The annoying ring of my morning alarm clock jolts me from the vivid dreams, of the child growing inside of me. I always make sure that one alarm will go off fifteen minutes before I actually have to be up. I still cannot get used to waking up in such a beautiful place every morning, so I need a few moments to reflect on the magnificence that lies outside of my bedroom. I roll to the window pane so I can pull up the pale blue curtains, tangling my limbs even further in the white, cotton sheets. The second my eyes register the plush sand and hazy morning sky, my heart contracts with love. As I do every morning I can not resist but open the window, to allow the crisp, salty breeze to kiss my sleepy face. I have always dreamed of living on the coast of North Carolina, so it is almost impossible for me to believe that I am actually here. I twist from laying on my side to my back, one hand instinctively lands on my newly swollen stomach, while the other hand reaches out to the other side of the bed. Feeling the warm imprint of the man who once occupied that spot sends another sharp sting of love to my already affection-filled organ. As I listen to the waves gently, lap against the sand I imagine my life in 7 months, when I have a new child who I will wake up to every morning. The high-pitched beep from the coffeepot breaks me from my daydream. Now instead of the waves, I listen to the soft thump of a cabinet door closing; The clink of two ceramic mugs hitting the granite counter-top in preparation to be filled with hot caffeine. Finally I hear the faint pad of his feet ascending the steps to our bedroom. The potent aroma fills my nostrils before he can even push open the door, but when he does our routine over the last two months resumes. He strides over to my side of the bed, a warm grin plastered on his perfectly flawed face. As he places one mug on the table beside our bed, he bends his large frame to place a delicate kiss on my plump abdomen, then another on my forehead. Without a word shared between us he turns swiftly to the bathroom to begin his shower, I reach for my beige colored brew in a state of utter euphoria. As soon as my lips touch the brim of my mug the second alarm sounds, reminding me of the meeting I have today. The meeting that will determine whether HarperCollins will choose to publish my first novel or throw me and my years of work to the curb. Before crippling anxiety can consume my mind, I glance down at my left hand resting on my expecting belly. The modest ring on my index finger glistens in the early morning rays, emphasizing that no matter what happens, life will go on.