Pain etched into my bones as my side molded into the chair. Chaos reigned havoc throughout the station. Between the overbearing stench of brewed coffee and the overwhelming number of voices talking at once, I could hardly hear myself think. Then, there was the ringing that echoed from the busy phone lines at a few of the officer's desks. I had been in and out of the police station so much that the noises became tolerable after a while.

My eyes stalked John around his office as he struggled to gather what little paperwork he had scattered around his desk. Somehow, I got here twenty minutes after his call, and he was still barely finished. I rolled my eyes, scoffing under my breath.

"Is that attitude I hear, missy?" he asked playfully.

I blew a curl out of my face, stretching my arms. "Yes, actually. Rosemary and I aren't very happy with our predicament right now."

At the mention of Rosemary, a flip switched in John's demeanor. "Are you okay? Is Rosemary okay?"

"Yes, John. I was kidding." I laughed. "But seriously, these chairs are not doing any good for my back."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I'm trying to move as fast as I can. There's always something last minute." He sighed apologetically.

"It's okay." I hummed in reply. "We'll just finish off your donuts until you're done."

"Of course," he muttered with a roll of his eyes. But the playful smile never left his face.

I giggled and slid down in the chair, stuffing his last donut in my mouth. The sweet taste from the pink strawberry icing and sprinkles livened my taste buds. I relished in the few seconds of goodness before something outside his office, in the station lounge, caught my attention.

My ears perked at the mention of Helena's name. I straightened and turned, straining my eyes on John's office window. The window provided an open view into the rest of the station so I could see all the chaos firsthand. A loud, raunchy voice shouted Helena's name through the glass.

It hadn't taken me long to figure out the noises were coming from a woman. She was hunched over one of the officer's desks near the entrance. I couldn't tell whether she was crying, laughing, or moaning in pain. She was probably doing all three. A nest of curly brown hair, similar to mine, rested on top of her head in an unkempt bun.

Something felt off about her. Perhaps, it was the dazed expression that haunted her face. She hadn't sounded like she had taken any sort of drugs. However, her face said otherwise. My eyes then found a cuff of silver connecting her wrist to the edge of the desk. Why was she handcuffed to the desk? Maybe she wasn't too well in the head.

I frowned, watching the scene unravel. Her noises transitioned into hiccups, then ugly sobs. And Helena's name continued to slip out of her mouth. This time, louder.

"Don't mind her. She's drunk," John whispered in my ear. I jumped and placed a hand to my chest, ignoring my wildly thumping heart.

When I had calmed down, I asked, "She's drunk? So, why is she here? Is she in trouble?"

He shook his head. "Not necessarily. She's been here for an hour. She was dragged out of a local bar after getting into a fist fight with one of the other customers. We're waiting for someone to pick her up. They should've been here over ten minutes ago," he informed.

I nodded cautiously. "She keeps saying Helena. Is she—" I hadn't been given a chance to finish my sentence.

"Helena Byers mother? Yeah, she is," he answered. Hearing that, I shut my mouth, though my eyes never left her.

Sometimes reading a person could be more difficult than I imagined.

Helena's name may have been slipping from her tongue, but who knew if she was in pain? She could've been lost and confused. There was toxic waste clouding her mind, refraining her thoughts from functioning properly. It must've been a lot due to the sheer amount of yelling she'd been doing. Her incoherent words barely formed a sentence.

"I'm finished. Come on," John announced. I ignored the woman's shouts and took his hands while he helped me to my feet.

As we exited the room, John waved goodbye to a few of the other officers, and I kept my eyes focused on the woman. Her hollers had lowered by now, but she hadn't stopped talking. I assumed she was attempting to flirt with one of the officers. The way she bit her lip and smiled at him gave it away. But he ignored her and kept filling out paperwork. For a moment, her eyes broke contact with the officer's lips.

I hadn't figured out where she was looking until my skin shriveled. A scornful gaze burned into my skin as if I were being targeted.

"The hell are you looking at?" The woman snarled.

My breath hitched in my throat, and I stopped short. John gave my back a nudge, motioning for me to keep going. I stared at her for a moment. The brim of her eyelids was sunken in over the bags under her eyes. I was nowhere close to her personal space, yet I could smell the alcohol reeking from her breath. It smelled of a vodka and Redbull mixture.

With a gulp, I continued past her, tearing my gaze away.

I had to remember she was drunk. No amount of explanation from my words could cleanse the alcohol in her system. Neither could they wash the judgment from her tone. John's fingers threaded through mine as he stepped beside me. I exhaled a breath of relief. We were almost out the door.

That was until the doors burst open. "Shit. I'm sorry!" A tall male rushed in. His shoulder blade hit mine, and I winced. The impact pushed me into John, who made a noise behind me.

"Ow! Shit. It's okay, you—" I paused. Holy crap. It was the same guy from the cemetery. I could never forget his face. His distinct features plagued my memory. He rushed past me without a second glance, eyeing the woman in a drunken state cuffed to the desk.

"Fabian!" she yelled.

"Christ, mom. What the hell did you do? Drown yourself in liquor?" he snapped.

She huffed and sat up straight. "How dare you talk to your mother like that? You have no respect! I raised you, and this is how you treat me?" Her voice cracked. I could hear sniffles under her breath as she switched dialect. "¡Un niño tan grosero!" The venom stuck to her Spanish tongue like glue.

"Mom, stop being dramatic. You're embarrassing yourself . . . again." He sighed. "You need some food and water in your system." His voice lacked energy, as if he hadn't slept in days.

The bags under his eyes were enough to confirm that. She ignored his words and continued wailing out complaints. Her voice eventually lowered to where she began babbling under her breath. It could only be described as nonsense.

