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January 15, 2007
1:30pm
It was a Monday. Ally was in school. We returned to New York on the 10th. Nothing much has been going on. Nothing interesting. I was talking to Brian on the phone . . .

"How should I tell her, Bri? I know she'll freak," I told Brian. I was asking him when should I tell Ally my secret. Brian knew; I told him.
"Just tell her," he answered. "Wait, why don't you want to tell her?"
I sighed, "Because I don't want to lose her, and I don't want to see her going with Aaron instead of me."
"Nick, just tell her. If anything happens, I'll talk to her."
I was a little relieved, "Promise?"
"Have I ever lied to you?"
"Yes," I replied, laughing.
"Not in serious stuff like this. I promise."
"Thanks," I said.
"Got to go. Gotta pick up Baylee from daycare."
"K, bye."
"Bye," I said, and we hung up. I was about to put the phone on the hanger when it rang. "Hello?" I answered.
"Are you Mr. Carter?" a woman spoke.
"Yes," I replied.
"I am the secretary from Alyson's school and she has been send to the hospital."
"Why?!" I grew nervous.
"Something about a stomachache, I believe."
"Oh shit," I thought, "The baby. But, wait . . . she's only 5 months pregnant."

I asked her what hospital it was and I went there. When I got to the hospital, they told me to sit in the waiting room. I saw Izzy there.

"What's wrong?" I asked her.
"There's something wrong with the baby," she began, "That's all I know."
I thought again, "What could be wrong?!"
"Where is she?" I asked.
"In the emergency room," she told me.
I called everyone to tell them know what was going on, including her parents. Her mother wanted to come to the hospital, but I told her I would keep her updated. Surprisingly, I saw the guys, their wives, and my Mom and Dad coming from the front door about 3 hours later. I didn't ask them why they came, I was busy worrying. Ally's doctor came towards my way.

"Are you Mr. Carter?" he asked me.
"Yes," I told him, "How is she?"
"We need you," he said, pulling me towards a room where they had all the doctor suits. "Put one on."
"Why? What's wrong with her?" I asked him, putting a suit on.
One word answered my question . . . "Miscarriage."