"Sure." I smile tightly, not wanting to show too much emotion.

"Here," June hands me the diaper bag, "there are a few outfits in there, pick one out. I'll start to get her undressed so you can dress her."

I spend the next few minutes picking out a flowery dress with matching hair bow and ballet shoe-looking socks. June and Alex lay her on the bed, on top of a pink knitted blanket Alex's mother made. Hope squirms and quietly grunts as I weave her tiny arms through the dress, her eyes never opening, not once. I just want one peek. Just one chance to make a connection with her. I know she won't remember, but I will. I want her to see me, not just hear me.

Once I have her dress situated, I put on her socks that are entirely too big for her thin legs, and then I gingerly brush her hair to the side and place the headband gently over her forehead like June directs. When she's fully dressed, I'm unable to remove my eyes from the beauty below me. Enveloped by the knitted blanket, she looks like an angel, a dream, a true blessing. Together, June, Alex, and I hold each other, one lady on either side of me and we cry together, marveling at the baby below us. How could Rebecca give her away?

Funny, how such a little human can bring three people together. I will forever share this bond with June and Alex, it can never be taken away from us. Until the day I die, I will remember this moment, where three adults formed an unyielding agreement that no matter what happens, we will always put Hope first.

"I guess you should be going," I suggest. "Can I just hold her one last time?"

"Of course," Alex says, stepping in and picking up Hope. Carefully, she hands her over to me, the weight of her so light in my arms.

Turning my back for some privacy, I gaze down at Hope, her name so fitting. "Hey, baby girl." My voice cracks with each word, my heart breaking with each second that brings our time to an end. "I want you to know you are one blessed little girl, having two moms who want you, who prayed for you, who did everything in their power to finally be matched with you. You weren't a surprise to them, an inconvenience, or a calculated risk. You were sought after, dreamt for, begged for. You are everything they have ever wanted, which only means one thing. Your home, the one you'll grow up in, will always be filled with joy, with warmth, and with love, everything you deserve." Tears fall onto her dress and I try to wipe them away, not wanting to soak her. "I love you, Hope. Don't ever forget that I didn't give you up because I didn't want you, but that I placed you with a family who will be able to give you more than I ever will." Turning around, I see June holding up her camera, taking pictures, and I'm grateful for her capturing these last moments I have with Hope. Taking a deep breath, I glance down at her one last time just as her eyes start to open, her tiny peepers popping open for a brief second, cutting me in half. They are glazed over with sleep but I take this moment, I take it like a greedy fucking bastard and savor it.

Eye contact.

Inwardly, I speak to her, begging her to remember me, to know me, to believe me when I say I love her.

Bringing her up to my lips, I place a kiss on her forehead, breathing in her baby scent one last time and then with a heavy heart, a broken and shattered resolve, I place Hope in Alex and June's waiting hands. Tears cloud my vision, despair clogs my heart.

I nod, unsure I can say anything else to these two compassionate women, and head for the door just when June stops me. Alex is putting Hope in the car seat when June envelops me in a hug. Standing on her toes, she speaks softly and emotionally into my ear.

"She will always know of your selflessness, she will always know of your sacrifice, and she will always know of your love, of the day you made the hardest decision of your life. Trust me when I say she will emulate every selfless aspect of you, Jace." Squeezing me, she places a kiss on my cheek and then looks me directly me in the eyes, her soft hands gripping my face. "You filled a hole in my heart that's been empty for quite some time. You gave us a baby, Jace. I will never be able to show you how truly grateful I am, all I can do is love that little girl to the best of my ability. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you."

And just like that, I'm fucking ruined.

DAISY.

"Can I help with anything?" I ask, watching my half-sister, Amanda tend to her famous spaghetti sauce over the stove.

"Do you want to set the table? Matt should be home soon."

