Hey guys! So this is the final chapter and I hope y'all enjoy! Enjoy!

One Year Ago

Victoria's left the city once again, apparently to go see her father and Brooke couldn't have been happier when she saw her mother get on the plane that was taking her very far away from her. She and Lucas were going to spend the whole week hanging out when they weren't working and it was going to be the best week she had in a long time.

She stops in front of the airport, pulling out a cigarette from her purse and lights it. Takes a long drag and holds it in before blowing out. Damn it felt good. Her cellphone rings loudly and she answers with a smile. "Hey. I just saw my mom off."

"Nice. Look, I know we were supposed to have dinner tonight but this book thing came up..." he trails off, not saying anything at all but saying enough.

"Oh, okay. That's fine. Is it another one of those get togethers?"

"Yeah but don't worry, I won't drag you to this one," he says with a laugh before quickly saying he has to go and hangs up. He didn't give her enough time to say that never once has he dragged her to one of those parties, that she's loved going with him to every single one.

She shrugs it off, figuring that maybe this time it's different and finishes her cigarette before hailing a cab.

She doesn't know it's the beginning on the end.

Present Time

Her long uneven nails run across the wooden bench, outlining each grain in each piece of wood. Her head rests in Orlando's lap and he plays with her now long hair, laughing at how every five minutes she rearranges her positioning. "You can't sit still anymore can you," he laughs and she rolls her eyes behind her large shades. She gazes up at the bright blue sky and can't believe how perfect Paris is. The large parks she could spend forever in, the beautiful buildings, and the perfect weather. It was a shame she only came here when her life was a mess.

"You wouldn't be able too either if you had this in you," she mutters angrily and moves so she's resting on her back. She looks up at her only friend in Paris and wonders what it is that he likes about her. She's not a good person and right now her life's a mess. It must be the clothes...

"Why do you speak like that? How can you speak like that?" Brooke has learned in the three months that she's resided in Paris that Orlando came from a large family and once she told him of her views on parenting, he looked as though she crushed him. "I don't get how you can be so despondent... there is a life inside you."

"I know okay, I know," she says, sitting up and smoothing out her brown skirt. She pulled down the tight tank top to cover her rounded belly. "You have no idea how hard it is to pretend I don't give a shit when this thing is kicking me from the inside. Or when I go and see her on that small screen..." Pregnancy has not been good on Brooke Davis. She's a complete emotional wreck most of the time and all she seems to do is complain about her back. So as she sits there, in the perfect city and perfect park on the perfect day, she tries to force back the tears that are forming quickly in her eyes. She cranes a hand back to rub her lower back and sniffs as she feels Orlando's hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry." It's simple and she knows he means it. More than she knew he did.

One Year Ago

"How was that dinner the other night?" They're eating dinner on his couch, the tv playing in the background as she stares at him while poking at the food in her take out container. He shrugs it off, telling her she knows how it's likes and she nods. He's not telling her something and she's not asking why she didn't take her. Because deep down she knows why he's not. It's because he has Lindsey now and she's no longer needed at such parties.

Later, when she's kissing him, her legs placed on either side of her body, she smells something out of the ordinary, tastes something unfamiliar. She pulls away abruptly and looks into the dark blue eyes. "What's wrong?" She opens her mouth to tell him she knows and that he's a pussy for not telling her about Lindsey but she doesn't.

Instead she says nothing and just returns her lips to his.

Present Time

She stands of the bottom of the staircase that leads to the apartment she shares with Orlando and sighs heavily. She puts her hand on the railing and takes the first step up. As she got bigger, the travel up to the third story had been getting harder and harder. The lift had broken sometime around her seventh month and now as she was at her ninth, it was a nearly impossible trip. "Jeez," Brooke exhales as she continues to go up the numerous steps, her breathing getting ragged and her back aching to a point where she has to stop.

She looks up as she clutches her stomach, seeing her door just five steps away. She lets out a groan and yells for her friend and he pokes his head out of the door, an amused smile on his lips. "We need to get walkie talkies or something so that you don't get stuck halfway through and Mrs. Boulanger has to try and help you up the stairs," he laughs as he wraps his arm around her waist, his hand palming the side of her extended belly, Brooke wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Thank you," she tells him once they're up the cursed steps. She walks into the small apartment and lowers herself on to the couch.

"Don't thank me yet." He throws a magazine down next to her and she raises an eyebrow in question, wiping her forehead of the sweat that had formed during her battle with the stairs. "Turn to page twelve. I'll get you some water." She picks up the glossy magazine and flips through the pages as Orlando returns with her water. She takes a sip and then she sees it.

"Ohmigod," she says, nearly choking on the water she had just consumed. There she was. Pictures of her walking down the streets of Paris on multiple occasions. Her eyes scan the article as she realizes she is no longer in hiding.

Orlando picks up the magazine, and begins to read the article out loud as Brooke slumps against the couch, her look of shock still on her face. "The allusive Brooke Davis, designer of Clothes over Bros has been churning out design after fantastic design in her mysterious absence. Davis was last seen out and about in New York City earlier this March but has since then seemingly dropped off the planet. But a week ago, Davis was spotted roaming the streets of Paris in a very... different condition than we saw her last." He looks up at the brunette who is just shaking her head.

