I dropped off Iana at preschool that morning and sped right over to the firm, knowing that the day would likely be filled with boring paperwork and filing, but it beat sitting at home and watching my belly expand in this pregnancy. When I arrived at the firm and stepped off the elevator, I was immediately filled with a combination of dread and anger when I saw that Nicholas appeared to be waiting for me. Despite my attempts to simply walk through the lobby area, like a parasite, Nicholas followed me, glued to my hip like some desperate intern who thinks that they're amazing because they had a 4.6 GPA all through school—or, at least, when your GPA started to matter.

"What do you want, Nicholas?" I asked, stopping in front of Rachel's desk and smiling at her, taking my messages and waving to her as I moved back towards my office.

"How are the boys?" he asked, and I rolled my eyes.

"They're fine—now ask me what you really want to ask me so I can work," I said, pushing open my office door and standing in the doorway, preventing him from coming inside.

He sighed. "Okay," he said. "I gave someone your number and I'm hoping that you'd be willing to take the call."

I crossed my arms. "Personal number, or office line?"

"It's not a client or a prospective one—he's an old friend."

I scoffed. "Okay, fine. Who is this person and what do they want from me?"

Nicholas looked away from me, leading me to believe that this was a person that was not to be fucked with, under any circumstances. "My old friend, Mason Crowe," he replied. "He's going to be calling to give you an update on Josh."

"Great," I said, turning my attention towards my messages and flipping through them—nothing new or exciting, and mainly people that I'd met through networking or from Allie, who were congratulating me on my pregnancy. "Thanks."

"No problem," Nicholas said, and stepped away, leading me to go into my office and shut my door behind me.

I crossed the room and placed my things down on my desk, spotting a picture of me, Iana, and Nicholas—taken over our first summer together—and immediately opened a desk drawer and shoved it inside. I didn't need a picture of Nicholas smiling at me, and I certainly didn't need to be reminded of what might have been. Shaking my head at my stupidity of getting involved with a bosses' son, I placed my head in my hands, ignoring the hot tears which somehow managed to escape my eyes, and nearly didn't hear my phone ringing.

"Hello?" I said into it, clearing my throat. "Hello?" I said again.

"Hi, there. Is this Murphy Gallagher?"

"Speaking," I replied.

"Hey, Murphy—can I call you Murphy?"

I had the guts to laugh into the phone. "Depends on who's calling."

"Detective Mason Crowe," replied the caller.

"Oh, of course, Detective Crowe. Please call me Murphy."

"Then call me Mason—the thugs call me 'Mase'," he said, and we laughed together. "Listen, Murphy, I'm sure Nicholas mentioned the reason for my call."

"Something about Josh Fairfax?" I asked.

"Exactly," Mason replied. "We've got him back in the South Side as of six a.m., and he's a pretty unhappy camper right now."

I chuckled darkly. "I can't imagine why."

"I'm going to be questioning him—my partner and I—and Nicholas played the old friend card to get you to listen in, if you're interested."

I sat straighter in my chair. "He what?"

"Yeah. We normally don't allow civilians to witness the proceedings—and if their attorney unexpectedly walks in, we have someone standing by to remove you immediately. It's all very hush-hush," Mason explained. "However, Nicholas pleaded your case successfully—which makes sense, because he's a lawyer and all—and we'd be happy to accommodate you and your potential viewing pleasure. If you're interested."

I forced a smile to my lips. "Tell your partner that I'd be happy to stand and watch the little son of a bitch squirm," I replied.

Mason laughed on the other side of the phone. "I like your spunk, Murphy," he replied. "We'll be questioning him around noon. Does that work for you?"

I nodded. "Yes, but I can't stay long. I have to pick up my daughter at one."

"We'll be sure to get to the good stuff quickly, then," Mason said. "I guess we'll see you around noon, then, Murphy."

"See you then, Mason," I replied, cutting the call.

I lowered my phone onto my desk then, doing my best not to drop it completely at the notion of what Nicholas had done for me. I swallowed then, wondering immediately what he would want in return for this fantastic favor, and that worried me. I found myself lowering a hand to my stomach then, wondering if he would go back to his old ways, his old crew, and do something psycho like demanding his sons for collateral.

