I couldn't focus. Every word my doctor said went in and out of the other ear. It didn't help that my pregnancy hormones were skyrocketing. A wet glassy blur coated my pupils, but the tears never fell. I was holding it together. John, on the other hand, was not.

"Are you crying? You're going to make me cry," I seethed.

He wiped at his face and shook his head. But tears were hanging from the brim of his eyelids as we both stared at the monitor showcasing Rosemary's sonogram picture. Her body was curled into a small circular shape, and her head was nearly touching her feet. The image was fascinating.

"Rosemary looks to be doing well." Doctor Welsh smiled. "Make sure she keeps it that way, please?" Her eyebrows lowered as her gaze met John's.

"Trying," John grumbled under his breath.

I sent them a sheepish smile, scratching the back of my head. Doctor Welsh sighed. "Here, you can pull your shirt down now." She handed me a paper towel. I took it and wiped the gel off my stomach.

"Now, Rosemary may be doing well. But you, on the other hand, are getting weaker. Have you been getting the proper nutrients? Taking the pills?" Her and John's eyes were on me now. I couldn't help but shift with discomfort.

"I'm going to take that as a no." She sighed again. "I need you to remember that you and John are no longer just caring for yourselves. If you're going to be selfish, that won't work. Now, I'm not saying it isn't okay for you to do what you want. But the more stress you put on your body, the worse you get.

"If you're not feeling hungry, try eating at least three small, well-balanced meals. You can even add in three small snacks: fruit, vegetables, whatever. Go for walks. Get some fresh air if you feel cooped up. But you've got to start thinking before you do. Someone won't always be around to protect you. You've got to think about Rosemary and yourself. Make wise decisions. Can we do that?" Doctor Welsh cocked an eyebrow, frowning.

"Yes. I promise, I know. I'm sorry." I sighed and pushed myself off the bed, grabbing John's hand. He helped me onto my feet.

"Don't worry, Doctor Welsh. I'll try my best to make sure she's not overdoing it," John said.

"I'll take your word for it. Hopefully, there's a lot of nutrition involved in her diet too. Don't make me have to give you two more pamphlets and instructions. I don't want to have to treat you both like children again," she scolded.

"Haha, no. The pamphlets won't be needed." John chuckled nervously. I quickly nodded my head in agreement.

It was hard to digest her words. I could only stare at the ground as she spoke. It was as if my mother was in the room, scolding me, as the parent-child relationship we'd shared had always gone. It was exactly what Doctor Welsh's words reminded me of.

She smiled again, taking slow steps towards the door. "Okay, you two wait right here. I need to print some more prescriptions out and give you some more stuff for Rosemary, then you can be on your way."

"All right." John and I both nodded.

* * *

"Wow," I murmured under my breath.

Rosemary's sonogram caused something inside my chest to stir. I'd managed to get my hands on five sonogram photos. Two for John and myself, another for my parents, one for his parents, and one for someone else. All it took was seeing her to remind us that this was happening. There was no going back.

"Are we still going to take one to Cory's grave?" John asked.

I took in a deep breath, biting on my tongue. You've come too far to get emotional now, I reminded myself. I let out the breath I was holding and let my tongue loose.

Finally, I answered, "Yes."

If he hadn't reminded me, I would have forgotten. Who was I kidding? I could never forget about anything having to do with Cory. Besides, John and I discussed this a few nights ago. We agreed to take one of the sonogram photos to Cory's grave. It was best that we did it today, so we could do it together, and because John had already taken off work.

"We can get some flowers before we drive over there," he suggested.

"Okay," I said.

* * *

The daisies were wrapped in clear plastic, knotted tightly together, like one big happy family. It brought a smile to my face. While the stems remained clustered and unneeded, the petals were allowed to bloom freely against the stone of the tombstone.

"Three months," John said under his breath. "We're already nearing three months."

"I can't tell if time is moving too fast or too slow. . ." I pressed my head against his shoulder.

We stood side by side, the wind howling to make up for the lost words. It wasn't that neither of us knew what to say. I guess we just didn't know how to say it. We hadn't had a chance to visit Cory's tombstone since the funeral. Others would say we were avoiding it. It's been said that when you love something, you make time for it. There were no ifs and buts about it.

