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Fiona Gallagher’s school uniform didn’t fit. On a cold March morning, she put it on for the first time since returning from

Aunt Cookie’s down in Bradford, and it was too tight in all the wrong places. A part of her wished she could have stayed with

her aunt, even though there was no pregnancy to hide anymore.

Cookie was actually her mother’s aunt, and she was more like a grandmother, with a face like risen dough and kind eyes that

didn’t judge. Aunt Cookie—her real name was Corrine, but she was known for her jam-filled cookies—used to come to Buffalo

for a stay each time Ma had another baby.

A godsend, Ma called her, looking after all the other kids so Ma could give her full attention to the new little one.

Now that Fiona herself had gone through the ordeal, she understood why her mother needed help. Having a baby was the biggest,

scariest, most mind-blowing thing in the world. It took over every part of your body, your mind, your heart, and your soul.

No one had ever explained to Fiona that having a baby would change her forever in ways she couldn’t imagine.

Still, it would have been nice if someone, somehow, somewhere had told Fiona how easy it was to get pregnant, and how hard it was to understand what would happen as a result of all the sex that brought every cell in her body alive.

When she first started having those warm, yearning feelings, the sensation was so powerful that she actually thought it was true love.

Now she knew it didn’t work that way. She wished someone had explained how awful it was to stand before your mother, eyes on the floor, face on fire with shame, and admit to her what had happened.

It would have been nice if someone had told Fiona that the hardest thing in the entire universe was to push a baby from your body.

And that the most holy thing in the universe was to be flooded by the purest, most intense, and sweetest love you’d ever felt.

Her labor had been agonizing, but the pain had felt strangely cleansing. The love itself wasn’t hard at all. It was as natural,

beautiful, and eternal as breathing the air. No, the difficult, impossible part was the goodbye. That was the thing that killed

Fiona—saying goodbye to the glorious, fully formed, beautiful child she had grown under her heart for nine months.

She had been allowed to hold and cuddle the tiny, sweetly breathing bundle of perfection for only a day and a half. Despite

her exhaustion from the hours of labor, she had not slept for a single moment. She simply stared at the little miracle, pressing

her lips to the warm, delicate forehead, inhaling a scent so sweet and unique that it pierced straight through to her breaking

heart.

Seated in Cookie’s new wooden Kennedy Rocker, Fiona had parted the striped hospital blanket to study every inch of the new

little life she’d created. She smiled at her baby, made a memory of her face forever. She tried to fold every detail into

her heart—the sweet, slender limbs; the face of an angel; the starfish hands and seashell ears. Fiona had pressed her mouth

to the baby’s delicate ear and whispered, Your name is Ruby .

Yes, Ruby. A precious gem that was the color of life, the color of blood, the color Fiona could see when she squeezed her

eyes shut to hold in the tears.

Of course, the new parents would pick a different name for the little girl, for the child Fiona had made, for the person she

would never see again in this life.

The idea of losing her child made Fiona want to die so she could get to the afterlife sooner and then wait in paradise for Ruby to join her when the time came.

That was a bad idea, though, since it obviously wouldn’t work.

Because Fiona would never get to heaven.

She was going to hell. She’d had sex with a boy.

She had given birth out of wedlock, and she’d blown her chance of avoiding eternal damnation.

Aunt Cookie said maybe she might be able to redeem herself if she became a nun and devoted her life to serving the Lord, but

Fiona couldn’t imagine taking such a step, even to save her own soul. The very thought of taking vows for life and living

in a faith community sounded like a jail sentence.

An officious, intimidating woman had made Fiona sign papers and certificates, surrendering her rights as Ruby’s mother. She

had begged to keep her, but was told it was impossible—and dangerous to the child. A baby born out of wedlock bore the stain

of original sin, and without proper parents, she was bound to suffer eternity in purgatory.

After the strangers arrived to take Ruby away in their gleaming Chrysler, its trunk filled with shiny new baby gear and pink

blankets and stacks of diapers, Fiona had cried for days. Milk filled her breasts like a hot tidal wave, turning them into

rock-hard volcanoes that spurted thin, blue-white lava, and the searing pain caused the world to tilt on its axis.

