I don’t need Ambrose telling me that to know it’s true. It’s been eight hours and twenty-nine seconds, thirty—of waiting for Ambrose to wake up post-surgery.

He doesn’t know yet.

I wonder if he’ll feel it though, if he’ll know that his body is different, that he needed something only a mother could give?

Quinn wraps a strong arm around me while we sit on the small couch in the depressing hospital room. He has no idea the thoughts running through my head, the things I’ll have to eventually say out loud, the things I will need to give up.

It’s hard to even look at Ambrose lying lifeless, knowing what I know.

Quinn pulls my legs into his lap and runs his hands through my hair. I don’t have the energy to fight him, and part of me wonders if he knows I need comfort.

It’s soothing. I steal a glance at Ambrose. All he did was try to be a friend; even though that horrible woman didn’t deserve it, his heart was still in the right place.

She literally raped fourteen-year-olds as a senior and has the balls to try to kill him because her life is so horrible?

So what? Everyone goes through shit. Everyone. That doesn’t justify ruining everyone else just because you aren’t happy or don’t get what you deserve.

And now he has nothing.

I think back on my black trash bag full of crappy things over my childhood.

I think I cherished those more than she cherished anything her family ever gave her.

I turn against Quinn’s chest; I can’t stop shaking or thinking about the last few hours.

Quinn clings harder. “I didn’t want Ambrose to know about the baby. I was afraid he’d be pissed, but mostly, he’s always been this insane high school god with everything ahead of him. My dad wanted me to play sports, but I was more into math and playing video games; I figured, hey, if they need shit on us, why can’t it be me? Why can’t I be the father in his place? No need for a paternity test since we both slept with her. It wouldn’t be fair to him, but he thought—” He starts to choke up like he needs to get this out for him, me, and Ambrose. It helps soothe the ache in my soul. “He thought I chose her over him when I chose him every time. I chose my best friend.”

He’s trying to comfort me, to share his story so that when Ambrose wakes up—I don’t sob because of mine—ours.

A tear slides down my cheek, I wipe it away and look up at Quinn. “You did more than enough.”

“No.” His eyes fill with tears, but they don’t spill over; it’s like he’s holding them in. “I didn’t protect him enough. He’s been under pressure his entire life; while my dad already gave up on me, his never did… I was always so fucking jealous. I guess we all have our journeys. Our own stories. I just never saw his ending this way.”