I could tell Ian everything, and first. "So, what does this mean, then, Murph?" she asked.

"Well, obviously, if it's Lip's, I'm getting an abortion," I whispered.

Fiona nodded. "I get that. And if it's Mickey's?"

I sighed. "If it's Mickey's, then congratulations, Fiona. You're going to be an aunt yet again," I replied, unknowing how she would feel about the sentiment.

"Is this really what you want, Murph?" Fiona asked, and I turned to look at her. "Having a baby with a man you don't love?"

"I don't love Mickey, that's true," I replied. "I feel bad that he was dealt this hand, really I do. I mean, we've all been dealt pretty shitty hands, Fiona. I guess, in a perfect world, I wouldn't be your sister, and then..." I shrugged.

"You still hung up on Lip, then?" she asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know. I've done a lot of thinking these past several days, Fiona. Things are different now. I mean, who knows, in nine months, I could be a mother..."

"Is that really what you want, though? To be a single mother?"

"If it comes to that, yes," I replied. "For years, I thought I couldn't have a child. I've been given a chance, Fiona. A real chance, and I'm going to take it."

"Do you think we ever find the right person?" Fiona asked. "I mean, a right person to love and care about us forever?"

I shrugged again. "I don't know, but I do know that, what you just said, has a bunch of different meanings, which can be good and bad. I mean, I've got a family, no matter how this turns out," I say, placing a hand upon my stomach. "And if it doesn't turn out the way I want it, then hey, I can always try again with someone else, right?"

"So, you want this baby?" she asked.

I nodded. "I do. At this point, I really do. No matter who the father is, I'll always love this baby, and even if it and I have to say goodbye, I hope it has the understanding to know that, our time together was precious to me."

Fiona looks at me skeptically then. "You know, I don't think it'll have the understanding, because of the whole 'taking care of it before any brain activity' thing..."

I smirked at Fiona, finding that I was laughing at her. "You're terrible, you know that?" I asked her, and Fiona laughed.

"I've been called worse," she replied. She reached into her jeans pocket, and handed something over to me. "Ian picked this up the other day—from Monica."

I took the letter. "Thanks," I replied.

"I'll give you a few moments," she said. She hesitated for a moment, tucking a bit of stray hair behind my ear, and cupping my cheek for a moment. Shaking her head, she returned into the house, presumably to tell our siblings that I was reading the letter.

I gripped the letter in my hands, wondering what it could possibly say. From a woman I'd never known, who'd been dead and gone for four years; I still couldn't believe I held onto my last link to my biological mother. Shaking my head, knowing that I needed to open it up and get it over with, I turned it over, ripping the sucker open and unfolding the pages.

To my little girl, who I know is unlikely to be so little anymore, first of all, I just want to apologize to you. I realized too late that you were Frank's daughter—of course, I thought that you and Ian were identical. Why wouldn't I? You looked so alike on the day you were born, and if it weren't for the notion that you were a girl and he as a boy, I wouldn't have been able to tell the two of you apart.

I wish I'd been able to hold onto you, but I was so worried that Frank would find out that Ian was not his, and that he would assume the same about you. I knew from the moment I looked at you that you were mine and Frank's—you looked like Ian, of course, but I saw so much of Fiona in you as well, and later Debbie, when she came along. None of my children could ever replace you, Murphy, and as the daughter I lost, I hope that one day, you can forgive me, and maybe meet me and speak to me.

If not, if you can't, I understand completely. I gave you away at birth, and I was told that you were adopted when you were three months old. There wasn't a day that went by when I didn't think about you, Murphy, and how I wished you could have been raised alongside the rest of your siblings. I can only hope that your adoption was a success, and that you lived a full life until or unless you decided to come back to Chicago to read this letter, and to meet your family, the ones that didn't know about you, but will welcome you with open arms. I know they will, because, even though I couldn't be there for them either, Fiona kept them in check, and I know she will do the same to you.

If this is goodbye, then I'll accept that, knowing that you know that I loved you. Hello and goodbye then, my beautiful Murphy Margaret Gallagher.

Your mother,

Monica

I raised my eyes upwards then, and it was then that I realized that I was crying. There was a squeak of the door opening behind me, and Ian was standing there. I hesitated for a moment before I stumbled towards him, and he pulled me into his arms. I handed the letter over to him, and he read it to himself for a moment before his other arm came around me then.

"She loved you," he said quietly.

"Doesn't matter," I replied.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because, I've got all of you," I replied, pulling back and looking up at him. "And no matter what happens, I'm not going anywhere, because we're a family. Families don't leave each other, Ian, and I've got to get that into my head."

