Author: Stacee

3 April 2007, in an apartment Above the Fruited Plain

Feet up on the hassock to ease the swelling, maybe to ease the pain. Stacee honestly didn't know anymore--it had been one of those nights. The twins were sick, some kind of flu, and her pregnant body was rebelling against the whole affair with a renewed round of violent shakes and shudders. Having the twins five years before had been difficult, having his baby now was more difficult.

Valerian tea eased the tremors and a touch of honey made it palatable. Wasn't much to do about being alone, she supposed. Bourbon was tempting, but she was far too responsible to be drinking with the little one on its way.

She was alone this time, with no man to get her through the last weeks. He'd been there last time....

As helpful as Bob Micheals was, he just wasn't the same. No one could be the same. He was certainly the most decent of men, honorable, but it wasn't the same. Simply wasn't. She had left Chicago 2 weeks pregnant and came here, wanting to only to escape a house full of memories. Jase and Shauna's questions about where their daddy was couldn't be evaded--and she'd found no way in 7 months how to explain to them.

How to tell them that he wasn't coming home again?

She knew who to blame for it....

And there was a shotgun by the bed, just in case they ever bothered her again.