All you'd wanted since you could remember was for Lip Gallagher to put a ring on your finger. You'd loved him since before you knew what that really meant—when he was a troublemaking kid, when he was a high school dropout in his shitty situation with Karen, when he was stumbling his way through college. You'd been there.

Sure, you hadn't expected wedded bliss, but you loved him, and you thought he loved you, so you expected something. You didn't expect being victim to his drinking, being at the receiving end of his cruel words. You didn't expect being the subject of his family drama, and to not be defended by your husband.

God, you didn't expect to be pregnant! Or, if you did, you didn't expect to not want it. But when you looked down at the test in your hand, you couldn't bring yourself to be happy.

You knew. Lip wasn't Frank. You knew that. But you were scared.