But not us. We were too afraid to make time. With acceptance came fear.

"You're right, Angie. It feels like years to me. Damn, almost three months . . . man, do we miss you and your terrible jokes, Cory." John chuckled.

If I knew my husband like I should have known him, I knew his chuckle was only half-hearted. It could be heard in the lack of vibration laced throughout his voice. I took a peek at him through my eyelashes.

He wore a slight smile on his face. It was nothing like the bright, playful John I knew. It was the John I came to know at Cory's funeral. Distant, defeated, exhausted, and guilty. His eyes ran over Cory's name once more. The cloudy sky, blocking out the sun's rays, made his name easier to see.

"It's not your fault," I stood on my toes, whispering into his ear. It wasn't his fault. It was none of our faults but the person who did this to him. It was only every so often that I needed to remind John of that. He blamed himself every day that he couldn't be there to save him.

There was no response from him.

"Five more minutes, then we can go," I mumbled into his shoulder blade.

The horde of death was beginning to make me nauseous. Even before Cory's passing, I hated cemeteries. The mere sight of one sent shivers down my spine. I didn't know where the unpleasant feeling first began. It could've been when I was introduced to my first corpse on one of my mother's favorite TV shows, Law and Order: Special Victims Unit.

Cory and I were just walking in from school. Barely alive, the body on my mother's TV screen had blood oozing out of its flesh. The blood coated its skin in thin layers. I wasn't sure if he'd taken his life or if something else had happened.

The unpleasant feeling could've also started when one of my favorite characters on Bones died. Granted, him taking his last few breaths was the opener for season ten. It brought tears to my eyes. I remembered my heart hurting for the next two weeks straight.

Could it have been because I had an emotional attachment to his character? Or was it because of the funeral they aired during the season that was planned so beautifully? It was so beautiful, I couldn't help but cry.

Wherever it started, cemeteries were the last place on my list to be. Maybe this was someone's way of forcing me to get over it. Now that someone I knew and loved was buried six feet under, I had no choice but to enter this foul space.

I wondered if Mary and Helena were buried here without their rightful remains. The bone structure on the remains John and his team dug up that day matched Helena perfectly. As much as I didn't want it to be true, I knew it was going to be.

The only good outcome in all of this had been peace. Not in the traditional sense, but their families could stop wondering what happened to them. I wondered if any of the little girls were buried here. It could've been just a coffin with a picture inside, for that matter. But their relatives, guardians, or parents wouldn't give up hope, right?

I couldn't imagine giving up hope like that. Then again, everyone was different. Some held their child's memory in their heart, while others let it go in the cemetery as a reminder that their child may not have been out there anymore. It was disheartening, but it happened.

A sharp ache struck my chest.

I pried my eyes away from Cory's grave and looked around. My gaze found the pond, the paths, the other tombstones around us, a person standing in front of one of the tombstones near us—wait, a person? I did a quick double-take.

Sure enough, a guy, about six-foot, dressed in a white hoodie and an all-black peacoat, stood in front of a tombstone. His dress shoes were the only parts of his outfit that fit the occasion. In his hands was a fluffy white teddy bear with a red heart on its lap. I couldn't see anything more than that. The headstone was too far for me to catch a name.

I watched him closely.

He bowed his head slightly at the teddy bear every so often, gripping his fingers into its fur. If the bear were alive, surely, it'd have been crying in pain by now. His grip looked tight. Finally, he rested the bear in front of the stone and took several antagonizing steps back.

Was he nervous? Was he angry? He could've been both for all I knew. His hand fell into the insides of his pea coat, where he pulled out a box. Instantly, I recognized the colors on the box. As he lifted one of the cigarettes to his mouth, he pulled out a lighter and set the toxic stick aflame. Smoke bombs blew out from his lips into the air.

Then, with a snarl, he whipped around on his heel and marched away. He hadn't even noticed me making eye contact with him. Whoever's grave that was, he must have known them well if he reacted like that.