Compared to the woman I heard on the radio, she was nothing like I made her out to be in my head. What I saw there in the police station was a lost soul built from the depths of anxiety, depression, and alcoholic tendencies.

* * *

"So, I was thinking something pink or blue." Evelyn clutched her phone in her hands, flashing the screen in my direction.

I squinted at the bib and lifted my mug to my lips. "Hmm, I like the blue one. It brings out the little dinosaur picture better."

She grinned. "Right? I was thinking that too!"

"Again, I'm sorry for the late change of plans. I know you were so siked about getting a chance to see that new café—"

"Hey, it's fine! I know how it is when you wake up feeling too sick to even move." Evelyn waved her hands. "On the bright side, we saved money, and your house is really nice. My roommate barely cleans up after himself. So, our apartment looks like a shit-show. Ha, excuse my language. My grandparents are hoarders, and they keep their house better than he does," she quickly added.

I smiled, setting my mug back down. "I'm glad. John did most of the arrangements and chose most of the furniture for the house's layout. As you can see, his taste in furniture and all that other materialistic stuff is exquisite. So, I can't take all the credit."

"Even so, you added a beautiful touch of painting. I'm assuming you painted the wall, right?" she asked, gesturing to the wall coated in paint.

I nodded. "Yeah. I decided we could use something to lighten up the place. It makes me feel more at home. I don't know. Something is comforting about seeing my favorite things from outside on the inside, like trees, rivers, and animals."

"I get what you mean. I think they're a nice touch. Soon, you'll be stuck inside for a while, isn't that right?"

"Unfortunately," I said with a sigh.

It wouldn't be long before the next few months flew by, and I'd be at the ninth-month mark of my pregnancy before I knew it. Because of that, I'd have to deal with more limitations than before. It was expected to be a lot worse when Rosemary was born. There'd be a lot of running around and staying home to take care of her.

Evelyn was going to be out sooner than me. Her due date was rolling in hot on her trail. She would no longer be a part of my class in less than a couple of months.

"Evelyn, when is your due date again?" I asked.

She cocked her head to the side, stroking the bottom of her chin. "She's supposed to come out January 1st, but Ivan thinks she will be a premature baby. I don't know what made him say that. Now that I think about it, I should ask him again. He may have told me, but I think I forgot." She rolled her eyes at herself.

"Ivan is your roommate?" My eyebrows sprung up.

"Yeah. He and I have been living together for about a few years now. He's a pain in the ass, but he's good to me. You know, a good friend to have around, especially for someone going through a pregnancy alone." Evelyn chuckled nervously.

"Well, that's nice to hear. I think you mentioned your living situation to me a while ago, back when you first joined my classes. It's really nice to see you've got things mostly figured out." I smiled.

She gave me a confused look that made her face scrunch. "I did?"

"Yeah, don't you remember?" I took another sip of tea from my mug. The thin liquid boiled my taste buds, but not enough to cause me to wince. I simply shrugged off the heat and waited for Evelyn's reply.

"Oh"—she pressed the pad of her thumb over her bottom lip—"not really."

"Hmm, I could've sworn you did. You told me about your rough childhood and your rocky relationship with your parents. You said you had to move around often. Then, you lived with your grandparents for some time.

"And I believe your parents were against you using a sperm donor. Something about it being too soon or they didn't think it was a good idea. . . I don't know. . . Am I wrong?" Removing my mug from my lips, I peeked at her through my lashes, over the edge of the rim.

A dazed expression haunted her face as if she had no idea what I was talking about. Maybe it was me who was mixing things up then. I could've sworn that conversation did happen, though. Evelyn and I hadn't talked much about her pregnancy or her personal life since she joined my classes. But I vaguely remembered the brief moments we did have deep conversations. It was all foggier than I thought, though.

"Huh, I guess I did then. Sorry, my brain is a little foggy. My childhood has been a blur for me. So, forgive me, please." She chuckled softly and looked down into her coffee. The tips of her index finger circled the rim of the mug in taunting strokes. And her eyes closely followed the heat swirling from inside.

"It's okay. We all forget things sometimes." I laughed it off with her.

"Hey, would it be okay if we looked through some baby names together? I can't figure out what I like best for my baby girl. I brought a book with me if that's okay." Evelyn dug through her bag, pulling out a large purple book that read baby names across the front.

"Sure. Let's have a look." I sent her a smile of approval, to which she happily sent one back. We both scooted closer to the coffee table in the middle of the living room. She then flattened the book on the table and opened it to the first page.

As our eyes locked to the pages of the baby book while she continued to flip through, I noticed something odd in the corner of my eye. There was a slight throb in my gut, a feeling similar to a punch.

I quickly stole a glance towards the window. My gut was right. It was a color I hadn't seen in three days, stalking the glass for my eyes to see. I found it quite odd that something I hadn't seen in days was suddenly making an appearance. But that wasn't the oddest part.

A stem stuck out from beneath the butterfly. My eyes followed the stem up, pausing on a dull red rose with thorns sticking out of its sides. The rose stripped itself of its petals. I watched them fall in slow motion, decorating the edge of our house's windowsill like a deadly poison finishing its victim off. I clawed my nails into the surface of the table and turned away.

Maybe if I ignore it, it'll go away. I had repeated that in my head, but it wasn't working.

I couldn't tell if the butterfly was a symbol of death or hope. Wherever it led, death had laid, but hope had risen. This was just another slap in the face because of that. Was I going crazy? No. Crazy was a lack of a better word for the stage I had passed.

Minutes had gone by, so I peeked at the window from the corner of my eyes. The butterfly hadn't moved. Shit, of course. What did roses have to do with anything anyway? I wasn't sure if I wanted to know the answer to that. But they seemed to be the next piece to the puzzle. So, I was going to have to find out.