Chapter Text
For most of her life, she wished she had never fallen in love with her boyfriend. More than that, there were days she wished she had never been born at all—anything but this, anything but the life she was now forced to live.
Rose had loved him. At least, she thought it was love. He had made her feel seen, wanted—like she mattered. They went on dates, laughed together, spent time alone, and for a while, it felt like the beginning of something new. Something better.
Then he pulled away. The texts stopped. The calls went unanswered. His warmth turned cold, distant…gone. And now she was the one left behind, carrying the consequence of it all.
She pushed herself out of bed with a tired whimper, stretching her arms above her head before slamming her hand down on the blaring alarm clock. Silence filled the room again. For a moment, she just stood there, staring out the window.
Then she looked down.
Her swollen stomach was impossible to ignore.
Her hands moved to it automatically, rubbing slowly, almost absentmindedly, as if trying to understand something she still couldn’t accept.
She turned and made her way to the bathroom, preparing herself for another day of school.
If she survived it, that is.
Everything had been falling apart since her mother died. That was when the shift began—quiet at first, then impossible to ignore. Her father had changed. The warmth he once had was gone, replaced with something distant, cold, unreachable. It left both her and Lily feeling lost, like they were drifting in a house that no longer felt like home.
And this—this pregnancy—was just another piece of that collapse.
She hadn’t planned it. Hadn’t wanted it. But she had loved him, and she thought he loved her too. She thought he would stay, that he would help her build something new out of all the broken pieces.
She was wrong.
He left her to carry it all alone, making everything—the grief, the silence, the weight of it all—so much heavier.
After a while, she returned to her room, passing the pregnancy and motherhood book sitting on her nightstand. She didn’t even glance at it this time. Instead, she went to her closet and began getting dressed for school.
While changing, her eyes drifted back to her stomach. She stared at it, her expression blank, searching for answers that never came.
What was she supposed to do?
How was she supposed to do any of this?
She didn’t know.
Eventually, she left her room and made her way downstairs.
The scene was the same as always.
Her father sat at the table, drinking his coffee, eyes fixed on the newspaper as if nothing else in the world existed. No breakfast. No acknowledgment. Just silence.
Lily sat nearby, her small legs swinging as she hummed softly to herself, filling the quiet in the only way she could.
Rose frowned slightly. Of course. She moved into the kitchen without a word and began making breakfast. “Morning, Lily, Dad,” she said, her voice flat, almost automatic.
Lily turned toward her immediately, bright and cheerful. “Morning, Rose.”
Rose managed a small smile for her.
Then her eyes shifted to her father.
He didn’t look up.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t say anything.
She hesitated, then tried again. “Hi, Dad. Good morning.”
A pause.
Then, without lifting his gaze from the paper, he responded flatly, “Good morning.”
That was it.
Nothing more.
Rose stood there for a second longer, then turned back to the stove and continued cooking in silence.
They ate quietly. The only sound was Lily’s soft humming and the occasional clink of utensils. When they were finished, Lily hopped down from her chair, still in her own little world.
Rose gathered the plates and set them in the sink.
By the time she turned around, her father was already at the door, pulling on his jacket.
“Let's go, girls,” he said.
The sisters moved toward him, their hands finding each other naturally. They stepped outside together, the morning air cool against their skin.
Rose tightened her hold on Lily’s hand. Her other hand moved to her stomach again, rubbing slowly as she took a deep breath, bracing herself.
Another day.
Another weight to carry.
***
Rose and her sister were sitting in the backyard behind the house, the evening air soft around them. From the balcony above, their father stood in silence, watching them from a distance, his eyes fixed on them.
They had been fixed on them since he picked them up from school.
Since dinner—of course made by Rose while he sat off to the side, distant, working, while Lily had waited hungrily.
Since homework—Rose helping Lily, finishing her own, carrying everything without a word.
And now they were outside.
Lily played, her laughter light and bright, while Rose sat nearby, stretching carefully, her movements slow and mindful. A pregnancy book rested open in her lap, pages filled with instructions, guidance—things she clung to like a lifeline.
Everything depended on her now.
Above them, he watched.
A cigarette burned slowly between his fingers, the smoke curling into the dimming sky. His face remained cold, distant—unchanged since the death of his wife.
Since that day, something in him had gone quiet.
Hollow. Gone.
There were moments—like now—where he wished he could disappear from it all. From the house. From the grief.
From them.
His gaze hardened slightly as it lingered on Rose…on her stomach.
Then he turned away.
Slowly, he stepped back inside, his movements heavy, almost dragged by something unseen. He moved through the kitchen, then into the living room, the silence pressing in around him.
The television sat dark.
The remote untouched.
He didn’t bother.
He inhaled deeply from his cigarette, longer this time, the smoke filling his lungs before he crushed it harshly into the tray, grinding it down until nothing remained.
Taking a drink, he swallowed slowly as he wandered the room without direction.
He didn’t know what he was thinking.
Didn’t know what he was doing.
Only that something inside him wasn’t right.
His steps carried him to the fireplace.
And there—resting above it—was her. The portrait of his wife sat there above before him. His hand lifted, almost hesitant, as he took it into his grasp. His thumb brushed gently over the frame, over the image of her smiling face.
For a moment…he smiled too.
It was faint. Fragile. Like a memory of something he no longer knew how to feel.
A ghost of who he used to be.
Back when he brought Rose home for the first time.
Back when Lily was born.
Back when she was still here.
The smile faded just as quickly as it came.
He stared at the picture a moment longer, then turned, carrying it with him as he walked back toward the balcony.
Stepping outside, he looked down at his daughters again.
And that same empty smile lingered on his face.
