A/N: Hey guys, it's me again :) I know I've been kind of absent here lately and I know that I haven't written a good quality story in a while, and I apologize for that. But I just want to say that I'm BACK and better than ever! :) If you've been following Over My Head, I just wanted to say that that story is on hiatus until further notice. I believe that I'll go back to it eventually, but as of right now, my heart and soul is invested in this story right here.

So before you guys start reading this, I just wanted to let you guys know that this is something completely different from anything I've ever done. This will probably be my most mature piece of writing ever, for one. And for two, this is the first time I've ever attempted to co-write a story. This story is co-written with one of my best friends. You may know her on here as shelizabeth or on tumblr as shelizabethwriting. We had an idea for this very emotional fic and we decided to tackle it. I hope you guys are pleased with what we come up with. I think you will be.

There will be more than one narrator throughout this entire story. Equal emphasis will be put on both Amelia and Jo separately and as friends, as well as their relationships with Owen, and later to come, Alex.

Enjoy!

We used to ride to work together. That's what I miss most, I realize, as I'm driving down the familiar interstate. The trees are beautiful, at least they should be. They'd be breathtaking to anyone normal. The entire world is a blur of red and orange and yellow, the best kind of mess, the kaleidoscope explosion of trees that have always comforted me. I've always liked the fact that they do what they need to do in summer and they don't linger. When the temperatures drop and the sun starts to hide, the leaves flutter to uncertainty. They don't hold on, hoping things might get better, hoping things might go back to normal. Everything changes, and they fall to the ground, not knowing what may be at the bottom for them, and not caring.

I used to miss silent car rides. I used to long for them when Teddy was yelling in my ear, screaming things like Mommy, Mommy! Look at my booger, it's green, right? and Owen would hum along in the driver's seat, grinning as I told our son yes, honey, your booger is green. No, you can't eat it. Here, take this tissue.

I used to long for the peaceful rides of quiet, with not even the radio playing. Just me, the trees, and the mechanical hum of a car in gear. But the silence is nearly unbearable. I play the radio, but my ears still buzz with the sounds of their voices, and there's something in me, something deep within the depths of my body, that longs for them the way they used to be mine. Some days are worse than others. Today is one of the worst.

Six years ago, when I found out I was pregnant, Owen and I celebrated by drinking sparkling water out of a bottle that looked like wine, and eating cheese and crackers on the floor of our living room, joking that our days of fine dining were over. We acted like we didn't feel capable of vomiting up rainbows and puppies at the idea, or vomiting or excreteing whatever you might do when happiness leaks out every inch of your body. I found out a month before our wedding. We were planning it, we wanted him, but we didn't expect it to happen so fast. That's why I stopped birth control two months before. I figured it would take a little while for my body to adjust. But he came right away, eager and willing, and for five years he stayed that way. Eager and willing, innocent and hopeful, a beautiful, loving little boy.

I left earlier than I needed to leave, before Teddy even woke up. I've started to do it every day just to avoid the fallout between Owen and me. I don't want to hear the concern in Owen's voice, I don't want the fight when I want to take him to school. I don't want any of it anymore. So I slip in and out before and after the sunrise and sunset. I tell Owen I'm too tired to talk, and it's not a lie. The idea of talking is exhausting. The idea of anything is exhausting. So I leave before I have to wear myself out, and I drive down the same roads every day, long, winding back roads that are an unnecessary detour.

