Whenever I thought about what my mother did, which was all of the time, I found myself cradling my stomach, unable to comprehend or relate.

The mere thought of something happening to my unborn baby caused the fear of god to jolt through my heart. I loved my baby more with every breath I took, and constantly had to check myself and remember that my mother was a very sick woman, who wasn’t in the right frame of mind, when she made that choice.

It would have been easier to stay away than return to Ocean Bay, but I was fighter.

I never quit on myself when I was fighting for my life in the burn unit at ten years old, not one single time, and I wasn't about to start now.

With a baseball cap pulled down low over my eyes, and an extremely oversized school sweater that fell to my knees, I stepped inside the classroom, and handed the teacher my tardy slip, keeping my eyes trained on my sneakers the entire time.

"Holy shit," a familiar voice said and my eyes snapped to the back of the class.

And there he was.

Daryl King.

With his pretty green eyes, and his special kind of heartache that time could never heal.

"Hi," I mouthed, unsure of what else to do.

He just continued to stare.

"Bitch, you're back!" another familiar voice squealed from the other side of the classroom, and I swung my gaze to find Mercy grinning and waving at me from her perch in the third row.

"Excuse me," Mrs. Kilmore said, clearing her throat. "Did you just cuss in my classroom, Miss James? And call another female the b-word? Because that is totally unacceptable behavior."

Mercy rolled her eyes and offered me two enthusiastic thumbs up before mumbling, "I'll behave."

"I'll believe it when I see it," the teacher muttered before waving me on. "Welcome back, Miss Peterson. Take a seat."

Knowing that I would have to face Daryl sooner or later, I walked to the back of the class and took the empty desk next to his.

He never took his eyes off me as I moved, making me feel incredibly self-conscious.

Could he tell?

I hoped he couldn't.

At twenty weeks along, I was definitely beginning to show, but my father had assured me this morning that no one could see my bump under the ginormous sweater I was wearing.

Besides, Daryl deserved to hear it from my mouth.

Setting my bag on the floor, I squeezed into my desk and expelled a shaky breath.

When I finally plucked up the courage to look at Daryl, I found him staring at me.

"Hi," I whispered, hands trembling as I clasped them together.

He continued to stare at me for the longest time, eyes blazing with emotion.

"You came home," he finally said, so loud that everyone in class turned and looked at us.

My face flamed with heat and I nodded.

"Mr. King, would you mind turning your attention to the front of the classroom please," Mrs. Kilmore sniped. "As lovely as she is to look at, I doubt you'll find the answers to this week's calculus test on Miss Peterson's face."