Ian smiled. "Really?"

I nodded. "Really. It means no more running away—for either of us. We've got to stay here and tough it out—discuss our shit, no matter what it is. Because you're my fucking twin, and I expect you to tell me if something fucked happened to you."

Ian nodded. "I can do that."

"So can I," I replied. "And if it turns out I'm keeping this baby, then he or she will have to know that too, and we'll teach the baby. Together."

Ian looked touched. "Well, I know we can make it work, Murph."

"So do I," I replied, taking the letter back, folding it up, and putting it back into its envelope, finding that I hesitated for a moment.

"You okay?"

"Fine," I replied, mulling over my latest decision. "Listen, I think we should hold off on any pregnancy announcements just yet. If I can keep this baby, I'll say so. If I have to get an abortion, maybe I won't say anything... It doesn't need to be said..."

"You don't want them to know?" Ian asked.

I sighed. "Maybe... Maybe I can talk to Debbie. She and I have been getting closer, and she's the only one of us who has a kid, but I don't want her to freak out or hate me..."

"Hey, Debs is smart like you and Lip," Ian said. "She'll be able to piece it together without you telling her the full story. She'll understand."

I nodded. "Well, if she'll understand, then that's what'll happen," I reply.

. . .

Nicholas arranged the meeting between the two of us as Jasmine Jones, who was due at the firm the following day, in anticipation of Judge Whitmore's upcoming verdict. Nicholas reserved one of the big conference rooms that afternoon, and I kept small bags of saltine crackers in my purse, wanting to curb the morning sickness that didn't seem to want to go away. I'd made an appointment for my eight-week mark, knowing that I wanted to get the DNA test done as quickly as possible before I did something stupid, like design a nursery. I put another cracker in my mouth then, and Nicholas turned and looked at me, looking as if he was as confused as he'd ever been in the short time I'd known him.

"What's with you this afternoon?" he asked.

I turned and looked at him. "What?" I said, my mouth partially full of cracker. "Is there a problem with eating in the conference room?"

"Well, no—Mom and Dad have done weird catered meetings in here before," he replied. "They always had these disgusting little finger sandwiches... Anyway, you're the one who said that the salt content in saltines made you sick."

I blinked, surprised that he would remember something like that. "You remembered that?" I asked, thinking that I'd mentioned it after one of our trysts.

Nicholas nodded. "Yeah. I thought it was weird. That's why I remembered."

Oh, of course, I thought, making a face at him. Of course you thought it was weird and that's why you remembered—not because you gave a shit about me at any point in time... "It's nothing," I said, not wanting to talk about it yet. "I just get sick every now and again. It's not contagious or anything—just my stomach gets upset."

"If you're sure," Nicholas replies, not at all convinced as the door opens, and a beautiful woman walks into the room.

Jasmine Jones is five-feet-eight—four inches taller than me—and has long, flowing raven hair that shines beneath the lights. Her skin color looks like sun-kissed cinnamon, and her lips are colored a dark red. Her lashes look as if they have been extended, and she wears a black pencil skirt, white, long-sleeved blouse with its first two buttons unbuttoned, plus a pair of black, patent leather shoes. Putting forward a perfectly manicured hand with clear nail polish, she goes to shake my hand as I get to my feet.

"Jasmine," I say, feeling relieved that I'm not covered in crumbs. "So wonderful to finally meet you face-to-face."

"Likewise, Murphy," she replied, before turning to Nicholas. "I know you..."

"Yeah," he replied. "I'm friends with Jorge Ramírez, in human trafficking. You knew me as Nick Abshire. Do you remember?"

Jasmine sighed, sinking down into the offered chair. "Ay, Dios mío," she said quietly. "All right, then. This is about Johnny?"

I nodded. "Yes. If you would be willing to switch sides and testify against Johnny on our behalf, we would be willing to give you a temporary visa."

"I can stay in America?" she asked.

"Provided that you testify against Johnny, yes," Nicholas replied.

Jasmine sighed. "All right," she said after a moment, and Nicholas and I looked at each other, unknowing why it was supposedly so easy. "What do you want to know?"

. . .

Even though Jasmine went the extra mile to testify for us—and she got her temporary visa out of it—Judge Whitmore had to take into consideration that this was Johnny's first major offense. He decided that Johnny would be released on bail pending sentencing, and Nicholas and I immediately moved for Jasmine to be moved into protective surveillance. That way, Johnny would be forbidden to contact her and hurt her, or to attempt to convince her to go back on her statements made in court.