Below, Rose sat on the grass, her book resting open as she read, one hand absentmindedly rubbing her stomach. Nearby, Lily played with her dolls, lost in her own little world.
“Rosie!”
She looked up, her expression softening as she smiled. “Yes, Lily?”
Lily hurried over, clutching her dolls, her head tilting as her curious eyes settled on Rose’s stomach. “Is the little baby coming out soon?”
Rose glanced down at her stomach, her hand resting there.
Five months. Still time. Still so much she didn’t understand. Still learning.
She pushed the thought aside and smiled gently. “Well…there’s someone in there, that’s for sure. And they’ll come out when they’re ready.”
Lily leaned closer. “When is the baby coming?”
Rose let out a small breath, her smile soft but a little distant. “I don’t know, kiddo. But I’m going to be ready. I have to be…since their dad isn’t here.”
Lily hugged her dolls tighter. “Do you think the baby will like me?”
Rose’s smile warmed. “Honey…of course they will. You’re going to be their auntie. And Dad…he’s going to be their granddad. And Mom…” Her voice softened slightly. “She would’ve been a grandmother.”
Lily’s smile faded a little. She looked down. “I miss Mommy.”
Rose moved closer, wrapping an arm around her. “I know, Lily. I miss her too. Every day.”
She kissed the top of her head gently. “But we’re going to be okay. We have to be. Mom was a fighter…so we’re going to be fighters too. Just like her.”
Lily sniffed softly. “I want Mommy to come back.”
Rose’s expression tightened for a moment before she softened again. “I know, honey. I do too.”
Lily looked back at her stomach. “Do you think the baby is going to like us?”
Rose smiled again, lighter this time. “Oh, definitely. And if it’s a girl, you can show her your dolls. We can have tea parties together—just like we used to.”
Her eyes lit up. “Really? You think so?”
“Of course,” Rose said. “And if it’s a boy, we can tell him all about Mom. How amazing she was. How she made everything feel special.”
Lily smiled brightly. “Really?”
“Really,” Rose nodded. “You’re going to be the best aunt ever.”
She gently tapped her stomach. “Do you want to feel?”
Lily nodded eagerly. “Yes!”
Rose laughed softly and took her little sister’s hand, guiding it carefully to her stomach.
Lily gasped.
“There! I felt it!”
Rose leaned forward, resting her forehead gently against Lily’s. “That means they can hear you. And I think they already like you.”
Lily giggled as she felt another small kick. “It’s moving!”
“I think my little one knows exactly who you are,” Rose whispered.
Lily leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Rose’s stomach where the tiny movements stirred and finally it felt warm again.
***
He could hear them.
Every word. Every laugh.
He stood on the balcony, unmoving, his eyes fixed on them as their voices carried up through the quiet evening air. At the sound of their mother being mentioned, something in his expression shifted—tightened.
He set the picture frame of his wife carefully on the balcony railing. The cigarette holder rested beside it. A cigarette burned slowly between his fingers, his drink held loosely in the other hand.
His gaze moved between the girls…then to the picture.
His jaw tightened.
Memories pressed in without warning.
Their wedding day. Her smile. The way she laughed.
The day Rose was born.
Then Lily.
And then—
Cancer. Six long years of fighting cancer. Six years of watching her fade.
And in the end…she was gone.
It felt like he had lost right alongside her.
His eyes darkened as he looked back at the girls.
Rose. Her stomach. Swollen. Heavy. Wrong. And too young. He wished he could kill the young man who did this to his daughter and abandoned her just like that. Still a child, and already burdened with something she wasn’t ready for. He really wished he could kill the young man who did this to her and not here to support. Many times when he sensed something was wrong and then when she took that damn pregnancy test. He took a slow, heavy drink, his eyes never leaving them.
Lily’s voice drifted up, bright and excited as she suggested names for the baby—childish names, soft and sweet. Rose laughed, humoring her, suggesting others, even agreeing to the silly ones pulled from cartoons.
Like it was normal.
Like any of this was normal.
His grip tightened slightly around the glass.
He looked back at the picture of his wife.
Then, without a word, he turned and went inside, taking the frame with him. His drink remained behind on the table.
Inside, the house felt colder. Quieter. He moved to the kitchen, opening the fridge without really looking, his eyes drifting instead to the calendar on the wall. He closed the fridge and stared at the calendar again.
Friday.
His gaze lingered there.
Tomorrow…Saturday.
He looked back down at the picture in his hands.
At her.
At the life they had.
The life that was supposed to last.
Gone. All of it gone.
The thought hit him hard, sharp and sudden.
And now this.
Rose. Her mistake. The baby.
What came next?
His grip tightened on the fridge handle.
Would he lose her too?
Would the baby take her from him?
Would Lily be next?
Would everything be taken from him until there was nothing left?
Until he was alone?
The thought hollowed him out.
Or worse—
Would it take him too?
His breathing slowed.
Something in his expression stilled.
Shifted.
He let go of the fridge and moved toward the cabinet, pulling out a bottle of wine. He didn’t hesitate—just opened it, took a long swallow, then poured more into a glass.
He carried it back toward the balcony.
Back to them.
The door opened quietly behind him as he stepped outside again.
They were still there.
Still laughing. Still playing.
Like nothing had changed.
Like nothing was about to.
He stared at them.
Then at the picture.
Then, faintly, at the reflection of himself in the glass.
A stranger.
His eyes lifted again—past them, toward the house, toward the calendar inside.
Then back to the girls.
They were meant to be together.
As a family.
They weren’t supposed to break like this.
His fingers tightened slightly around the glass.
They wouldn’t.
Not anymore.
Tomorrow…
Tomorrow would fix everything.
Tomorrow would be a new day.