The next five months, from January to June, bordered on nightmarish, with Lisa’s pregnant belly extending far beyond any other she’d seen before—and certainly much further than any of her friends’, who’d been so blissfully excited for the arrival of their child-rearing years. The unfairness of it all made her tense and irritable.

Still, she pushed on, cleaning up her diet, ensuring that protein-rich salads were a lunch staple, and even reading the baby books leant to her by Nancy and the other pre-soccer moms, who “just couldn’t wait” to squeeze all three children’s cheeks.

As she grew larger, Lisa found she could take on fewer and fewer projects, ultimately bringing her bank balance to an all-time low. Whenever Rocco called, she made excuses, not wanting him to discover her “predicament.”

She’d considered telling him that she had a family emergency, that she wouldn’t be able to work for a few months, but that she’d return full-fledged and vibrant, like a new woman. She supposed the lie wasn’t so dramatic. With each inch that her belly protruded, the pregnancy felt like a greater emergency. She couldn’t very well chase after celebrities, her camera flailing, and expect to get the shots she needed.

Lisa splayed out on her couch on a mid-June afternoon, calculating her remaining funds, and recognizing that she would soon have to give up her apartment. She just couldn’t make it for the next few months, rent-wise. She bit her lip, sensing the weight of her reality with each calculation, realizing that, in many ways, her life in New York was over.

She hadn’t heard from Princess Rose in the months since their meeting in Central Park. She hadn’t received a single cent from her, nor any paperwork regarding the adoption. She’d become obsessed with tabloid photographs of the couple, thinking back to that fateful night, when she’d watched over them from the corner of the Matador, so light and confident, bribing her way into their private space to net herself a sweet profit. What she would do to take it all back. What she would do to spring back into her old life, pre-Francesco, and pre-Rose.

She slid her hand over her bulbous stomach, knowing that this wasn’t exactly true. Her love for her babies constantly grew within her. Sometimes, she stayed up all night, daydreaming about their futures—if they’d get along, if they’d become different people, each of them taking a drastically different path through life. Of course, the imagining often spiraled out of control. But she supposed that was true for almost every mother.

She’d begun to harbor an active hatred for the Prince, who’d ultimately abandoned her. She was more alone, and broken, than she’d ever been. And, in conversation with her mother the previous evening, she’d decided to move back to Detroit to find her footing.

“I can support us both,” her mother had affirmed, showing such confidence in the face of adversity. Such was her way.

“Mom, no. I’ll get a job once I’m there. Once the babies are born, I’ll go back to work. I’ll help you. I just can’t handle the city right now.”

“I’ll handle it,” her mother had said again, almost daring Lisa to argue. “If you worry too much, you’ll get sick. And trust me: pregnancy is one hundred times worse when you’re sick.”

Lisa began to pack her things into small boxes, with the mindset that she would only bring whatever could fit in her mother’s car, and leave the rest at the side of the road. She slipped books into bags, leaving the baby books behind, sensing that whatever she hadn’t learned already, she would pick up along the way. She gazed forlornly at her clothing collection, at the little blue dress she’d been wearing the night the babies had been conceived, and tossed away much of it, barely remembering the body she’d once had. Her wardrobe was simply a painful reminder of a time when she’d been happy; when she’d been working toward something.

As she packed, listening to loud music and stressing herself with momentary bouts of anger toward the Prince and Princess, she realized she needed to get out of the apartment, at least for a little while. She put on flip-flops, which were the only shoes that could possibly accommodate her swollen feet, and shuffled from the door.

The New York heat was heavy upon her shoulders, causing immediate sweat beads to form in her armpits. She stared back at the people who stared at her as she waddled down the street. On the corner, a small bodega awaited her, where she could buy candy bars, which she would scarf back in the air conditioning, once the chocolate hardened once more.

Standing at the bodega, Lisa found herself gazing at the Daily Sneak, tucked away on the top rack of tabloid magazines. The Prince’s face stared at her from the center, with massive text beneath: “Royal Wedding Just Two Weeks Away—Secret New York Venue!”

New York? Lisa’s eyes widened. She swayed slightly on her feet, forcing the poor bodega owner to rush toward her and make sure she wasn’t going to fall over. Surely, he was only really worried about his well-organized candy bar collection.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” he asked.

Lisa blinked heavily. “Sure,” she murmured. “Can I take one of every candy bar, and a copy of the Daily Sneak?”

“One of every candy bar?” the man asked, incredulous. “Every single kind?”

“Yup, I’m eating for four, you see!” Lisa affirmed. “And quick. If I stay out in this heat another second more, I might go into labor. And you’ll be doing the delivery.” She winked at him, but he scurried quickly, tossing a handful of candy bars at her, along with the copy of the Daily Sneak.