Sentencing hadn't been set yet, and since Judge Whitmore had a backlog of other cases to attend to, it was unlikely we'd get any results quickly. So, I continued on with my own existence, and tried not to form a deep attachment to the life growing inside me. Sometimes, I was sickened by it, whereas, other times, I felt completely devoted to it. I did my best to keep my mood swings in check, and Ian, Fiona, and Lip did their best to cover for me when other members of the family were around, but there was only so much everyone could take, what with every single one of them being in the dark.

The only positive thing going for me was, mid-week after Judge Whitmore let Johnny Sanders out on bail, I received an important package in the mail. In it, was my newly re-issued birth certificate, my social security card, my new driver's license, and my new passport. All of which proudly stated that my name was Murphy Margaret Gallagher, and no longer legally tied to the name Scarlett Elizabeth Davies. I think that Ian was the second-most happy when all the documentation came, because now he would no longer have to write notes to Liam's principal about me dropping him off on some mornings.

I felt relief when an entire month had passed, and the morning of the appointment had arrived. I was relying solely upon my DNA sample from Lip, and, at this point, we were working with process of elimination more than anything else. I didn't care; as long as it showed up as negative with Lip's DNA on the paternal side, then that was all that mattered. The appointment was first thing in the morning so, after I dropped off Liam at school, I arrived at the hospital, the Lip's hairs in a small bag that I could provide the hospital with.

I went into the exam room and hopped up onto the table, where I was encouraged to look away as the large needle was brought forth. I looked away, gripping the sides of the table as it was inserted into my abdomen, and just crossed my fingers that the pain didn't get any worse. I gave the hairs to the doctor—not Dr. Fairfax, as a specialist was needed for this operation—and was told that I would get my results in the next day or two. I thanked the doctor, taking the offered bandage and going into the firm, although I decided that eating was out of the question, for a while at least, because of how that needle had looked.

"Are you okay this morning, Murphy?" Rachel asked as I came into the firm.

I sighed. "I will be," I reply, smiling at her. I was sipping tea that morning, for a smoothie would have been too much for my stomach to handle. "I brought you a chai latte..."

"Thank you," Rachel said, taking it. "That was so nice of you."

I gave her a slight nod. "No problem," I replied, bustling by her and returning to my office. All I wanted, for the rest of that day, was to be alone and nurse my stomach. I would know in the next couple of days if my child was Lip's, and if it was, it would just break my heart. I'd wanted a child for as long as I could remember, and now that my chance was on the horizon, I didn't want it snatched away from me.

I had to be off work at three that afternoon to pick up Liam from school, which Allie and Hugo had been quick to understand and accommodate, due to my, as they put it, "impressive" work output these last several weeks. I got in my car at around two-forty-five, clearing the firm property quickly and making my way to Liam's school. I got out of the car after parking it in the lot and went towards where the other parents were waiting for their own children, and wondered if that would prove to be me one day.

I spotted Liam quickly as the streams of children burst forth from the school, and, when he saw me, his dark eyes lit up happily. I let out a short, burst of laughter as Liam ran to me, and I crouched so that I could hug him in a more efficient manner. "Hey, buddy!" I said, kissing his forehead and holding him close. "Did you have a good day?"

Liam shrugged, pulling back and offering me his backpack. "Okay," he replied, reaching up to take me by the hand.

I smiled, feeling touched as we walked back towards the parking lot. "So, you and I need to make a little trip to the store, and then we'll go home, unpack the groceries, and get your homework started. Then, you have a choice," I say as we get to the car.

"What choice?" Liam asks as I open the back door for him, where his booster seat is waiting for him, and he gets into it himself.

"Well," I say, opening my door and placing Liam's backpack beside him before I shut his door and get into my seat, "you can either watch T.V. once your homework is done, or you can help me make dinner."

"Can I help you?" Liam asked, looking up at me in the mirror.

I smiled, knowing that most children would prefer to watch T.V., but pleased that Liam wanted to help me cook. "Of course you can, buddy," I said. "All belted up back there?"

"Yes, Murphy," Liam replied.

I grinned back at him. "Good. Now hang on," I joked, pulling out of the parking space and out of the parking lot, and continued down the street. "We had tacos last night, so maybe we can make burgers tonight. Is that okay with you?"

"With French fries?" Liam asked.

I laughed. "Of course we need French fries!" I replied. "French fries and burgers make a beautiful couple, and they need to stay together."

Liam laughed. "Burgers and French fries aren't a couple!"

I grinned back at him. "My mistake," I said. "We should also probably buy dinner for tomorrow night and Wednesday night. Maybe we can make pasta tomorrow, and for Wednesday... What do you think, Liam?"

"Chicken and rice?" he asked.