Picking up my phone again, I found that my hands were shaking ever so slightly as I pressed my contacts app. I scrolled through, passing Carl, Debbie, Fiona, and Ian, until I hesitated on a number, just below my twin's. I hesitated; I'd automatically had data from my former cell phone put upon this new one—after an accident involving Iana and a bathroom toilet had rendered my former cell phone dead at the scene—and I'd never called this number. Shaking my head, and almost wondering if it still worked, I pressed the number then, hesitating.

It rang three times, before there was a clicking sound on the other end. "Scarlett?" the voice asked, rising an octave due to shock.

I sighed. "It has been a long time," I replied.

"How are you, Scar?"

I smirked then—Lip hadn't been the first significant other to call me by that nickname. "It's actually Murphy now, Jess—or just 'Murph' to family..."

"Jesus," Jessica replied, laughing on the other end of the phone. "What have you been up to since Dr. Normal walked in on us?"

"Well," I said, turning around and looking out the window. "I found out I was adopted, so I moved to my birthplace."

"Yeah?" Jessica asked. "Where's that?"

"Chicago," I replied, "South Side... How's New York?"

. . .

It didn't start out that way with me and Jess—in fact, when I first met her, I thought she was a prissy know-it-all with a too high GPA and a stick up her ass. Of course, my GPA was just as high as hers was, and I was way too antisocial to associate with her upper crust crowd. Even though we were teenagers, the social hierarchy seemed to change overnight, and while I was skipping up grades, she was skipping up bra sizes. By the time my graduation whirled around, she was the hottest girl in the sophomore class, and I was just a senior who was a total virgin and a nerd who never took her nose out of a Torts book for two seconds. It all began when Jess wanted to take a break from her clique, and Rosalie Farrow just wasn't having it. Rosalie said that taking running start classes—essentially taking college classes as a high school student so that you could graduate college sooner—was fucking stupid, and someone like Jess shouldn't be caught dead doing it.

"Lose your way?" I'd asked her, sitting in my own private nook in the library. I always sat away from the computer section; I'd bring my own laptop and sit in the back, towards where the old newspapers were, because newspapers were considered obsolete by our generation and, therefore, it was a quiet area to work. "I think the pop culture magazines are found downstairs, where the library computers are..."

Jess blinked then, her green eyes looking me over then. "Don't I know you?"

"Yeah," I said, scoffing a little as I turned back to my computer screen, where I was writing an essay on how social etiquette for women had changed over the centuries—it was a boring subject matter, to say the least, but I planned on peppering it with how men back in the day were raised to be a bunch of self-entitled assholes. "I'm Mary fucking Poppins. Good to meet you, Jessica Silvers. Now run along and see if the pop culture magazines have any free makeup samples left that you can use..."

"I knew I knew you from somewhere!" Jess replied then, sitting down immediately in my nook, which caused me to draw my feet back and away from her.

"Sure... Just sit. Make yourself comfortable," I grumbled under my breath, going back to my internet taskbar and reading an article from some local newspaper from over a hundred years ago—I think the term "debutante ball" was being used...

"I'm sorry—am I bothering you?"

Something in her voice made me look up. "No, I'm sorry," I said, putting on sickly sweet voice before saving my document and closing my laptop. "I've got to get back to my dorm. My next class is at eight tomorrow and I wouldn't want to miss it."

Jess reached out then and slammed her hand on the top of my laptop. "Now I recognize you. I mean, how could I not?"

I successfully managed to pull my laptop from her grip and put it back into its case, which I would always tote around campus. "Meaning what?"

"Meaning that you never go without Torts, Scarlett Davies."

I sighed, doing my best not to roll my eyes. "Look, Jess..."

"Are you Scarlett Davies or aren't you?"

I scoffed. "Okay. Yeah. You caught me," I said, holding up my hands as I turned back to face her. "I'm Scarlett fucking Davies. Are you happy now?"

"Jesus. Your middle name is 'Fucking'?" she asked.

"Jesus Christ," I muttered under my breath. "I really hope you're being sarcastic right now. It's Elizabeth," I said, growing exasperated. "My middle name is Elizabeth."