"My mother is going to be her tomorrow. She's probably already on a plane." She holds her head in her hands and lets out a frustrated groan. "My mother is coming and I'm pregnant and the whole world knows and my back hurts and oh my god Lucas probably knows..." Pretty soon it turns into a tear filled ramble and Orlando rushes to her side, patting her back.

They sit like that for a while, Brooke's head resting on his shoulder as he repeats that everything will work its self out. She nods, her salty tears running down her cheeks and then it happens. As if her day couldn't get any worse. "Shit," she grumbles.

Ten Months Ago

She's rummaging through his drawers, trying to find the T shirt of his that she wants to sleep in and that's when she opens it. The drawer not filled with her clothing or his. He stands in the doorway and asks her what's wrong. She lets out an almost bitter laugh. "Is this why I'm no longer needed at the dinner parties?" She holds up a clothing of her design, but one that she doesn't own. It smells of apples and cinnamon. The same apple and cinnamon smell she smelt in his bed and on some of his clothing. It belongs it the intruding taste in his mouth.

He tries to stammer out something, words that'll make it okay but she just shakes her head. "You couldn't even tell me to my face," she spits out and the walks over to where her clothes lie on the floor. She begins putting them on angrily and then laughs to herself once more. "I bet you she doesn't even know what you do with me does she?"

He shakes his head. "You can't be angry about this. This is what you wanted Brooke. Someone you could fuck around with. All we do is benefit, you said that yourself."

She nods once all her clothes are on and walks up to him. "You're right. I'm sorry." She pushes past him and slams the door shut behind her.

Nine Months Ago

They've barely said more than two words to each other since it happened. Doesn't mean they've stopped seeing each other but their meetings have been nothing more than ruining the sheets. He's missed his friend though and that's why she stands next to him tonight, smiling fakely to all the people around them. She's barely said a word and he knows she's still mad.

When Lindsey calls him over, he can see the fire in her eyes as her perfectly false smile tells him to go over to his girlfriend, that she's fine by herself. He walks away and over to the blonde who waves at her, and she waves back. She hates Lucas. Lindsey's a wonderful girl and he gives her a reason the despise the new woman. She travels over to the bar and as soon as her drink is placed in her hands, she finds Rob standing next to her.

They flirt once more and when she mentions that she is most definitely not with anyone, his grin grows wider. She's not sure how it happens or how long they'd been talking till it does but the next thing she knows, she's bent over the counter in the men's room, her dressed pushed up and Rob behind her.

When he's done, he pulls her dress back down and waits for her to turn around to face him. "That was fun," he tells her before kissing her lips and leaving. She stays, motionless against the sinks and it's one of the stupidest things she can do. If someone sees her in there it'd be weird and potentially bad for Lucas but she can't will herself to move just yet.

Slowly, she turns back towards the mirror and straightens out her hair and dress. Reapplies her make up so that she once again looks picture perfect. Lucas comes in then and looks at her confused and shocked. "This is the men's room."

"I know."

She doesn't look at him, can't look at him. "Are you okay?"

"Of course," she says, locking her hurt eyes with his as she gives him a small smile before leaving the room.

Present Time

She lies in the standard hospital bed, her face sticky with sweat, her hair matted and tangled against the white pillow. Her whole body ached and she couldn't feel more horrible. She stares out the hospital window and sighs. Two hours, forty four minutes and sixteen seconds ago she'd given birth to a beautiful healthy baby girl. Dark brown hair like her own and light green eyes. Not a trace of the blue eyes of Lucas nor the deep brown like Rob's. Orlando had been next to her and nearly cried when he was holding her.

Two hours, twenty eight minutes and nineteen minutes ago she held her beautiful baby girl with a smile on her face for the last time. She passed her into the arms of the couple she'd come to know during her pregnancy, and the people who would be calling her daughter their own.

And she has yet to stop crying for two hours, twenty four minutes and three seconds.

Nine Months Ago

She had left without another word. And not just the bathroom but the whole party. Didn't say anything to anyone and he hadn't heard from her since their run in. So, here he sits in his apartment, alone, waiting to hear something from her. He sits, in the dark with only the tv illuminating the space around him and he still hears nothing. Not a call nor a text, nor a knock on his door.

So at 2 a.m. he finally goes into his room, crawls into bed and tries to sleep. It has to be only a few minutes later that she comes into his room, her eye make up ruined by the water coming from her eyes. She doesn't say anything, just kisses him hard. He pulls back because for once, there's something different about her. Something that's not familiar to him. Before he can say anything she says, "I'm sorry."

He nods in the complete darkness they're enveloped in and begins kissing her shoulder. "Me too," he whispers and then it's a haste of lips and clothes because they need to be with something familiar. They need to be together like they know they can be.

Present Time

When she wakes up, her mother is sitting in the corner of the hospital room. "Where is it," she asks passively, her eyes never once leaving the busy city outside.

"With her family," Brooke responds hoarsely. She notices her mother's eyebrows go up in shock. "Figured you'd be proud Victoria. It's all about publicity right?"