I nodded. "That sounds great," I replied. "I can buy a can of soup and bake it in the oven. Have you ever had it that way?"

"No," Liam replied.

"Does it sound good?"

"Yes," Liam said.

Once we got home from grocery shopping, Liam mostly handed me groceries from the bags because I was better equipped at getting them onto the higher shelves. Once that was finished, we sat together at the kitchen table, looking over his math problems and the book report assignment he was due to finish by Friday. Thankfully, his class had had library time that afternoon, and he'd picked out Stuart Little, which he, Ian, and I would likely read together, but I didn't mind, loving the story of the little mouse. Liam and I even read a little before Ian came back from work, and I helped him write down some notes so add to his report.

"Hey, family," Ian said, coming in from work. "Ooh, something smells good," he said, and I grinned at him.

"French fries are in the oven, and the ground beef has already been shaped and seasoned for the burger patties," I replied.

"Why did you have to be the responsible twin?" he asked sarcastically, pulling me into a hug before hugging Liam. "Hey, buddy! Finish your homework yet?"

"Yes, but Murphy helped," Liam replied.

"Well, she's allowed to help—she's our sister," Ian said.

Ian and I worked on dinner while Liam—who had done plenty of work for the day—wandered over to the couch to watch some cartoons while he waited for dinner. Ian and I worked in silence for a few minutes, really wanting to make sure that Liam was so engrossed in the appropriate childish content that he wouldn't be bothered by our whispering. Finally, after a few moments, Ian took the opportunity to speak.

"How was the doctor's?"

I sighed. "Okay, I guess. The needle was fucking huge," I replied, lifting up my blouse and showing Ian where the band-aid was.

"Jesus, Murph—you've got a bruise!" he cried out.

I shrugged. "Small price to pay to know the truth."

"When do you find out?"

"Tomorrow or Wednesday," I reply. "The sooner, the better. I'm getting tired of telling myself not to bond with this thing," I said, relieved that I wasn't showing yet. "I think it'll just be better once the results are given and I can move on with my life."

"Amen to that," Ian said.

I shook my head. "I know it'll be hard, if things go badly, and I have to say goodbye," I whispered to Ian, not wanting to disturb Liam. "But we all know that DNA testing was the right thing to do, right? I mean..."

"Hey, it's okay," Ian said, pulling me in for a hug. "Sure, either candidate you have for the father is wrong and fucked up in so many ways, but what can you do?"

I sighed. "I could continue to not give you the message that Mickey gave me when I found him in Mexico," I said quietly.

Ian pulled back. "He gave you another message?"

I bit my lip, walking over to the oven to check on the French fries and, seeing that they weren't ready, shut the oven door and turned back to him. "Okay, yes. He gave me another message for you," I reply.

"Oh, my god," Ian said quietly.

"Look, Ian, I promised myself I wasn't going to say anything, so we can just forget it," I say, feeling like an idiot.

"It's been mentioned," Ian replied, flipping the burgers upon the griddle I'd brought with me when I moved in. "So, just say it."

"Are you sure?" I asked, quietly.

Ian shook his head. "No," he replied. "But it's going to keep eating me alive until you tell me what it is. So, just tell me."

"Well, it's not like Trevor doesn't hate me already," I muttered to myself, much to Ian's confusion, before I continued, "He said to tell you that he's still waiting."

"Well, that's fine," Ian said, obviously more affected by Mickey's message than he was willing to let on. "But what did you say about Trevor just now?"

I sighed, rolling back on my heels before checking the French fries again. "Doesn't matter. Let's just not worry about it..."

"Murph," Ian said firmly.

"When you borrowed my car last night, to take Liam to pick up some ice cream, Trevor came by the house," I replied.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Ian asked.

"Because it really upset me—not him coming over, but what he said to me," I replied. "And Liam was up half the night with an upset stomach because you let him have too much ice cream and we had to leave early today..."

"Just tell me what happened and why he wasn't here when I got back," Ian told me.

"He told me that he was still here that first time I got back from Mexico—that you told everyone to leave and that you told him to go upstairs," I said quietly, and Ian turned to focus on cooking the burger patties. "He said that he heard me mention Mickey, and said that I was an incentive bitch for bringing him up, after all the shit Mickey put you through..."

Ian whipped around then. "He actually said that?"

"Of course he did," I replied. "I wouldn't lie about that, Ian. He said that things were better before I showed up and ruined everything."

"Did he?" Ian asked.

I nodded. "Yes."

"Shit," Ian said, finishing cooking. "I'll have mine later," he said as I turned around to take the French fries out of the oven.

"What?" I demanded. "Why?"