"Not a problem." I jump off the stool at the kitchen bar and walk over to the little four-person dining room table in the open-concept living space. Knowing Amanda likes place mats, something I learned the first day I moved into their townhome only six days ago, I reach into the buffet table that rests against the wall and fish out the pretty purple and green paisley print placemats. "Uh, does Matt usually work this late?" It's still awkward, trying to think of conversation with my half-sister since we haven't spent much time with each other.

"No, not really. During baseball season, he works a little longer than normal, but since it's off-season he gets home pretty early. He called earlier and said he had to go down to the hospital to be with one of his players."

"Oh no, I hope everything is okay."

"Me too." She gives the sauce a few more stirs before reaching into the cabinet above her and pulling out plates for me to set on the table. "Did you talk to your grandma today?"

"I did." I swallow hard, her words of wisdom on constant replay in my head.

You need to start living.

You need to enjoy this time with your sister.

You need to get a job.

You need to meet people.

You need to put yourself out there.

"How is she doing?"

"Good." I take the plates and set them on the table. Walking over to the silverware drawer I continue, "She's been making some progress in moving her left hand but that's pretty much all she can do for now. It's going to be a very long road for recovery."

"But cognitively, she's sounding good?"

"Yeah," I sigh, setting out the silverware. "Hey, I know I've said it a few times, but I really want to thank you and Matt for taking me in. With Gram's hospital bills and now all her money going to her senior living . . . Well, I really appreciate it."

Amanda walks over to me, a warm smile on her face. She envelops me into a hug and says, "Anything for my sis. We're blood. I'm just glad we have this time to get to know each other better."

"Me too. But I do feel bad at times. I feel like I'm intruding on your new engagement."

"You're fine, don't even worry about it. Matt and I have been together for far too long, you're not interrupting anything." She pulls away and looks me in the eyes. "I do want to talk to you about something."

"Okay," I reply suspiciously, not sure what she wants to talk about.

"I've been thinking about our conversation we had last night, how this is an opportunity for you to step out of your comfort zone and really experience life."

"Yeah." It's true. Even though I'm terrified, this might be a golden opportunity to reinvent myself, to really break out of my shell.

"I agree." Excitingly fidgeting she continues, "My friend, Hollyn, is starting this program next week. It's called Dear Life and it's designed to help you face what's holding you back in life, break free, and move forward. To let go of your past, perceived faults, failures, shortcomings, losses, and learn how to live again. I don't know." She shrugs. "It might be something kind of great for you. Here, let me pull up the website."

Amanda flips open her iPad and starts typing away in the browser, meanwhile, two words hit me hard.

Break free.

By no means did my grams hold me back. She provided for me, educated me, and gave me a beautiful life, but there is so much more out there. I've already found that out in the few days I've been staying with Amanda.

For one, there is love. Real love. Not movie love which I've consumed my entire life. But real-life love where two individuals come together and share each other's passions, their faults, and their accomplishments.

I want that.

There is an entire world I never knew existed outside the little five-block radius I previously called home. There is food I want to try, places I want to see, people I want to meet, but getting out there, breaking free, I have no clue how to do it.

"Here." Amanda hands me her tablet and goes back to stirring the sauce.

I look at the website with its vivid colors and lively pictures of people laughing and smiling. What would it feel like to be one of those people? To have friends? Comradery with others.

"I don't know," I say nervously. "It looks like it's for people who might be going through a tough time."

"It's for everyone," Amanda states soothingly. "Anyone can join who wants to make a change."

"But what about a job? I don't have any money. I can't mooch off you forever."

"I don't want that either." Amanda turns around and hands me an envelope that was on the counter. "You were supposed to get this three weeks ago when you turned twenty-one."

Flipping the envelope, I questioningly glance at Amanda. "What is this?"

"Open it up." She nods at the envelope, not giving me any clue.

I take no time finding out and tear the envelope open to find a check resting inside with my name on it for fifty thousand dollars. Eyes wide, mouth open, I ask, "What is this?"

"I got one too when I turned twenty-one. Apparently the father we share thought it would be fitting to invest in us when we were young."