Today, the thought of Teddy makes tears well up in my eyes and I know I can't drive much longer. They're pressing at my eyelids and stinging, filling them so quick that I can't see anymore. I can't see anything through this thick wall of water and for a second I let myself consider the possibility of driving still. I consider letting the car go, letting it swerve into a pole or tree or any sort of death sentence, but then I think of Teddy asking where his mommy is and Owen telling him I'm never coming back, and I imagine the way his face will crumble, and then I pull over into the next parking lot on my left. One of the only buildings on this street. Stop 'N Go. A gas station, but my tank is full. It's always full, just because it's something to do once I get near halfway and I have time to kill before work. I pull around to the side of the building and put my car in park, crouching forwards and letting the sobs come out of me. They're monstrous, even scary. I don't recognize the person making these sounds. They're ugly and coming from deep down in my throat, and they sound more like an animal cry than anything. But it feels good to let them out. It feels like I'm being emptied out, and that feels good, because I want none of whatever is inside of me. I wish I could cry it all out and truly be empty; I wish I could be a blank slate. I could go home and be everything my family needed from me. So I let myself cry until my body stops on its own. My cheeks are paved with my tracks of tears and I carry a heavy, puffy feeling around my eyes when I glance at the dashboard for the time. I have an hour until work and I don't feel like I have the energy to drive around aimlessly anymore. I haven't eaten breakfast in months, but something about my crying fit made my stomach contract with angry hunger sounds, so I fish around in the cup holder between the seats to find the crumpled up five dollar bill I know is there.

As soon as I step out of my car and into the air, I'm freezing cold. The air is the kind of cold that stings when the wind hits your skin. I didn't even know there was wind today, and the thought of this makes me suddenly ashamed. Of all things to be ashamed of, and I have plenty, I'm ashamed that I didn't notice the wind when I walked out this morning. What kind of idiot, what kind of withdrawn selfish egocentrical idiot, doesn't even notice the wind when it's this cold? I cross my arms to shield myself from the wind instinctively, but then I let them dangle at my sides, deciding that I deserve to have to embrace the cold for not noticing this morning. I linger outside the door of the gas station for a few moments, punishing myself with a few moments of wind, before the bell on the door jingles and I walk into the heated mini-mart, shivering and hugging myself to warm up. Upon rows of processed baked goods and one row of feminine products and other emergency necessities, I pace between them all. I don't know what I'm looking for, but I can feel eyes on me as I walk. There are only two other people in the shop: the man behind the counter, a middle-aged man with scruff on his face and a beer belly poking out of his pants. Over a white wife beater tank top, just a size small enough to let his chest hair poke out of the sides, he wears an unbuttoned flannel. His baseball cap is brown, freckled with white spots all over it where it had been worn down. He's a little intimidating, but he off-sets it with a big smile and a tug on his cap.

"Cold day out there, huh?" he asks.

"Yeah," I try to offer him a smile as friendly as the one he offered me. "Biting cold."

"Lucky I'm in here all day then," he says, then laughs, a kind of howl. "Never thought the day would come when I'd say that, heh?"

I'm not sure if crooked smiles are a myth, but when I imagine how my face looks, it's an awkward, crooked smile. I don't know what he expects me to say to that. I've never seen this man in my life, I have no idea what his history is, and if there would ever be a day when he'd want to stand around in a gas station all day. I look to the only other person in the store, a baby-faced girl with a round belly and downcast eyes. She stares at the floor, twiddling her feet, and giving me nothing to work with. She looks young, too young to be carrying a baby, and suddenly, I have the desire to know her story. I wondered who she was, who she loved, and how she ended up pregnant and completely alone in a Stop 'N Go in the early morning hours. Was she waiting for a ride? Was she a surrogate mother, trying to make extra money for college tuition while simultaneously giving a couple the greatest gift in the world? Was she like me, avoiding someone because it hurt too much to love them? I don't know what came over me, but I suddenly felt compelled to talk to her. I start to say something, I plan to ask her what her name is, but I'm interrupted by a buzzing in my pocket. I spin my phone out and right side up, looking at the caller ID. The name OWEN HUNT pops up along with a picture of my husband. It's my favorite picture of him. He's laughing with Teddy on his lap. They look like little twins, with their matching red hair. Teddy's name was originally going to be Daniel Theodore, or Addilyn Theodora if he was a girl. We had decided on both, Daniel because we both liked Danny and Addilyn because Addie would be in honor of my sister. Either way, our first child's middle name would be in tribute to Owen's truest and longest friend. I completely supported the idea and I loved it, but it was a middle name. We didn't plan to call him by it. But then he was born, and born with a fireball of red hair on top of his head and I couldn't help but laugh. He was a little Owen. He slid into the name Owen Theodore Shepherd-Hunt like it had been made for him, because it had been. I wouldn't call him Owen, though. That I refused. Seamlessly, he became Teddy Bear, and then Teddy. Our son, that was born so much of Owen, but somehow had so much of me wedged inside of him.

