The Longest Five Years (Completed)

Luke, cont.

Present Day

I remember my first Christmas alone with Emmy. She was just a few months old. I was still terrified I'd do something wrong. I held her against my chest while the Abbott's open gifts, but all I could think about was how I was going to screw something up. How I missed Reagan. How she should be here...How my life had taken three, crazy turns that year and that I couldn't handle a fourth.

I'll never forget the moment I found out about Emmy. Thinking of Rachel hurts, but not because I miss her. I don't miss her for me. I wronged her several times over. I wronged her from the first time I slept with her and told her we were just friends to the moment I married her out of obligation. She was terrible to Reagan in those final weeks before our breakup and the entire thing made me sick. But I panicked, the way I always used to, and jumped right in.

She was sitting in a booth at the diner when I walked in, so I couldn't tell at first. It had been months since I'd seen her – not since I'd moved out. She didn't stand when I reached the booth, but when I sat down, I understood.

Five Years Ago

"She's yours, Luke..." Rachel says, touching her stomach. "I'm telling the truth. Do the math. She's yours. There was no one else," she looks at my hand. Reagan's been gone for a week, but it's only been a few days since I signed the papers and took off my ring.

"She?" I swallow. "It's a girl?" I can't stop staring at her stomach.

Rachel nods and I panic. I can't breathe.

"How do you know she's mine? We used protection!"

"Did we? Did we every single time?" She shakes her head and my stomach plummets.

I thought we did. I really thought we did, but we were drunk a few times, and it's safe to say I couldn't tell up from down, let alone remember to put on a condom. Oh, god. I'm about to throw up.

First, I'm sick because I told Reagan I'd never gone without protection with anyone but her. Then I'm sick because I'm about to become a father to a woman I've never even loved. Third, because I just lost a baby with the woman I loved. And fourth, because I can't think of one god damn thing I've done right in the last year and I'm not sure I have the balls to start now.

I run to the bathroom and throw up. I lean my head against the stall and close my eyes. I've never had a panic attack before, but I think I'm on a fast track to one right now. I take a deep breath and let it out. Take a deep breath and let it out. I think of all I've done and what I could do. I could march in there and argue with her, but she's been trying to tell me a while when she called and never got the chance. I could be angry with her. I could be angry with myself.

Or I could catch my breath and go back out there. I could hear her out and agree to take a paternity test. I could take responsibility for my actions. Because when it settles down and I really start to think about what she said, I realize it's not all bad. This is a second chance.

I wanted that baby with Reagan, and even though it's not the way I'd planned it, I'm going to be a father to a different child. I'm going to love her and take care of her. No matter what, I want her to grow up a home where she is loved. And I don't even know her, but I know she's going to change my life.

"Okay," I tell Rachel, sliding back into the booth. Her eyes are worried. She's been crying. "It's going to be okay..."

Present Day - Late Christmas Day Night

We're all completely wiped out from the long day. We got home around 10 and Emmy crashed into bed without argument. Now I'm flipping through my record collection, searching everywhere for that classic Christmas album when I see Reagan padding barefoot down the stairs wearing one of my t-shirts and little else. I look over my shoulder to take her in, and she smiles at me before busying herself in the kitchen. This feels good. Domestic.