PART 1
I was nineteen, terrified, and barely three weeks pregnant when I finally admitted everything to my parents.
The second those words left my mouth, I understood that nothing about my life would ever be the same again.
We were sitting together in the living room of our modest home in Ohio. My hands shook as I held the positive pregnancy test. My mother, Eleanor, stared at it in stunned disbelief. My father, Richard, leaned forward in his recliner while his expression slowly turned cold.
“Who’s the father?” he asked.
I swallowed. “I can’t tell you.”
Silence settled over the room.
“What do you mean you can’t tell us?” Eleanor snapped. “Are you covering for someone? Is he married? Twice your age?”
“It’s complicated,” I whispered. “But I can’t end this pregnancy. I can’t. And if I do… it won’t just affect me. It’ll affect all of us.”
The instant those words escaped my lips, everything exploded.