Jess grinned. "Of course I was being sarcastic, silly!"

I rolled my eyes. "You know, someday, you're just..." I pursed my lips then, looking her over—I couldn't explain it then, but there was just something about her that screamed untouchable, and that was somehow a turn off and a turn on in my mind. "Forget it," I said, zipping up my laptop case and getting to my feet.

Jess immediately got to hers then. "What classes are you taking?"

"What classes am I not taking?" I muttered again. "Pre-law," I replied. "Then I have an English class to round that out."

"No math or science?"

I shook my head. "No, I was always in accelerated programs, and so I took those classes in the summer, so..."

"But don't you do debate team?"

I nodded. "Yep. And government classes."

"Do they count as credit?"

"The government class, yes. The debate team is an extracurricular."

"But what do you do for fun?" she asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know. I take self-defense courses. That's fun."

"Who do you want to beat up?"

I shook my head—no way in hell I could tell her about Dr. Normal. "No one," I replied. "But I'm a sixteen-year-old college freshman who lives on campus. I'm not going to rely solely on a rape whistle, thank you."

Jess shook her head. "No. No, of course not."

"Glad we're on the same page, then."

Jess nodded. "Yeah. Glad..."

Jess would continue to pop in and out of my day-to-day life for the next several months, so much so that I got used to her. I'd always known her, yet we'd seldom talked, so by the time I was in college full-time, I knew the rules were different. She could talk to me there, because Rosalie Farrow and Brittany Chang weren't there to tell her not to. When summer arrived, Jess decided to take some more classes, while Rosalie and Brittany went to Spain with their daddy's money and sent vague postcards and flashy status updates.

"How's your summer?" Jess asked, giving me a call.

I shrugged. "Can't complain. Mom and Norman took the boys to Disney World for the seventieth time this summer..."

"Not you?" she asked.

I sighed. "Debate tournament. Couldn't miss it."

"When's that?"

"Next week. Pushed it back."

"So, you're just preparing for it?"

I laughed. "Yeah. I shouldn't even be talking to you right now. They make us speed-talk in those things and if I lose my voice, I'm fucked."

"So, that's a 'no' to hang out, then?"

I shook my head. "No, of course not. Come on over. We can just watch a movie and not talk for two hours. It'd give my voice a break," I joked.

Jess laughed over the phone. "Yeah. Okay. Be over soon."

I left my bedroom then, pulling on a tank top and shorts that I hadn't slept in, walking into my en suite bathroom and pulling a brush through my hair, putting it into a long, copper ponytail that was nothing like anyone's hair I'd ever seen. Shaking my head, I brushed my teeth before heading downstairs, seeing Jess's convertible pulling into the drive. Opening the door and going out onto the porch, I waited for her to come inside, and, when she did, I lead her into the home theater and showed her the expansive collection of Blu-Rays we had.

We switched on some romantic comedy that she wanted to see, that I could've given a fuck about—I think it was The Notebook or some shit. I pulled out my phone, mentally going over my debate team notes as Rachel McAdams bawled her head off about Ryan Gosling not responding to her letters for seven years and waiting for her or something... I really wasn't paying attention to the whole plot of the whole thing—or lack thereof, although I was aware that there was a stalking and abusive relationship aspect to it all—and would've worn earplugs if Jess hadn't been so attentive...

"Hey!" I said, when she reached out and swiped my phone.

"We're watching a movie," she pouted.

I scoffed. "Uh, yeah, but I have a debate team final next week, and I have to be prepared," I replied, reaching out for my phone.

Jess sighed. "I didn't come here to watch a movie..."

"Yeah?" I asked, not paying attention, feeling relieved when she finally relented and handed me back my phone. "What'd you come here for, then?"

Jess sighed again, and I finally switched off my phone screen and looked at her. "Finally," she said, as if relieved that I was looking at her. "Look, you can't tell anyone..."

I shrugged. "Okay. Haven't you told anyone?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Not even your parents? Or your two younger brothers? Or Rosalie and Brittany?"

Jess scoffed. "Believe me, none of them would understand..."

I shrugged again. "Okay. You can tell me, then. I guess..."