"This is mine? All of it?"

"All yours, sweetie."

"But, I've never had money before," I say in disbelief. Amanda chuckles as the door to their townhome opens.

"Looks like we need to open a bank account then."

"I guess so." I sit on the kitchen bar stool staring at my check when Matt walks into the kitchen, his tie loosened from around his neck, and the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up.

"That was a fun day," Matt says with a sarcastic sigh, reaching into the fridge and pulling out a small drink container full of milk. From above the fridge, he grabs a giant tub of protein mix and starts scooping powder into his milk.

"Hey, we are going to eat soon," Amanda chastises.

"Don't worry, honey, I plan on eating too. I have about fifteen hundred calories I still have to consume."

Matt has been trying to bulk up before the wedding. His plan is to pack on muscle and weight and then to shred two months before the wedding. Amanda thinks it's ridiculous since he's built like Zac Efron, and therefore meant to have a smaller frame. Now that I think about it, he looks like Zac Efron too, a man I've recently become familiar with thanks to the wonderful world of Google.

Still reeling about the check in my hand and the opportunity to maybe join a program to help me explore, I ask Matt, "Not a good day?"

"No," he shakes his head. "Too much heavy shit for me."

Clearing her throat, Amanda asks, "Everything okay with, um, your player?"

"No," Matt shakes his head. "But I talked with the Hal, the General Manager, and the um, player," Matt glances over at me, trying to be discreet, "he's going to start that Dear Life program. He's spent some time thinking about it ever since he made his decision, and we all agree it might be good for him. The front office is willing to accommodate any schedule the program brings. We just want him mentally healthy."

"The Dear Life program?" I ask, barging in on the conversation. "I think I'm going to join it as well."

"Really?" Matt asks, looking slightly confused.

"Yeah." I shrug. "I mean, I want a fresh start."

"I suggested it to her," Amanda cuts in. "Hollyn is going to do it as well."

"Are you some kind of secret marketing guru for them?" Matt laughs.

Turning the stove off, Amanda shakes her head. "No, I've just heard great things about it, okay?" Her tone makes me believe that maybe she might have taken the course herself. I hate that I don't know my half-sister well enough to read her. That will be rectified.

Glancing down at the tablet, I read more about the program. It's all about writing letters, expressing your feelings, really putting yourself out there, exposing your inner demons and getting raw with the idea of facing your fears.

This might be exactly what I need. At least I hope it is because right now, I know nothing of this world other than what my grams has told me.

Already, after only a few days with Amanda and Matt, I've realized how extremely sheltered I've been. I've always been happy, never once did I feel neglected or like I was missing out on anything, but then again, that's probably because I didn't know what I was missing.

And boy, have I been missing out on a lot. TV shows alone are blowing my mind, not to mention the gossip magazines, the access to anything by the touch of your phone-yeah, I just got a cell phone for the first time. No clue how it works. The world sits in the palm of your hand.

I don't blame my grams for sheltering me. I know she taught me what she knew, but now that I'm living with Amanda and seeing the abundance of opportunity right in front of me, I want to take advantage of it. I want to learn, I want to feel free. I want to live. Break free.

And Dear Life sounds like it might just help me do that, along with the brilliant check from my estranged father.

It's funny, when one door closes, there really is another door open, ready and waiting for you.

CARTER.

This is my fucking nightmare. Literally, God popped out of his cushiony throne of clouds, decided to fuck with my sanity, and put me in this love-thyself group. Absolute nightmare.

According to my uncle, I only have myself to blame for the reason I'm drinking stale coffee and sitting in a circle of sad and unfortunate souls. But I beg to differ.