The older woman shakes her head and gets up from her chair. "When are you coming home?"

"Next month." Her mother nods and pats her hand.

"Rest up. I'll take care of everything."

They stand side by side a day later at the bottom of the stairs, her arm already around his side, his around her shoulders. They start going up, going slow as Brooke winces slightly with each step. "I'm never having children again," she grumbles and he just shakes his head.

"You know that's not true." They remain silent until the get to their apartment. "Go and get into bed. I'm going to go pick up a few things." She nods and moves slowly to the bedroom they share, crawling into the big bed and closing her eyes. It's been a long two days and she feels like she could sleep forever.

Some time later Orlando comes in to the room with a tray full of food. Water, a sandwich and some chips, along with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He places the tray on her deflated lap and then climbs in next to her. She thanks him before she takes a bite of her sandwich and leans her head on his shoulder. She throws the sandwich down and takes out a cigarette. She takes a deep drag and exhales, tasting that sweet release for the first time in months. "Are you really going to leave?"

She nods. "I have to." Because now that her 'problem' is gone she can return home... if New York was still her home.

She sits, legs bent and crossed in the window sill, running one hand through her greasy tangled hair, the other clutching a cigarette between her fingers. She wants to leave, get out of this apartment and this god damn city. Her fingers move to the cross that lays against her bare chest, outlining it softly. Ever since she moved to this city, she's attended church regularly, why she has almost no clue and it doesn't seem to help. But it seems like the only thing left that can give her some sort of hope.

"I gotta go." She nods mindlessly, bringing the cigarette to her lips and inhaling deeply, closing her eyes and enjoying the release. He leaves, giving her an empty kiss in her hair before turning with his jacket in hand and going out the door. That's when the tears come, because she knows it has to stop. She has to leave because she can't be by him, not now, not for a while.

Tonight, she'll pack basics, and then go to St. Patrick's in the morning and speak to Father John, trying once more to seek some sort of advice that she probably wont take and instead fly to Milan to meet her mother. The boy that's been consuming her free time will be a distant memory and everything she's screwed up will be fixed.

She takes one last drag on her cigarette before stubbing it out, the glowing embers burning her white window sill slightly, leaving an everlasting mark on the wood.

The last time she went to mass, the Father giving the sermon said that 'weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning'. She laughs harshly because she knows there will be nights filled with tears and heart wrenching sobs and screams that'll make her neighbors think she's being murdered before there is one solid morning of something good, something stable, something more than this.

She walks into her bathroom and wonders if he's gotten back to Lindsey yet. She stares at her messy appearance before looking down at the plastic stick in the trash can. Stupid fucking plus sign. Stupid fucking Lucas Scott and stupid Brooke Davis.

She wakes up as the plane lands on the ground and she blinks a few times before looking out the small window. She stretches her arms before digging in her bag and pulling out her sunglasses, putting them on before she hears the awaited ding. She unbuckles and gets up quickly, grabbing her carryon before getting off the plane. There's no crazy paparazzi, no crazy mother, no nothing. Just her alone in a crowded airport.''

She steps outside and immediately lights up. It's sunny but cold and she didn't bring a jacket. So she stands in her long sleeved form fitting T-shirt and blue jeans, a bag on either side of her as she tries to warm herself up with the smoke she inhales. She looks to her left and notices a man in a business suit looking her up and down and she rolls her eyes. With the help of her cigarettes she lost nearly all of the weight she had piled on during her pregnancy but she still remained top heavy.

She tosses the half smoked cigarette in his direction before getting into a cab.

She walks into her apartment tiredly, dropping her bags in front of the door. She kicks off her shoes and runs a hand through her long hair, making her way to her bedroom. But she stops when she sees him sitting in her window sill. "What are you doing here," she asks quietly and he points to the numerous tabloids displayed on her coffee table.

"Where's the baby?" His voice is even and emotionless and this was not what she was expecting.

"With her family." He doesn't understand, it's evident by the look on his face and she folds her arms under her chest. "She's with her family in Paris."

It all clicks then and he stands up angrily. "You gave away our baby," he yells at her and she shakes her head.

"I don't know it she was yours." She says it even and bitter and he has to turn away from her. Can't look at who's she's become and what he's made her into.

"So you gave away your child?"

She shakes her head. "I didn't want the baby if she wasn't yours." He turns around, looking at her and his face softens. "But I didn't want her if she was yours either." She walks away, walks into her bedroom and shuts the door, locking it behind her. A baby didn't deserve to be brought into any of this.

A few minutes later, she hears her front door slam shut and realizes he's finally gone. She knows they won't see each other for a while, probably never again because everything between them is too complicated and too much is left unsaid. So she'll bury herself in her work, probably move out of this damn city that's filled with memories of him and the shitty situation that's lasted two years.

She thinks she'll move to Paris, probably move back in with Orlando if he'll have her and try and start over there. Work on her designs in the perfect city on another perfect day when she can be the person she used to be.

So, I know Leah figured out the ending already but I do hope I semi shocked some of you lol. I know it's probably not the ending you all wanted but I think that it's better this way. Thank you all for reading and I really hope you all enjoyed!