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  “I thought you were asleep. Did I wake you?” I ask.

  She needs as much rest as she can get, but it’s hard to keep my hands off her. It’s even harder to keep them off her belly. It still amazes me that she’s growing our baby inside of her. The pregnancy has been easy on her. I actually think she enjoys being pregnant, which makes me happy because I know I’ll want more kids with her.

  “No, I’ve been up for a little while now.” I lean over, brushing my mouth against hers. She slides her hands into my hair and deepens the kiss. Then she bites down on my bottom lip hard and lets out a small cry. When she lets go I pull back to look down at her, wondering what’s wrong. Her eyebrows are pulled together and I can tell she’s in pain.

  “Babe, talk to me,” I plead as fear inches up my spine.

  “I think it’s time,” she finally says, and her body relaxes. That’s when I realize she’s just had a contraction.

  “Shit.” I jump out of bed and start pulling on clothes, and Bailey sits up. “Don’t move,” I tell her. She rolls her eyes and stands up. She walks towards her closet, and I try to go after her but realize I mistook my pants for my shirt and almost fall over. I fix myself then rush after her. “Let me.”

  I take her nightshirt off her then slide the dress she got out over her head. I drop to the floor, searching for her shoes and then help her get them on.

  “We have to get Hazel.”

  “I didn’t forget,” I say as I dash from the room. “I got her.” I call over my shoulder before I knock on her door then push it open. I flip on the lights and then Hazel sits up.

  “Is it time?” she asks before I can even say anything.

  “Yeah.”

  She’s out of the bed immediately and goes over to the pile of clothes she already has set out. I step out and go make sure Bailey has everything she needs while Hazel gets dressed. When I don’t see her in our room, I call out for her.

  “I’m in here,” she responds.

  I push open the door to the baby’s room to see her standing inside. She and Hazel spent months making this room perfect. I’m pretty sure they have changed and unchanged everything in here a hundred times.

  “I think you’re right. Maybe I should take some time off from work.” She turns to look at me. “I don’t want to miss anything. I want to be a present mom. I won’t be like my mother.” I walk over to her. I’ve been trying to get her to take a few years off once she has the baby. I suggested it but didn't push. I want her to do what she wants. I also want her to relax more because she’s been working for so long. Long before she should have had to.

  “You’ll never be like her. Look at you with Hazel. It’s clear you’ll be the best mom ever,” I remind her. “There’s no pressure, and you don’t have to decide anything right now. We have the luxury of living day by day.” I lean down and kiss her.

  “Let do this,” Hazel says from the door. I look over and see her carrying the bag for the hospital. She takes the bag super seriously since Bailey told her she was in charge of it.

  I guide them both out of the house and into the car.

  “Text Jim, Hazel. He’ll need to keep up with the animals,” I tell her as we pull out. Jim helps us around the farm. We had to hire help because we keep collecting more animals. Plus, with a baby on the way our hands will be full. Jim took over Bailey’s old house, so he’s always close to lend a hand around here. She does as I ask as we make our way to the hospital.

  Everything happens in a blur from the moment we get there. We aren't in there long before Bailey is pushing. I thought first babies took a lot of time because that’s what the books said. But our little man is ready to come into this world and meet his family.

  I hold Bailey’s hand as Hazel holds the other, chanting for her to push. Then a little cry fills the room. I take a deep breath, trying to fight the tears that want to fall as the doctor stands with the baby in his arms.

  “It’s a boy,” he calls out and hands him over to me. I look down at him in awe before I lean down and place him in Bailey’s arms. She kisses him on the head and then begins to cry.

  “He’s so beautiful,” she says and I couldn’t agree more.

  “I love him,” Hazel chimes in. “Can I hold him?”

  Bailey nods, and I take him from her and then walk over to the other side of the bed. I place him in Hazel’s waiting arms and she grins at him in wonder. She holds him close and I look at Bailey, who is smiling as she watches the two of them.

  “Hi. I’m your aunt,” Hazel tells him. “We’re going to be best friends.”

  I swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat.

  Hazel looks up at me with the same brown eyes as her sister’s. “Thank you,” she says.

  I nod, unable to form words because I feel so many things right now. I may have fallen in love with Bailey, but I gained more than I could have ever hoped for. I was right from the beginning. This was the whole package.

