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ⁿᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ
𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 & 𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬
𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 , 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐫
𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐚 thought summer would stretch forever — humid nights, secret rides, his hand brushing hers across the gearshift, the sharp taste of danger that felt addictive. But forever turned out shorter than she expected.
It started small.
The missed period.
She brushed it off at first. Stress. She’d been sneaking out more, sleeping less, lying every other sentence. Stress did weird things to your body, right? She told herself that, clung to it like a lifeline.
But then came the morning sickness. The way the smell of eggs frying made her gag. The way dizziness snuck up on her in the middle of class, sending the room spinning. Keisha noticed first.
“Girl, you look pale as hell,” Keisha said, shoving her lunch tray across the cafeteria table. “You sick or something?”
“I’m fine,” Maya lied, picking at her food. But her hands shook.
Later that night, she stood in the fluorescent glare of a CVS bathroom, clutching a box she swore she’d never buy. Her reflection in the scratched mirror looked like a stranger — wide-eyed, lips pressed thin, every bit of innocence stripped by the plastic stick she couldn’t bring herself to open.
Her heart pounded as she tore the package. The test felt heavier than it should have, like it already knew the answer. She locked herself in a stall, breath shallow, fingers trembling as she followed the instructions.
Two minutes. That’s all it took to rip her life in half.
Positive.
She stared until the lines blurred through her tears. Her knees buckled, and she slid against the stall wall, muffling sobs into her sleeve.
Her whole future — art school applications, city skylines, sketchbooks filled with dreams — crumbled into dust around her.
The next day, she tried to reach him. Jax.
She called his number. Disconnected.
She texted. Messages bounced back.
She asked Keisha, but Keisha shook her head, nervous. “He’s gone quiet. People say he dipped out of town for a while. Business.”
Business. Always business.
Maya wanted to scream. She wanted to march up to him, shove the test in his face, demand answers, demand support. But he wasn’t there. And the world didn’t care.
That night, alone in her room, Maya pressed a shaking hand to her stomach.
“Hey, little one,” she whispered, voice cracking. The words felt impossible, surreal. “It’s just me. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if I can do this. But I… I’ll try.”Her tears dripped onto the sketchbook open in her lap. She’d been drawing again — not wings this time, not cities. Just his face. Over and over. The sharp jawline, the dark eyes, the shadows. She hated herself for it, but she couldn’t stop.
Jax had left her with nothing but a ghost and a heartbeat inside her that wasn’t hers alone anymore.
At school, whispers spread fast. She wasn’t showing yet, but people noticed her slipping grades, her blank stares, the way she skipped lunch. A girl from art club muttered something under her breath as Maya passed. Keisha threatened to fight her, but Maya didn’t even flinch.
She was numb.
At home, it was worse.
Her parents weren’t stupid. Her mom cornered her in the kitchen one evening, arms folded, voice sharp.
“What’s wrong with you, Maya? You’ve been hiding something. I can feel it.”
Maya’s throat closed. She wanted to deny it, but the truth pressed against her ribs, demanding air.
“I…” Her voice cracked. “I think I’m pregnant.”
The silence that followed was worse than shouting. Her mom’s face fell, her dad’s jaw tightened.
“You what?” her mom whispered, horrified.
Her dad slammed his hand on the counter. “Who? Tell me who did this to you!”
Maya couldn’t answer. She couldn’t explain Jax — the ghost in the hoodie, the boy with the storm in his eyes, the reason her life was unraveling. She just stared at the floor.
Her mother’s voice was cold when it came again. “You’re too young. You’re not ruining your future over this. You’re getting rid of it.”
Maya’s chest split open. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I can’t.”
Her father’s voice rose like thunder. “Then you’re out of this house. If you want to throw your life away, don’t drag us with you.”
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.
That night, Maya sat on her bed with her bag half-packed. Her mom stood in the doorway, face blank, arms crossed.
“You made your choice,” she said flatly. “Now live with it.”
The front door slammed behind Maya like a final verdict.
And just like that, she was alone — 17, pregnant, her world shattered, clutching her belly like it was the only thing keeping her from disappearing.
Maya sits on a bus stop bench in the cold night, bag at her feet, staring at the dark sky.
Her hand rests on her stomach. She whispers to her unborn child, voice fierce despite her tears:
“I’ll protect you. No matter what. Even if it kills me.”
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