“Just get home, lady,” he said, gesturing back down the street. “You’re too pregnant to be out in this.”

Lisa accepted the gifts and waddled back down the street, grinning to herself, and refusing to look at the tabloid until she calmed down. She knew another peek at the Prince’s face would send her reeling. And she didn’t want to frighten anyone else in the dripping Brooklyn heat.

Back in her apartment, Lisa had to gulp several cups of water, feeling dehydrated after her brief outing. She stretched out on the couch before opening the tabloid. She knew she was entering a doorway of heartache. But, for the sake of her babies, she had to know the truth.

The Prince and Princess filled the entirety of the centerfold story, with the copy detailing their chaotic courtship, breakups and reunions—much of which Lisa already knew, but couldn’t help but read again. She slid her finger over the Prince’s face on the page, simultaneously hating him, and also looking forward to that day, just a few weeks away, when she’d see his beautiful features echoed in the faces of her three children.

The wedding would be downtown, at the Ritz Hotel, and was purported to have cost a whopping 50 million dollars. The dress, designed by Vera Wang, of course, was said to highlight the Princess’ “interesting” features, and the Prince was rumored to be having one of the most expensive bachelor parties in recorded history, in Dubai.

As she read, Lisa felt her brain buzz with anger. While this affair continued to roll forward, she was packing up her life and being forced to move back in with her mother, practically penniless. She clenched her fists together and, before she knew what had hit her, convinced herself that she had to find the Prince. She had to give him a piece of her mind. And she had to tell him that she wouldn’t allow him and the Princess to “buy” her babies from her, in some disgusting exchange of human property.

It was all too much. And, for once, Lisa wasn’t going to allow herself to dip to that level. Not even for her career.

She lifted her phone and began to dial old colleagues she’d worked with at the Daily Sneak, many of whom she hadn’t seen since she’d grown too big to walk further than the corner bodega. One in particular, a guy named Chris, was particularly chatty, telling her that he’d uncovered a scoop on some mega-star that would probably pay for his car insurance for the next four years.

“Really?” Lisa said, feigning interest. “How on earth did you uncover it?”

She listened as he droned on, explaining that he’d hidden in a movie star’s bushes for nearly a week before discovering the truth of his affair. After asking a few questions, Lisa leaped into her own plan of attack, clearly disappointing Chris, who still had several humble brags to profess.

“You’re on Prince and Princess duty at the moment, right?” she asked him brightly.

“Um, that old story? Sure,” Chris said, scoffing. He sounded as if he were eating a sandwich. “I heard you were on it to begin with, but that you dropped the ball. Wish you hadn’t, Garcia. I’m so tired of taking pictures of that terrible princess. One time, I thought she was actually going to spit on me.”

For a brief moment, Lisa took pleasure in hearing that someone else felt the same way about Princess Rose. But she persevered, not wanting to be distracted. “Horrible woman,” she agreed. “I was hoping to learn when and where the rehearsal dinner was going to be. I assumed it wouldn’t be too difficult for me to just hang around and take a few shots. I’m going to need the money once these babies are born.”

“Ah, right. Your pregnancy,” Chris said, remembering, then. “Last time I saw you, you looked like you were about to burst. And that was what, four months ago?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lisa said, laughing falsely. “But if you could help me out, Chris, that would be so appreciated. I can’t even—”

“Sure. I don’t want to go, anyway. It’s tomorrow, at the ballroom near Central Park. I’d rather ride out this Brad Pitt story, personally. Why is the world so enamored with royalty, anyway?”

“Beats me,” Lisa replied, her mind already working to form a plan. She didn’t have much time. She would ride out her anger, and then stand before him, pointing her finger at his chest and causing a scene. She wouldn’t even care about the press.

“They’ve hired loads of photographers, actually,” Chris continued. “I’m not officially there for the Daily Sneak, though. Rocco had me list myself as Us Weekly or something. And frankly, after this big story moves forward, Us Weekly better be calling me. I say it’s goodbye Daily Sneak, hello more money.”

“Right,” Lisa said, holding back a laugh. She sensed his confidence, could almost sniff it through the phone. “And your press pass? I could have it?”

“Sure. If you don’t mind being named Chris,” he joked. “Guess it’s sometimes a girl’s name, anyway. I can drop it off for you tonight. I know you aren’t getting around too easily these days.”

“Thank you,” Lisa said, her eyes bright. She couldn’t believe how straightforward this was. “It would mean more than you could ever know.”

“Sure. It’s nothing. Like I said. I have my mega-scoop to worry about,” Chris affirmed, before hanging up quickly, explaining that his time was up.