"Let me guess... You ask yourself if he's your son, right?" Judy asks you, cradling her (who's maybe your too) newborn son, Wes, in her arms against her chest.

Like every mistakes... It started after a drink. It was a Saturday night, and you just got divorced from Gale Weathers, aka The-Greatest-Journalist-In-USA, that you keep watching the show every morning.

The reason? Because you didn't fell like you belonged in a life so big, in the Big Apple. Full of cameras, of her work and her stardom in general. What you wanted was something normal. An house, kids and dogs.

Yeah, cliché.

So she left you. And Woodsbro. And you dumped all your sorrow in alcohol for days, while Judy, your adjoint kept trying to cheer you up.

"Hey... It will be fine. I promise."

At first it was donuts, visits and kind words, before quickly turning into hugs, soft touchs and affectionate gestures. You knew about her puppy crush on you. Everyone could have seen it.

But she wasn't trying to seduce you. And that's the worse. She knew what you needed. Comfort. And she gave it to you.

So... You wanted to give her what she wanted. And what started into comfort quickly turned into.... An heated night.

Some weeks after that, still deeply in sorrow, you started living recluse, for months, watching Gale's show and finding back your love for corn flakes.

Until...

Some times ago. When you learned about Judy's, blonde (like you), freckled (like someone familiar...), and dimpled (you got it) cute little rolly polly chubby cheeked poop machine baby boy, Wes Hicks.

Lucky you...