"Hey," I answer quietly, stepping back out into the angry wind. It whips my hair across my face and chunks get stuck over the wetness on my lips. I pull it away while I wait for him to respond.

"Where the hell are you?" he asks. He barks at me and makes me draw back, even through the phone. I should have expected it, but I didn't.

"I left for work early. I had a-"

"Did you forget?"

"Crap," I mutter. I had completely forgot. I wouldn't have left if I had remembered. "What time is it? I can come back now."

"Forget it, Amelia," he says, and I realize that his disappointment is worse than his anger. He really believed in me. He thought I would be there. "...Just forget it."

"I'll come back now, Owen! I'm coming back now. Don't leave without me, okay?"

"I'm leaving in twenty minutes, whether you're here or not." I nod my head, even though he can't see me. The phone is silent, but I know he's still there. He's always there. "I love you," he finally says.

"I love you too," I whisper.

"Come home now," he urges, and I nod again, feeling phlegm building up in my throat. I hang up the phone and walk back into the store, feeling like my business isn't finished there. I don't have much time, even though I know Owen won't really leave without me. He'll wait for me, but I don't want to make him wait, so I decide to speed it up. I walk through the aisles and pull off a bag of peanut butter pretzels. I'm not going to eat them, I'm not hungry anymore, but I need a reason to have come back in. My eyes are still on the girl with the long brown hair and the swollen stomach, her arms loosely buckled across it as if she's ashamed of having it and trying to hide it. I put the bag down on the counter without taking my eyes off her.

"Excuse me," I say. I sniff away any residual signs of crying that might be lurking in my throat, then cough to clear it. "Sorry, are you waiting in line?"

She looks up and looks if she's genuinely puzzled, as if she can't believe I actually spoke to her. Before her mouth opens, her head shakes. "N-no," she stutters. "I'm not."

"Okay," I nod, still unable to take my eyes off her. For the first time, it occurs to me that she isn't holding anything in the hands that are wrapped around herself. I decide she must be waiting for a ride. It's the only thing that makes sense. I think of a whole story for her life using my surrogate guess from earlier. She's going to school to be a vet, and when she went home for break, she had a long talk with her friendly neighbors who have always desperately wanted a child. She's a good person at heart, so this was a no brainer. Of course she would do it, despite the stares she would get for her age. She was driving back to school and her car broke down, and she's waiting for her loving, funny, charismatic boyfriend to come pick her up. Someday they'll get married and have their own babies. But even as this story unfolds itself layer by layer in my mind, I know it's just a story. It's a bitter reminder by the sunken look in her eyes, the dirty clothes she's wearing. I hand over my five to the friendly cashier and tell him to keep the change, mostly because I'm too preoccupied with the girl to bother myself with collecting it back in my hand and carrying it back to the car.

I force myself to look away, to look down at the pretzels I don't want, and to remember Owen and Teddy. I picture Owen waiting in the driveway, the car already running, and that's enough to push me out of the gas station. I don't know if I'll ever see the girl again after I leave, but something tells me it won't be long before I find myself at the little Stop 'N Go once again. I tell myself I have my own life and my own problems to worry about, Lord knows I have enough of them, and I tell myself I won't come back here looking for her. The thought makes me smile. I used to be an expert at lying to myself. I'm glad I still have it in me.

And so you guys have a better idea as to how this story is going to work, I also posted chapter two tonight...just so you guys can fall in love with this story a little quicker :)