  THE END

  Shielding Lily

  By Alexa Riley

  Chapter 1

  Lily

  The sounds of banging cabinets startle me awake before my alarm can go off. Rolling over to my side, I see I still have thirty minutes before I need to get up. I’d set my alarm a little earlier than I should have because I’m nervous about my first day. I’m going to a new school and have no idea what this one is going to be like. You never know what you’re going to get. Most of the time I can blend in and let myself get lost in the crowd of other students. No one notices me for the most part, but it doesn’t always work.

  I should be used to changing schools by now. I think this is the fourth time I’ve moved in the past two years. The schools are starting to run together, but I hope this is the last. Only months separate me from graduation, and only days from my eighteenth birthday. I’ll be able to make my own choices then.

  A sound of something shattering in the kitchen followed by a string of curses causes me to hold my breath. I can only hope he doesn’t call out my name. Monday mornings are the worst. Dad’s always coming off a weekend bender, because alcohol seems to be my father’s reason for living. It wasn’t always like this, but it is now.

  Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I slowly sit up and listen for his movements. Things have been getting unstable lately, and it’s only getting worse. Dad used to be able to drown his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle and pretend I didn’t exist. But recently his anger has been rising and flying my way. I’m constantly walking around on eggshells, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the look in his eyes, but I can see it. I can feel it deep inside me, like he’s waiting for me to do something wrong so he can strike out.

  But I always make sure there isn’t a reason. I desperately don’t want that change to come. I’m a skittish rabbit in my own home. When I finally hear the front door slam closed, all my muscles release, and an all-too-familiar tension within me relaxes.

  I pull myself from the bed and get ready for school. I go with a short button-up blue jean dress with wool leggings underneath. They’re soft and warm and will help with the chill on my mile-long walk to school. It’s early January, and the Minnesota winter is raging. The more layers I can put on, the better.

  Looking in the mirror, I part my hair a little to the side so more falls to the right, before putting in a small clip to hold it in place. I make sure the scar by my ear is hidden as much as possible, then I look myself over, double-checking everything. The scar is all I ever see when I look in the mirror. It’s the bitter reminder of the day that changed my world. My mom might have died in the car, but she dragged my father with her into the grave. Nothing has been the same since that day.

  Now when I look into the mirror, the scar isn’t the first thing I see. I see my mother. When I was unpacking boxes last night I pulled out a photo album of my parents when they were younger. I look just like her at my age. From my white-blonde hair, to my too-big blue eyes that take over my face, to my front t
eeth that are a little bigger than the rest, and my small upturned nose.

  We almost look like twins in pictures of us at the same age. Reaching out, I touch the mirror, wishing it was my mother. But all the wishing in the world can’t turn back the clock. I spent the first year after she died wishing for so many things. Wishing gets you nowhere.

  I wipe at the tear that’s somehow escaped. I miss when I looked in the mirror and I only saw the scar. It was easier to deal with. Grabbing my bag, I head downstairs knowing the mess my dad made will still be there.

  Since my mom died I’ve sort of taken her place when it comes to the household chores. I make sure everything is kept clean, the laundry is done, and dinner is on the table before my dad gets home from whatever job he is doing. Normally it’s some kind of security since he lost his badge after one too many DWIs. I don’t know how he can drink all night and still get up for work, but he does it.

  I finish cleaning up the shattered coffee mug from the floor and make sure everything else is in its place. I pull a pack of hamburger meat out of the freezer and sit it out on the stove to defrost. I’ll make something with it when I get home.

  Bundling up the best I can, I pray that the weather won’t be too bad when school finally lets out. I need to see about finding a job on the weekends. Maybe I can fill out most of the applications online during lunch at the school library. I’ve seen a few small places in town that are on my way to school. I can see about popping in and applying on my way home. They’d be the best bet being so close. Maybe I’d get lucky and could even work a few hours after school, making it home before Dad.

  Dad will never go for me working through the week if it means no dinner on the table, but the weekends he seems okay with. I’ve been pooling every penny I can and saving it away. I feel like time is running out and I need as much money as I can get to try and get a place of my own. I want to be able to afford college next year and to put a roof over my head. I have to get out of here. I can’t watch my father kill himself. I already watched my mother die.

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