"Because, I need to go see Trevor," Ian replied.

"Ian, stop!" I cried out. "It doesn't matter, really—"

Ian grabbed my arms then and shook his head at me. "You still don't fucking get it, do you Murphy?" he demanded. "You're my fucking sister, and nobody is allowed to fucking talk to or about you that way!"

"Ian—"

"No," he said firmly.

"Stop," I said, and, for some reason, he did. "Don't go over there with both guns blazing. This is all so stupid. I'm not asking you to not go over there because I don't respect myself, or because I'm lying to you—I don't want you to go over there because I don't fucking care what Trevor said, because it shouldn't affect me. We're all adults here, Ian."

"Exactly! We're adults, and Trevor shouldn't—"

I put my hand on Ian's chest, preventing him from moving further. "You're right, he shouldn't have said anything. But it doesn't matter. Just drop it, Ian. Please."

Ian sighed, his shoulders slacking. "Just this once," he said. "If Trevor does or says anything to you again—"

"Then you can do something about it," I reply. "Promise."

. . .

The next day couldn't come fast enough but, thankfully, the morning sickness didn't seem to want to cling to me, so I got myself a smoothie that morning. As I arrived at the office, Rachel seemed to notice my change and seemed pleased for the mango smoothie as I trekked to my office that morning. I sped through my morning tasks, taking time to answer phone calls and to give details responses to clients via email, and, by the time lunch whirled around, I ordered a salad from a place down the road, actually wanting to eat.

At around one o'clock, the call I'd been dreading and expecting finally came, and I told Rachel to hold all correspondence for the next ten minutes, just to give me a few moments to breathe either way. "Hello?" I asked when I took the call. "This is Murphy Gallagher."

"Hello, Miss Gallagher, this is the lab from Mercy Hospital with your test results. Could you please confirm your date of birth before we continue?"

"Of course," I replied, and I gave her my date of birth.

"Thank you, Miss Gallagher. Now, as for the paternal side of your unborn child, there is, without a doubt, a zero-percent match based on the DNA sample you gave us."

I nearly fell off my desk chair, lowering my hand to my stomach. "Are... Are you serious?" I whispered, my voice shaking.

"Yes," she replied. "I'm sorry if you're disappointed, Miss Gallagher—"

"No," I broke out then, my voice continuing to shake. "No, I'm not disappointed—I'm so relieved right now, I can't... Thank you!" I cried out.

The woman on the other side of the phone laughed a little. "No problem, Miss Gallagher. We will send this information to your general practitioner right away, and he or she will set you up with an OB-GYN at their earliest convenience."

"Thank you so much," I said.

"You're welcome, Miss Gallagher. Have a pleasant afternoon."

"You too. Thank you!" I said again, cutting the call. Immediately, I got up from my desk and grabbed my purse before running out of my office. I saw Nicholas in the hallway, walking by my office, and he looked stunned to see the look on my face.

"On your way to see me?" he joked.

I sighed. "Nicholas, we can't—not anymore," I replied.

"Why not?" he asked, confused.

"Because I'm pregnant," I replied. "And don't worry," I said to his shocked expression, "it's not yours, so we're all good," I said, grinning at him and dashing down the hallway again, and away from his stunned face.

I ran past Rachel's desk and waved to her, running into the lobby and pressing the elevator button frantically before it arrived to take me to the parking garage. I texted Rachel then to inform Allie that I was taking the rest of the day off, and would explain why the following day as I flew into the parking garage and towards my car. I got inside then, my hands practically shaking as I drove out of there and across town to Ian's workplace, where I parked out front and blitzed in through the front doors.

"Hi!" I cried out to the heavyset woman behind the front counter.

"Oh, and what's your name today? Jennifer Lawrence?" she asked.

I laughed aloud then, handing over my new ID patiently, because absolutely nothing could bring me down that day. I thanked the woman when she handed over a visitor's pass and I ran back to the employee area, bursting in through the doors, much to the surprise of the other employees and Ian, who got to his feet and immediately steered me towards the back door and outside, looking at me with concern.

"Murph? You okay?" he asked.

I nodded. "More than okay."

"You get the news?"

I nodded again. "I got the news."

"And?" he asked.

I grinned up at him. "Lip isn't the father and you're going to be an uncle," I replied.

Ian smiled then, a small laugh escaping his throat then as he pulled me into a hug. "I said I'd be here, Murph, and I'll be here. Promise."

I sighed, knowing that it would take some time—for all of us—to get used to yet another new Gallagher entering the picture. "I know," I replied. "And I'm going to be here for you, Ian. I just want you to remember that."