Jess locked her eyes with mine then, looking about as scared as a deer in the headlights. "Well, I'm gay," she said quietly.

I looked around the room then. "Well, God Himself didn't come in here and smite you," I said, shrugging my shoulders. "Guess you're good."

Jess sighed. "No, you don't get it."

"Okay," I replied. "What don't I get?"

"I'm coming out because of you."

I shook my head. "Wait. Me? Why me?"

"Because I'm fucking into you, okay?!" she demanded then, leaning in and kissing me.

I couldn't deny that there was something there—couldn't. But...

"Jess, stop!" I cried, pushing her away. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"I said I'm into you... What? Don't you like making out?"

I shrugged. "How can you like something if you've never done it?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Wow. I'm sorry."

I shrugged again, feeling so uncertain that day. "It's fine, really."

"So, was it... Bad?"

I shook my head. "No, no. It was completely cool, really."

"So...?" she asked, inching closer.

I laughed. "Okay," I said, leaning in and kissing her again.

The kissing soon progressed to Jess and I grabbing each other's chests for long periods of time, but when she attempted to unzip my shorts, that's where my line was drawn. I had no problem doing it to her shorts, and she didn't give a fuck if I licked her until the sun went down or came up, but the notion of her coming anywhere near me scared the shit out of me. I would physically push her away, refusing to get too close.

"Why?" she demanded one night in my dorm room.

"Why what?"

"Why can't I just taste—"

"Ew! No, don't fucking say that!" I said, getting off my bed and walking to the other side of the room. "I hate the analogy that you can eat it..."

"Why?" she asked, pulling up her shorts. "You ate mine—you always eat mine..."

I shrugged. "Yeah? So? You seem to enjoy it..."

"Yeah, of course I do," she replied. "And when you fuck me? That's amazing."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah, yeah..."

"Why can't I just get close to you?" she asked, getting to her feet then and crossing over to me, and I immediately pulled some clothes on. "Why don't you want to be close?"

I shrugged. "Just... Not my thing. Sorry."

Jess scoffed. "Okay, fine," she said. "But you'll let me eat you one of these days..."

I rolled my eyes again. "Highly unlikely."

Jess's prediction won out in the end, and boy, was she right. Being eaten by someone who was so used to having it done to them was incredible, and I'd wished I'd let her do it to me sooner. I was quick to draw the line at her fucking me, however, always turning over and eating her whenever she suggested it. I wanted her to put the idea out of her head, because I was so determined that it was never going to happen.

We continued like this for two years, and slowly but surely, we became less careful. Even during my interrogation sessions from Dr. Normal, I would have my fingers crossed behind my back whenever I'd lie to his face. Although the notion of telling your stepfather that you have what society would call a girlfriend and that she liked it when you fucked her was not high up on the list of appropriate topic discussions. I would give noncommittal, one-worded responses to him, not giving a fuck, and just wanting to get back to my homework, or wanting to get back to Jess, no matter what the occasion was.

"More," Jess begged that day, when she needed to be close to me, and there I was, tongue-deep in her crotch, in my childhood bedroom. "More tongue, Scar, Jesus!"

I lifted my head up to look at her. "We agreed that dominance in these types of situations was my thing, Jess. Now, do you want me to make you come, or do you want to just shout orders at me all day?"

Jess sighed in exasperation. "The first one."

"Right answer," I replied, leaning back down and sticking out my tongue.

My times with Jess had become second-nature to me, so much so that I would frequently tune everything out around me during our sessions. It made her toes curl, having my mouth on her, and hey, if she liked it so much, I was all for making her happy. The tuning out helped in my dorm room, but not so much now, especially when we'd decided to be so reckless as to do it in my fucking childhood bedroom...

"Jesus fucking Christ! Scarlett Elizabeth Davies! What the fuck do you think you're doing in that bed that I fucking paid for?!"

"Norman?!" I asked, picking up my head and scrambling out of the bed, shoving the blanket over Jess as I made a grab for a rectangular pillow, which somehow managed to cover all the vital areas. "This isn't what it looks like..."

"The hell it isn't!" he yelled then, bending down and correctly guessing which clothes were Jess's, before he picked them up without care and hauled her out of my bed. Then, he proceeded with her down the stairs.

