The test lay on the sink like a tiny verdict. Nora stared until the lines blurred, then came back into focus, then blurred again. She sat on the edge of the tub and counted months backward with a math that suddenly felt like a trap.
Her ex had drifted out of her life with the last of the warm weather. The timeline didn’t care about feelings; it obeyed calendars and biology without apology.
Evan texted to ask if she’d eaten. She typed yes and didn’t hit send. She typed no and didn’t either. The mirror showed a face that didn’t know how to be nineteen and two things at once.
At her first prenatal visit, the nurse asked the same questions everyone asks: last period, prior conditions, support system. Nora nodded, wrote down phone numbers she prayed she wouldn’t need.
When they asked about the father, she swallowed a stone. “It’s… complicated,” she said, and watched the nurse soften her smile to a shape that could hold complicated without cracking.
Outside the clinic, rain tapped her hood like code she couldn’t read. She texted Evan: *Can we talk?* He replied in a heartbeat: *Anytime. Do you need a ride?*
She typed back: *No. Just… stay by your phone.* Then she pressed her palm to her stomach and whispered a promise she didn’t know how to keep yet.
In the hospital now, the baby stirred against her chest, reminding her that decisions don’t wait for courage—they make it.
Nora looked up at the doctor, eyes bright with a truth she’d run out of places to hide: “If I tell you everything… will you still help us?”
