When my words failed to reach him, I grabbed his hand and pressed it to my stomach. “Feel this?” I demanded, eyes locked on his. “This is ours.” “Molloy.” “This baby is yours,” I urged, shivering when I felt his fingers splay across my belly. “But this baby is not you, the same way that you are not him. So, we’re going in there, and we’re going to take all of the shit our parents throw at us on the chin, because we both know that nothing they say or do could ever change a damn thing for us. Because I’ve got your back and you’ve got mine.” Leaning up on my tiptoes, I caught hold of his chin and
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