You hadn’t seen Marlene in years, not since the world went to hell. And yet, here you were—five months pregnant, tired, alone, and standing at the gates of the Salt Lake City Firefly base with nothing but a backpack and the hope that Marlene would still care.

She did.

The moment she laid eyes on you, her face changed. The hardened leader softened for just a second, and her arms wrapped around you tightly.

“Anna,” she whispered, her voice catching with emotion. “Jesus, what happened?”

You shook your head, holding back tears. “He didn’t want her. He didn’t want us.”

That was all you had to say. She didn’t ask for a name. She just nodded and pulled you inside.

⸻

The room Marlene gave you was small but clean, with a bed and your own bathroom—privacy you hadn’t had in months. You collapsed onto the mattress, your hand instinctively going to your belly. The baby kicked. Strong. You smiled through the ache.

The next morning, Marlene introduced you to the head doctor—Jerry Anderson.

“This is Anna. She’s about five months along,” Marlene said as the two of you stepped into the small medical clinic.

Jerry looked up from his clipboard. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Warm brown eyes behind tired lashes. His face held lines that came from smiling, not frowning. That alone set him apart from everyone else you’d met lately.

“Anna,” he said with a calm, steady voice. “Glad to meet you. Let’s make sure both of you are healthy.”

You nodded, suddenly aware of how messy your hair probably was.

⸻

Jerry was gentle, respectful, and thorough. He asked questions about your pregnancy, made notes, and listened to your heartbeat and the baby’s. But what surprised you most was the way he looked at you—not like a patient, or a burden—but like a person. Like someone he wanted to know.

“Everything looks good,” he said with a reassuring smile, pulling off his gloves. “Strong heartbeat. Good movement. You’re doing great.”

You felt a wave of relief wash over you, and maybe something else—something warm and fluttery that had nothing to do with your baby.

As you were getting ready to leave, the door creaked open and a little girl waddled in.

“Daddy!” she said, holding a crayon drawing in one hand and a stuffed bear in the other. “Look what I made!”

Jerry beamed. “Abby, sweetheart, come meet someone.”

The girl turned to you with wide blue eyes and a crooked smile. “Hi!”

You knelt down slowly, hand still resting on your stomach. “Hi there.”

Abby tilted her head, studying you. “Are you a mommy too?”

You laughed softly. “Almost. She’s not here yet.”

Abby stepped forward boldly and put a small hand on your belly. “I like babies. I’m gonna be a doctor like Daddy.”

“She already decided that,” Jerry chuckled, watching the two of you. “No pressure or anything.”

Abby looked at her dad, then at you. “You’re pretty.”

“Abby,” Jerry said, amused but a little embarrassed.

You blushed anyway, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Thank you, Abby.”

From that moment, Abby attached herself to you like a shadow. She’d visit your room, bring drawings, ask about the baby, curl up beside you when you couldn’t sleep. And Jerry… Jerry was never far behind. He’d bring extra vitamins, food Marlene couldn’t spare, and always found time to check on you—even when you didn’t have an appointment.

He wasn’t shy, either. Not about the way he looked at you. Not about the questions he asked.

“Do you have someone… waiting for you?” he’d ask casually during your third check-up.

You shook your head. “Not anymore.”

His expression softened. “Then maybe… maybe you don’t have to do this alone.”

And part of you wondered if maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t have to.