AN: Sorry if this seems rushed?

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I merely plod around for the rest of the day, unable to focus on anything and attempting to accept the news that I recently received. Worksheets were handed out to my students, and they spend most of their time in silence as I force them to do individual work. I feel numb but generally overwhelmed and incapable of handling anything that required much effort, such as tuning out the blaring voices of the teenagers I taught.

As I drifted from my class to the bathroom during my lunch break, I couldn't stop thinking of how this may be my last moments alive. Of course it was never guaranteed that everyone survived labour or everyday life in general, but Kelsi's sudden death made my fears that more real. It brought me to realize that Kelsi, one of the sweetest people I knew, was given the worst of luck and that it could happen to me, too.

She didn't know her fate when her water broke, did she? Her kind face must have instantly brightened in joy and anticipation as she barked for her husband to call an ambulance immediately because they would finally get to meet their child. She was so mislead, and I wish I could have done something—anything to stop what happened last night.

Salty tears somehow manage to materialize in my eyes as I wonder if she even got to see her baby. She was looking forward to having her precious daughter in her arms so badly I thought she would never bring herself to let the baby go once she was given the child to hold.

I pictured the Cross family as being very close. The kind of family that you envied as they strolled leisurely through the mall or park, carefree and hand in hand, having the time of their lives. The kind of family to never be ripped apart. Especially so soon. I hope they at least had one moment together.

I felt sorry for Jason. The perfect family image was so close and in reach before he lost it all in seconds.

My heart went out to the baby. She would grow up without the brilliance of her mother, only able to eagerly listen to past stories and wonder what could have been.

I'll never be able to sit with Kelsi in the nice little coffee shop we discovered as we basked in the sun, juggling our kids and beaming proudly, while everyone cooed at them. We will never get to go shopping together for our little ones, and we'll never help each other plan our children's birthdays. She won't call me when Jason starts to freak out as soon as he hears that his daughter has a boyfriend. She'll never answer the phone when it's me calling, asking for her advice that's always endless.

Kelsi was the farthest person to deserve this. She was so strong, stronger than I was. And if I was weak, what would happen while I was in labour? The baby is already breech, and I can't bare to think of what might happen if it doesn't turn. And if it does turn, I've heard stories about the umbilical cord wrapping around its tiny neck, causing it to suffocate. Oh, the possibilities.

If anything, my chances of having complications should be higher than hers.

This is life's way of telling me I shouldn't get my hopes up, isn't it? All these events are simply warning signs that I should heed.

"Gabriella!" someone hisses.

"Huh?" My head snaps up as I look for the source of the sound.

"It's me," Ms. Fitch says quietly. I've never heard her talk as dejectedly as this before, so I am a tad concerned. "I have something to tell you."

"What is it?" I earnestly ask, curious. I'll take anything that will shift my thoughts from Kelsi's death to something else.

"I know what you're going through." She clears her throat awkwardly, and I wait for her to continue. Did she have a secret friendship with Kelsi? "I mean, you're worrying about the baby, aren't you?"

Her boastfulness has seemed to disappear, I remark. "Well," I say slowly, "I'm always worried."

"I would be, too. And I was when I was pregnant."

"You have a son or daughter?" I haven't heard any personal stories from Ms. Fitch before. She always says what she needs to and leaves.

"She passed away shortly after birth a couple of years ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I tell her in a hushed tone.

"And I was so jealous of you and Kelsi with your big stomachs and grins that I was ashamed of myself. But I just wanted to tell you that you can come to me if you'd like to talk. And you should talk and let it all out because I know from experience that keeping everything bottled up isn't healthy at all, whether it would be to me or someone else," she informs me, slightly strict.

"Thanks, and if you ever need to talk, I'm here, too."

We both smile at each other understandingly.

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Troy's late from work and with every tragic story I've heard lately, it's inevitable that I assume the worst again. You'd think he'd turn on his cell phone, but he didn't. I curl into a ball and lean against a counter in our kitchen, feeling the smooth, cold and tiled floor under me. I've given up on cleaning (nesting, as Troy would call it). And I've decided to sit here, unmoving, until he comes home, so I know he is safe.

Two minutes pass and I grow more fearful by the second. It's agony waiting for his arrival, and I feel exhausted and drained after my day.

"Gabriella, I'm home!" he calls from the hallway.

"Why were you so late, and how come you didn't call?" I sputter. For some reason, I'm spontaneously weeping. This all feels like a nightmare. One that's worse than the duck dream.

"Gabi, what's wrong?" He panics, rushing to crouch by my side and taking me in his arms.

I gasp for air and try to get out a few words. "It's..." Sob. "Kelsi." Sob. "She--"

He stokes my hair soothingly as I hiccup. "Shh, calm down. It's going to be okay."

"She's dead, Troy," I lament dismally.

"Wh-what?" He pulls away so he can look me in the eyes. His blue orbs fearfully widen in disbelief. "How--?"

"She was in labor...and then she just...something went wrong...I don't know what..."

"Oh, no, Gabi," he breathes, "I'm so sorry."

I rub furiously at my tears. "But what if...what if..." I can't seem to speak coherently.

"What is it?" he urges in a concerned tone.

"What if that's me? What if that'll happen to me, too?"

"I promise that I'll never let anything happen to you."

"I'm sorry, Troy, but you aren't a doctor with years of professional training. And even if you were, what would make you any different from the ones who tried to help Kelsi?"

Troy exhales and frowns. "Well, Gabriella," he croaks, "there's nothing to do but have faith and remain positive. You can't control life."

I groan hopelessly, burying my head in my heads.

"I can promise that I'll never leave your side," murmurs Troy.

"Thanks." I weakly smile. He's right, and even though that's what I've been telling myself throughout this whole emotional ride, there's something about the way the words come out of his mouth so reassuringly that makes me believe them.

"What brought on this whole breakdown, anyway? I mean, I know Kelsi's death was hard to take, but you were doing so well at coping with this before."

"To tell you the truth, Troy," I mumble vacantly, staring at my bump, "I wasn't even sure I wanted this baby in the first place."

"What? Why?" he asks, alarmed.

"You know...remember that Geography teacher we had in eleventh grade?"

He blinks, recalling his high school years. "The one in the wheelchair?"

I nod wearily. "She only had to use one because of giving birth."

"Oh, Gabriella," he sighs, "why didn't you tell me earlier instead of keeping everything to yourself?"

"I thought I could handle it myself! Then I would get it over with, and we would have our baby, and I would move on...but then Kelsi..." I stutter, my hysterical voice slurring, "I didn't want to seem weak or childish. You looked like you had so much on your plate already, too. I felt guilty because everyone wants a baby. What if I don't like my own baby, Troy? What if I go through that whole postpartum depression thing?"

"I'm always here for you, remember?" he remorsefully consoles me, "I think you should stop worrying about the 'what if's, and about the baby...it'll be inevitably lovable."

"Inevitably lovable?"

"Why not? It'll be a part of both of us, right? And we love each other." He grins warmly, the type of smile that reminds you of butterflies and hope.

"That's true—Oh my God, Troy!" I gasp.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Did I just fucking leak?

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AN: I'll still take suggestions for names/genders. =)

Hey, I just realised that someone always dies in my stories. Oops. I'll come up with something different next time.