I immediately ran after them. "Norman! What the hell are you—?!"

"This is my fucking house, and I won't have this shit going on here!" he screamed then, as tears fell from Jess's eyes.

"Jess," I said, trying to get her to look at me.

"Don't speak—either of you!" he said then, speaking through his teeth as we made it down the stairs, and opened the front door, whereupon he shoved her outside.

"Jess!" I screamed, watching as she cried out when she fell. "Norman, please..."

"And you," he said, jabbing a finger at me as he slammed the door. "This is beyond anything I've ever seen, and I will not tolerate this behavior."

"Norman..."

"Don't fucking speak!" he shouted, slamming me against the wall himself, and I gasped aloud then when he took off his belt. "I should show you what real fucking looks like," he said, and I felt my psyche react in a combination of disgust and fear, "but I'm far too repulsed to even touch you with my dick," he said then. Then, I heard him taking off his belt, and I shut my eyes, bracing myself for impact. "You," he said, and I heard it swing, before the buckle made contact with my backside, and I cried out, gripping to the banister of the stairs for support, "stupid," swing, "fucking," swing, "whore!" He swung several times then, cutting me from head to toe, before he snapped his fingers. "Turn around, you whore," he said, and I did, putting my hands behind my back to grip the bannister. "Why," swing, "the," swing, "fuck," swing, "would," swing, "you," swing, "ever," swing, "do," swing, "something," swing, "so," swing, "filthy," swing, "in," swing, "my," swing, "fucking," swing, "house?!"

When he got to the last word, I fell to my knees, too fucking tired to even bother to attempt to fight back in any way. He spat down at me then, his arm tired, before I heard him snap on a pair of gloves and pick me up. Any blood he got on his clothes would be washed out by our maid—I knew that—and I half expected him to take me to the bathroom for a cutting treatment. My assumptions were half-right—until he brought out the shaver.

"Norman?" I whispered, barely able to talk because of the pain, and the cuts around my lips, which made it doubly painful to talk.

"You're getting a buzz-cut today, Scarlett," he said firmly. "Hold yourself up, will you?!" he demanded impatiently then. "If you don't sit still, I'll nick you, and it won't be pretty."

I shut my eyes then, sitting as straight as an arrow as he turned on the electric shaver. The humming sound filled my ears then as he placed it directly on my scalp, pressing hard to tear the hair away. I'd vowed that it would never get this bad again—so bad to actually allow Dr. Normal to cut my hair. But this was different, this was worse by far—I'd never been much to look at, but I'd always loved the abnormality my hair had had in social circles, where most of the women were blonde or brunette. I remembered staring at redheads on the street, wondering if one of them could've been my mother, because Tina Davies looked nothing like me, and my suspicions had grown overtime due to her treatment of me...

"There," Dr. Normal said, stopping, and, when I opened my eyes, I let out a gasp of horror, and a pained sob. "Don't worry—you're not leaving your room for two weeks, after I sterilize your wounds so they won't get infected," he replied. "And, afterwards, I'll have gotten you a top-of-the-line wig. Can't have you not keeping up appearances, can we?"

The thought of leaving the house looking like this revolted me, and as soon as my wounds were sterilized, I was shoved into my room and locked in. Under Dr. Normal's orders, our maid would bring in sterilization cream, and water several times a day. I was allowed access to my computer and cell phone, for school purposes, and my bathroom, of course, which was outfitted with anything and everything I would need. One thing I could do for myself is shower—Dr. Normal was all about being clean, and he encouraged daily showers in the household.

After the two weeks were up, I was allowed back at school, with most of my worse wounds covered by my clothes, and the other ones were explained away by Dr. Normal. People were very nice to me, for the cover story about me having mono had worked like a charm. I was sure to ignore all of Jess's text messages, and her calls, because I didn't want anything to do with her, after what had happened. In all our time together, other than my dorm room, and on occasion in the darkness of her room at her parent's house, we had one other special place that we liked to go to. It was my nook in the library, and we would sometimes meet there for hookups if our schedules were booked up; plus, we were experienced at being quiet, and nobody came back there anyhow.

