"Handle it like a man," I told myself, swallowing the lasagna that was threatening to come up. Last thing I needed was to puke at moment like this. The way out the door was fuzzy and slow-motion like a dream that you hope you never have again, where everything's spinning and blurred together. I swallowed again.

"Here, you can, er—sit," Charlie mumbled awkwardly, motioning toward the tiny bench on the white porch. I knew the bench wouldn't stand a chance if I sat on it. But I didn't dare argue—not if I wanted to live a little longer. I sat silently, wincing when the seat gave a threatening creak. Dammit, don't break. I shoved my hands in my pockets. Here goes.

"It would've been nice," he shifted his weight and sighed again, "to know you two were together."

The wind picked up and blew through the trees, making me shiver. Even though I wasn't cold. He was looking at me, I could tell. Intensely; studying my face, my clenched fists. But not in a threatening way. Charlie wasn't threatening. But he wasn't happy, either.

I swallowed. "Yes, sir."

"You're a good kid, Jacob."

I didn't say anything. I was waiting for the but.

"But," he started and I stared at the floor, "Bella is my daughter, and this is going to be…" he stopped, squeezing his eyes shut and sucking in a deep breath. Oh god, please don't cry, I begged. I couldn't handle when grown men cried. Or anyone, for that matter. I'd watched my dad from behind my bedroom door for the last six years, his huge, rough hands on his face covering his face. He was afraid to cry in front of my sisters and me; always trying to keep up the tough exterior. But by the time Rachel and Rebecca had left for college, gotten married, he'd let down the guard a little. I saw him crumble.

"This," his mouth shook but he was trying to stay calm, "This is going to really be hard on everyone. Especially her."

I nodded numbly.

"And I'm disappointed with both of you," he stared at the space just above my head, concentrating on it intently. Here came the confrontation. "But especially you, Jacob. You were supposed to be the one who put her back together."

Here I was again. Messing everything up.

Okay, so the worst part of my life was over. At least the worst part of my life so far. Charlie knew, my dad knew, and I was bullet-free. Even if I wished I was dead.

I turned over in my tiny bed, wiping the sweat off my forehead. The sheets were practically sticking to me; not like I cared, but I was beginning to feel claustrophobic. I needed space to think about what had actually happened tonight.

I'd agreed to a list of things, for one—not even bothering to comprehend what Charlie was actually listing off. Just extra duties. I shifted my weight, switching off my green lamp, turning over in bed. So there were the…well, the first appointments with Bella's doctor. Charlie wanted to take her to the first few alone. But after that it was up to me to show up for support. What were they going to do to her, even? I'd seen a weird special on babies once, when Rachel had fallen asleep watching the Discovery channel, but I didn't know much past the ultrasound deal. Maybe they'd give her some vitamins, or something.

I rolled over again. God it was hot in here—too stuffy to breathe. I unbuttoned my denim shorts, throwing them off the bed. My dad was probably asleep. He went to bed early these days. It usually left me time to do whatever homework I'd put off (if I felt like doing it) or to watch TV when Monster Garage was on. But it was summer, now. It wasn't as easy to find stuff to fill up the empty space. Especially when there was lots to think about. My mind wandered back to Bella and the –the yeah. The baby. I imagined her holding it, crying because she was happy, getting all emotional like girls usually do. Except the image wasn't making me emotional or all warm inside. Instead I felt something deep in my stomach, like a growing pit of I-don't-know-what. All I knew was that I was responsible for all the pain Bella was going to go through; was going through. Her life was never going to be the same.

Then my mind wandered to a place in my mind I'd been trying to avoid. My mom.

What would she say?

She'd died in a goddamn car wreck ten years ago. Stupid drunk driver didn't even care that he took away my mom and left my dad a cripple. My sisters had to take care of me 'til they moved out, five years ago and even then it wasn't the same as my mom had been. She'd collect seashells and make picture frames for fun and tell me all the legends I'd thought were real, then. I glanced over at my nightstand—the picture frame was still there even if it was a little dusty. All of us. Just a picture.

And now I got a girl pregnant. Screwed her life up completely.

I'm sorry, Mom.

"So you're about three months along, then?" Dr. Rice examined my stomach, eyeing her clipboard. I nodded silently. I hadn't been here since the motor cycle accident a few months back.

"Alright, Isabella. Let's have a look at how things are going." She motioned for me to lay back, lifting my shirt. Part of me couldn't believe I was here, and the other part wished I wasn't here. Couldn't doctors at least be a little less personal?

She spread a cold, clear jelly on my stomach—which hardly looked pregnant—and ran a small instrument back and forth, staring at the small screen above the bed. My mind guiltily wandered to Charlie, who had looked uncomfortable out in the waiting room, pretending to be interested in a diet magazine while I reassured him I wanted to go alone the first time. He cleared his throat and nodded, watching me make my way to the nurse who called my name.

Dr. Rice spent a few more minutes rubbing my stomach until she began to smile, nodding her head. "Right on schedule, Isabella. Your baby's on the screen if you want to see it."

I swallowed, staring at the pattern on her scrubs. I knew if I looked at that screen it would change everything. Whatever I had left for—for him—would become an anchor, dragging me down in my sea of masochistic regret. There would be no possibility that things would return to the way they were. Jake and I would be together, and for all intensive purposes, irreversibly. Ed—he would never come back. Not even in my dreams. It would be over.

"Bella?"

I turned my head, swallowing the lump in my throat. This is the moment you accept what you have to.

"Your baby is on the screen," she said again, her eyes were soft with understanding. I took a deep breath, blinking back the tears that were forming under my lids, threatening to spill out. Lift the anchor.

I nodded numbly, looking up toward the blue screen. It was all a blur. A beautiful blur, mixed with the tears that I could feel running down my cheeks, warm and hot. And then I saw clearly. Something there, on that screen, belonged to me. I couldn't interpret my feelings, but I could feel my face burn.

"Oh," I whispered.

"There's hands and feet, the whole deal," she smiled.

I stared. I couldn't see anything but I knew it was there, somewhere in the blur. "Wow," I breathed.

"Do you want to bring your Dad in?" she raised her eyebrows, signing a few papers on the clipboard. I shook my head. I didn't think Charlie would be able to keep it together, and I couldn't watch him crumble anymore.

"Maybe next time."