Aunt Cookie brought warm compresses for her boobs and a cool cloth for her face, and somehow, Fiona’s breasts stopped trying

to produce nourishment for a baby that had been snatched away. The heat and hardness slowly subsided. Fiona imagined the milk

turning to tears and flowing out through her eyes for hours and hours and hours.

Now she was home and nobody talked about where she’d been and what had happened. Fiona was an invisible mom, a girl who had

created life inside her body, yet had no baby to hold in her arms. Ma gave her a pad and a belt and told her to get some rest.

Her kid brothers and sisters regarded her with wide eyes, and then Izzy flung herself into Fiona’s arms, clinging for dear

life. Don’t ever leave me again , she wailed over and over. It’s awful without you .

The other kids either ignored her or tiptoed around her, treating her like something fragile that would break at the slightest

pressure. Her father could barely look at her, and when their eyes met by accident, she saw a deep and painful sadness reflected

back at her.

Her brother Flynn was an unexpected ally—kind and matter-of-fact, making her feel like she might have a shot at not being miserable forever.

He had a place of his own and was still dating Haley, even though their parents disapproved.

He told Fiona that she needed to get back to normal.

Reenter the flow of her life, reconnect with her friends, rediscover her goals and dreams. Then everything else would fall into place.

That was the idea anyway.

But her school clothes didn’t fit. The blouse smashed her boobs, and she couldn’t get the skirt zipper past her waist. She

inched it up as far as she could, and then put on a cardigan to hide the gap. She studied herself in the closet mirror. She

looked like herself, but different. The cloth St. Wilda’s badge on the sweater added a note of familiarity. Yet there was

something different about the shape of her face, and maybe the way she held herself, tiny details she hadn’t noticed before.

Having a baby had changed her from the inside out. Fiona knew that now. Cookie said she’d get her figure back, but no one

explained how Fiona would get herself back. She would never be that girl again. She would never get herself back. She would get a different girl, put together

in a totally different way.

With a worried sigh, she moved through her morning routine of breakfast, schoolbag, bus card, library card. Her next step

in reclaiming her life was to drop by Mairin’s house. She and her best friend always walked to the bus stop together. They’d

been doing it since first grade, when their mothers deemed them old enough to cross the street by themselves, holding hands.

Truth be told, Fiona was mad at Mairin, even though she yearned to see her friend. Mairin had promised to write every week.

But she had not sent a single letter to Aunt Cookie’s in Bradford. Not one.

Fiona had written to Mairin a few times, describing life in the small Pennsylvania town, taking classes at a school where

no one knew her, but she gave up when she didn’t hear back. Mairin’s silence troubled and confused Fiona. It wasn’t like Mairin

to go back on a promise. But then again, it wasn’t like Fiona to get herself in trouble and give away a baby and then come

back home like a flat tire.

Maybe the two of them could talk about it on the way to school, Fiona thought. She grabbed her schoolbag, which she’d filled with supplies she’d bought last fall, never realizing the long gap that awaited her. Then she stepped out into the brisk morning.

A chill wind, scented by the lake water, chased her down the block to Peach Street. When they were little, Fiona and Mairin

used to run back and forth to each other’s house, slamming in and out without knocking, calling each other’s name. This morning

felt different, though. Time had passed. She and Mairin had never been apart for so long.

Fiona cleared her throat and knocked on the front door. Usually Mairin would come clattering down the stairs with her fabulous

curly red hair tumbling past her shoulders and her socks slumped down around her ankles, a piece of peanut butter toast clenched

in her teeth, because she was always rushing around, running late. Her big brother, Liam, would often be eating cereal out

of a mixing bowl because he had a huge appetite, and the radio would be on, adding to the noise and energy of a busy morning

filling the house.

This morning, the storm door opened, and there was Mrs. Davis in a threadbare bathrobe and plain gray scuffs, her hair caught

back in a plastic barrette. Fiona’s heart pounded with dread. She hoped she wouldn’t have to explain too much to Mairin’s

mother.

Obviously, the whole world knew why a girl went away for a certain number of months and then came back deflated and brokenhearted.

But Fiona didn’t really want to talk about it.

“Hiya, Mrs. D,” she said brightly.