I was at my nook about a month after it had happened; physically my wounds were all healed—the lesser ones, anyway, while my deeper ones, and Dr. Normal's burn mark, had held on—but, on an emotional level, I was still scarred. Just sitting there, trying to remain numb and not give in to the torrent of emotions that threatened to flow through me, every minute of every day, I did my best to focus on my pre-law assignment. It was all about discussing alternative methods of capital punishment, and something told me that life without parole was at the top of the list; we had eight men in Washington State waiting to die, but, due to the fact that this was a blue state with liberal politicians turning up left and right, I considered it unlikely that they would ever be executed themselves...

"Scar?"

I swallowed then, raising my eyes to Jess. I wanted to say something—anything to break this agonizing silence between us, but I found that I couldn't. It was even a mistake for looking up at her, I decided then, and turned my gaze back to the computer. My hands flew over the keyboard, and I hoped that she would take the hint that I was busy.

"Scar, please," Jess said then, and moved to sit next to me. "I think we should talk."

Mutely, I saved my document and gathered up my things, moving to leave. However, her hand was on my arm then, and I yanked it back, away from her, turning to look up at her with all the hatred in my eyes I could muster. Apparently, the silent treatment hadn't worked, so maybe the hateful one could.

"Scar, don't do this," she whispered—her voice was begging, pleading with me to still be with her, to sneak around if we had her...

"Don't do what?" I said, my voice coming out then like the whacks of Dr. Normal's belt. "Don't not talk to you anymore? Because that sure as shit isn't working," I said, getting to my feet and walking out of the library.

"Scar..." Jess got to her feet then, bolting after me.

I didn't have any more classes that day, but I figured that laying low in the library would be a better alternative to my dorm; I'd felt, in that moment, I'd chosen wrong. "Don't follow me, Jess," I said, trying to keep all feeling from my voice.

"Scar, don't..."

I scoffed. "No, Jess. You don't," I said, my voice cutting then, aware that people were likely staring at us as we walked by, and I was tempted to flip them off, but I made no move to do so as we reached my dorm room building. I headed inside, up to my floor, Jess at my heels, and when I used my key to get in, she shoved me in before her, the door locking automatically behind me, and she stood in front of it. "Jess, you need to get the fuck out of here," I said, my voice hard as I addressed her then, pointing at the door with every word I was speaking, as if she meant nothing to me.

"Not until you tell it to me straight, Scar..."

"God, I don't believe this..." I muttered.

"That—that muttering thing... Why do you do it?"

"This is what you want to discuss? My lack of social skills?!"

"No, because you just answered the question," she replied. "No. I want to ask you why you've been avoiding me for a month!"

"Jesus, Jess... It's not like you can't get your pussy licked by anyone else! I'm sure everyone you ask will be willing..."

"It's not about pussy licking," Jess replied, stepping forward then, and placing her hands on my arms—so gentle, so kind...

"Don't fucking touch me," I replied, stepping away from her.

"You took so long to let me in and, when we did, your stepdad caught us. No wonder you're so freaked out, Scar..."

I shook my head, not looking at her. "I don't want to fucking talk about this."

"My parents found out, you know?" she said, and I didn't look back at her. "You know, they believed me when I said we were just fooling around... But they're concerned, so they're making me get engaged," she said, and my eyes snapped back to hers.

"Engaged?" I whispered, and I hated myself for sounding like I cared.

"Yeah, to Alec Ross—he's the son of the co-CEO of my dad's company," she replied. "I've known him forever—he's a nice guy... Dad and his father want us to open up a branch of the company in New York, so we'll be moving there next year..."

I plastered a smile on my face. "Go on, then," I said, motioning like I was going to push her out of my dorm room. "Go to New York. Get fucking married. Get fucking pregnant. I don't give a shit, Jess! Go and have a fucking amazing life..."

"Why are you lying?"

I scoffed then, looking away from her. "Fuck off."

"No, Scar! Tell me why you're acting like you don't care!"

I shook my head. "I don't care."

"You never cared about me?" Jess whispered, and, when I looked at her, I felt my heart breaking all over again. "Never? In the two years we were doing what we were doing, you didn't fall in love with me?"

