“Yeah,” I giggle. “Would you like to have something to eat? I packed a picnic for me and Ari.”

“Oh no, I don’t want to intrude.”

“Please,” I insist. “I packed too much food for just us anyway and I’m happy to let the girls play for a while.”

Taylor looks down at her watch before saying, “I have another two hours before my next shift, so I guess it will be okay.”

I lead her to where I placed the picnic blanket and lower myself to the ground. I take out a fresh ham, cheese and tomato sandwich and hand it to her before opening one for myself. We eat in a comfortable silence for a while, watching Macy and Ari.

“I’m not sure how much of my conversation with Macy’s dad you heard, but I’m not a bad mamma,” Taylor says. “I need to clarify that.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t think that at all,” I reply, my expression somber. “I understand.”

She meets my gaze and something passes between us. A silent acknowledgment.

She sighs and her shoulders drop in defeat. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she mutters, looking down at the half eaten sandwich in her hand. “Macy’s dad won’t pay for her daycare anymore and the only way I can afford all of it is if I take on another shift at the diner, but then I have no one to look after Macy when I’m at work.”

I look at the girls and then back at Taylor. “I can help you,” I say. “At least until you can work things out with Macy’s dad.”

Taylor lifts her head and shakes it. “No, I can’t make myself a nuisance to other people.”

The internal struggle is written all over her face and she’s doing a terrible job of hiding it. Something about Taylor just screams ‘Help Me’ and if I didn’t understand how hard it is raising a child, I probably wouldn’t even offer to help. But I do understand. And she does need the help.

“I’m happy to do it,” I reassure her. “My grandmother picks Ari up on Mondays and Fridays, and I get her on Wednesdays. Macy is more than welcome to come home with us until your shift is done at the diner.”

Her bottom lip is pulled between her teeth and she nibbles on it before saying, “Are you sure though? You’re offering to help a complete stranger?”

I chuckle at her skepticism and shrug. “We’re all strangers until we decide to be friends. Besides, it will be nice having someone who gets it.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she pauses. “I promise, it won’t be for long, just until I can save enough money to take care of Macy’s daycare for a while.”

“Take all the time you need,” I say in earnest.

We turn our gazes to Macy and Ari who are both running towards us. They drop onto the blanket and Taylor and I give them each a sandwich and a juice box. We talk a bit more and I learn that she’s only twenty two, and got married to Macy’s father, Jace, when she was my age. I also learn that it’s literally just her and Macy, which also makes me sad for her. Her mother and father died when she was young and her grandmother disowned her when she found out Taylor was pregnant, even though she was married at the time. She’s very easy to talk to, and as soon as the girls are off playing again, I find myself confiding in her. I don’t tell her everything, but just enough. Besides Hannah, I feel Taylor might just become another friend, and I’m grateful for it. True friendship is somewhat of a novelty to me. The people I grew up with called me their friend, but in reality, they were the exact opposite. When I needed them, they weren’t there and for some silly reason, I was surprised to find that they had deserted me.

“We’d better get going,” Taylor says, interrupting my mental trip down memory lane. “I need to get Macy home.” She hesitates. “And thank you, Hayley. I really appreciate it.”

“No biggy,” I reply. “Us single moms have to stick together, right?”

We giggle and pack the remainder of my stuff into my car before Taylor and I head in separate directions. Ari quickly falls asleep in the back and when I finally make it back to my grandmother's house, I spend a good twenty minutes watching her sleep. My mind shifts back to when she was born, and if I thought the day I found out I was pregnant was the day that really changed my life, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

~ July 1st, 2011 ~

As I lie down on the sofa and stare out the living room window, I absentmindedly stroke my rounded belly and wonder what my little munchkin is doing in there. She hasn’t moved in a while and I miss the feeling of her tiny foot touching my palm. I’ve come to embrace this pregnancy, however unexpected it was, and accept it. Accept that in eight weeks I’m going to be a mother. The road behind me has been a difficult one and I have no doubt that I only made it this far with the unconditional support from my grandmother. There have been moments when I’ve wished that things were different, but only because I envisioned sharing my first pregnancy with the father of my child. But I’ve learned that not everything happens the way we plan it and if we’re lucky, we’ll survive however they happen. The first time I felt my baby kick, I cried. The magic of the moment was overwhelming, but so was the realization that I’m doing this alone. Sure, I have my grandmother, and she made that clear from the beginning, but it’s not the same. I had to make peace with my decision not to tell Kyle or my parents that I was pregnant. At the time, I felt like I was doing what was best for me and my baby. But some days my fears made me wish I had told them, even knowing that it wouldn’t change anything.

With a heavy sigh, I lift myself off the sofa and walk to the kitchen. My belly grumbles. “Okay, princess,” I coo. “Mommy’s going to feed us now.”

A sharp pain shoots through my belly and my spine, and I double over from the force of it. I let out a yelp and grip the kitchen counter until I think the pain is over. I straighten but then another pain shoots through my body and this time I scream. I feel warm liquid pool between my legs and expect to see that my water has broken. Instead, blood starts to stain my gray yoga pants and I panic. I’m alone at home and that only makes my sense of panic increase. With labored movements, I manage to grab the phone and call an ambulance. They arrive within ten minutes and by the time they’re wheeling me into the hospital, my pain is nearly unbearable. I’m rushed into the operating room and soon my obstetrician comes bursting through the doors. Three nurses follow behind him, each with a different piece of equipment, and they start setting everything up with a speed and efficiency that’s uncanny.

“Okay, Hayley,” Dr. Burke says, taking in my pained and sweaty appearance. “I’m going to see what’s going on with your baby.”

His serious expression frightens me, and it gives rise to tears. The physical pain and the fear of not knowing what’s wrong are strangling me. I’m lifted onto the hospital bed and roughly stripped of my yoga pants. Dr. Burke covers my lower body, propping my legs up, and starts feeling around my vagina. A nurse presses a wand to my stomach.

“Ow!” I scream, struggling for breath between my sobs. “What’s going on? What’s going on with my baby?” My voice is hysterical and the questions come out rapidly and are almost indecipherable.