I have a few people to blame. First, I blame my asshat uncle for making it practically impossible to claw my way out from under his watchful and suffocating eye. Second, I blame Sasha, the evil bitch who stole all my money-and I'm not going to lie, a little piece of my heart-but I'm not going to get into those bullshit feelings right now. Third, I have Ryan to blame for getting in my way behind the grill, which led to an all-out brawl in the kitchen. I've told him time and time again to get the fuck out of my way but he didn't listen. I made sure I got him out of my way myself, by punching the shit out of him. Not going to lie, the dude has a killer right hook because he blasted me a few times. And fourth, the final nail in the shit-tastic coffin I'm lying in right now belongs to Hollyn, my co-worker, the demanding waitress with the bright red hair. She suggested this godforsaken program to my uncle who jumped on the bandwagon immediately.

Yesterday, I was brought into his office and offered up two opportunities: I could either attend this Dear Life program to completion so I can, as my uncle put it, get my life in shape, or I can continue to work at the restaurant but add three more years to my "sentence" to pay off the damages made during the fight.

Three more years.

No way.

Three more years in the hell I've already been living in seems like a life sentence. That's why I'm here, partaking in the infamous Dear Life program that's been sweeping all the granola-headed, kumbuya freaks in the Denver area, stewing in my own hatred and anger.

When I first arrived I spotted Hollyn, who annoyingly waved at me. Clearly not interested in talking to her since she is one of the reasons I'm here, I ignored her and grabbed some coffee. Now I wish I didn't because my mouth tastes like a stale coffee-coated asshole.

And to top it all off, I had to sign my life away when I walked into this dank church hall. Yeah, I had to not only sign a non-disclosure, but I also had to sign a contract stating I'll attend every single meeting, follow through with the program, and write letters as described in the program leaflet. And if I don't? This free program that's offered is immediately switched over to something of cost. Yeah, if I decide to quit, I have to ante up one thousand, two hundred thirty-two dollars to the church we're meeting at. Where they came up with that number I have no clue, but since I'm now broke, I have no way of paying my way out, not that I could because that would mean three more years at my uncle's. How the fuck did my life spiral down so quickly?

As I was told by the chipper debutante with her grossly high-styled hair at the front, the money portion is to ensure everyone entering the program is serious about it and committed. Little do they know, I will be skirting my way through the entire thing, ticking down the days until I'm done.

Throwing the trash coffee out, I take a seat in the round circle-shoot me now-and stare down at my hands that are clasped in front of me. Right about now, I would be found being anti-social with my face buried in my phone, but of course, would you guess that they confiscated our phones when we first got here? Yeah, like I said, fucking nightmare.

"Is this seat taken?" a small voice asks from behind me. Glancing back, I see a blonde, porcelain-skinned girl wearing a long-sleeve turtleneck with snowflakes decorating the fabric. Added to her appearance are frumpy, acid-washed overalls, creating a mom pouch in the front that I know she doesn't have by the look of her petite frame. Yikes.

The circle of chairs around the room are not quite full, she could have chosen a different seat, but I guess it's better to sit next to snowflake than it is to sit next to the heavy breather marking his territory around the sugar packets.

"Nah, go ahead," I answer her, nodding my head at the chair.

"Thanks." Taking a seat, she turns toward me and holds out her hand. By her approach, I would say she's outgoing and very social, but by the way her hand is shaking, my guess is this is all new to her. "I'm Daisy."

Daisy. Yup, the name fits her perfectly. Innocence brands her with her sweet smile, rosy cheeks, and wide blue eyes. Her milky complexion gives away her embarrassment. By the way she's dressed like a seventy-year-old woman and twitches nervously, I'm guessing she's more than just shy.

She's pretty though. Looking past the frumpy clothes and thirty-year-old clogs on her feet, she has a very beautiful face, a stark contrast to Sasha's dark and strong features. And whereas Sasha would be hanging off my arm-all the confidence in the world when it comes to her sexual appeal-Daisy shows no signs of confidence, and what little she attempts to show comes off as complete and utter nerves.

I wonder what she's here for.

No, scratch that. I'm not here to make friends or carry other people's burdens on my shoulder. I'm here to listen, do the minimum, and get out. I don't care what she's here for.