"Love..." I scoffed. "It doesn't exist."

Jess shook her head. "Fine. I'll go get fucking married!" she said then, and turned around, and moved towards my door.

"Jess!" I said, my voice hinging then somewhere between desperation and devastation as I reached out for her then, turning her around and kissing her. I couldn't help it, and, in that moment, I needed her—all of her. "Don't go, Jess..."

"What do you want?" she whispered.

I sighed, lowering my eyes. "Don't make me say it..."

She raised an eyebrow. "Scar?"

"Just... Do it," I said, opening the drawer where I kept the 'fuck machine', as Jess had always called it. "You wanted to do it, so do it."

Jess sighed. "What does this mean, Scar?"

It means that this is goodbye, I thought to myself, but I couldn't let her know, not yet. "It means we're figuring it out," I replied.

. . .

"New York's fine," Jessica said on the other end of the phone. "How's Chicago?"

"Good," I said. "Really good. I'm loving it."

"Find your birth family?"

"Yeah, I did," I replied. "I have two older siblings, Fiona and Lip, a twin brother, Ian, and three younger siblings—Debbie, Carl, and Liam. I'm also an aunt—Debbie has a daughter, Franny. I mean, I'm even a mom now," I joked.

"You've got kids?" Jessica asked with a laugh.

I nodded. "Yeah. I've got a daughter, Iana, who's almost two and a half, and I've got twin boys on the way, due in January."

"You married?"

"No," I replied. "I thought I couldn't have kids, so Iana was conceived on a one-night-stand, on a tequila-filled night in Mexico."

"And your twins?"

"My ex-boyfriend," I replied. "I have two bosses, and he's their son..."

"You an attorney?"

"Yeah, I made that dream happen," I replied. "And you? Vanity Fair treating you well over there in New York?"

"Yeah, it's amazing," Jessica replied. "And Alec is just so wonderful with the branch of the company he's built..."

"You guys have kids?"

"Alec Junior is set to turn six in a couple months," she replied. "Then our girls—Katherine and Jane—are four and two."

"I'll bet they're beautiful," I replied.

"Are you happy, Murphy?" she asked.

I nodded. "I am. And you?"

Jessica laughed. "Can't complain."

I wrapped up my call with Jessica shortly thereafter, seeing that it was close to eleven, so I left to take an early lunch. I avoided Nicholas's part of the hallway, not wanting to come into contact with him again as I trekked through the assistant's area and got into an elevator. Once I got into the parking garage, I got in my car and drove across town, making my way to Ian's work and pulling off into the street parking area. Getting out of my car, I walked inside, the receptionist begrudgingly waving me through as I made my way back to the employee area, and stepped inside without any sign of hesitation.

"Ian," I said, spotting him in a crowd of co-workers and, when he turned around, he caught sight of my expression, and looked concerned immediately.

"Murph?"

I sighed. "Can we go outside for a few moments, please?"

Ian nodded. "Excuse me, everybody," he said, and slipped away from the group before placing a hand on my shoulder and leading me outside. "Hey, you okay?"

I rolled my shoulders, looking out at the empty lot next to his work. "Can't complain... Went down memory lane today..."

"Yeah?" he asked. "Dr. Normal again, or...?"

I scoffed. "Dr. Normal is in every part of memory lane, unfortunately... He has a recurring role, but he'll never be the star. Bastard..."

"How'd you go down memory lane?"

"Phone call."

"Yeah? Who was on the other end?"

I lowered my eyes. "Jessica was."

"Yeah?" he asked. "Was it fun to catch up?"

I sighed then, my shoulders slacking as I stared at my feet. Then, I allowed my eyes to wander to the broken concrete around us, to the expansive empty lot next door, until I finally raised them up to my twin's. Ian looked as concerned as he had when I'd walked into the staff area, or when I was going to tell him I was pregnant...

"It was something," I said quietly.

"How was it something?" he wanted to know.

I bit my lip, hesitation flowing through me then before I allowed myselfto speak, and the words were so freeing, that I wish I'd said them a long timeago. "I guess I should start off with, there's still so much you don't knowabout me, Ian Gallagher," I replied.