Chapter 2: Pregnant? Please No.

TRICIA

Two weeks had crawled by since that night at the hotel, and I still couldn’t face my reflection without wanting to shatter the glass. I used the envelope I had refused to count to pay my father’s hospital bills and settle my tuition. Relief should have come, but instead, I was haunted by memories I couldn’t escape.

Frank was avoiding me like the plague. Whenever our eyes met in class, his gaze dripped with contempt, and he let his friends mock me loud enough for everyone to hear.

“She pretends to be holy, but she sells herself at night.”

“She fooled Frank for six years. Imagine that.”

Their laughter echoed in my mind long after class ended, each word a stone against my chest. Still, I kept my head down, studying harder to drown out their voices.

But two months later, while serving customers at the diner, my world spun violently. The tray slipped from my trembling hands, plates shattered, and I collapsed. When I woke up, I found myself in a hospital bed, staring at pale blue curtains and the rhythmic beeping of a monitor.

“You’re awake. Your friend brought you in, she said you passed out at work.” The doctor said as he walked in, his expression calm yet unreadable. “Miss Tricia, you fainted due to stress and exhaustion. But we also ran some tests.”

He paused, then glanced at the chart in his hand. “You’re pregnant. About eight weeks along.” My whole body went cold. The words slammed into me like a tidal wave.

“Pregnant?” My voice cracked. “That can’t be right. I—it can’t be.”

The doctor’s eyes softened. “It’s certain. I know this isn’t easy news, but you need to start taking care of yourself and the baby.”

Baby. The word echoed, strange and heavy.

I turned my face to the wall as tears blurred my vision. My body trembled, my heart sank lower than it had the night Frank left me.

I was carrying the result of that night. A night I wanted to erase forever.

When Ivy returned and saw my face, she rushed to my side. “Tricia, what happened? Are you okay?”

I couldn’t even say it at first. The words tasted like acid. Finally, I whispered, “I’m pregnant.”

Her jaw dropped. She pulled a chair closer and held my hand. “Omg, Tricia…” Her voice broke into a sigh.

“I can’t do this. I can’t raise a child. I don’t even know who the father is. I don’t even want to know,” I sobbed, curling into myself. “Why me, Ivy? Haven’t I suffered enough?”

“Then get rid of it!”

My head snapped to her and I glared at her like she had gone nuts. “What did you just say?”

She sighed, sitting beside me. I quickly sat up, ignoring the dizziness and shifting farther from her. She sighed even heavier and looked away for a brief second.

“You can't be a mother, then you don't have to. Exams are still two months ahead. You can't start stressing over this thing—”

“That thing is my child!” I snapped.

She smiled, and took my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “That’s what I thought, Trish. You’re strong, you’ve been through worse. And I know you don’t believe it now, but maybe this baby is not a curse. Maybe she’s the reason you’ll keep fighting.”

Tears fell from my eyes as I listened to her. “I…”

“You will be fine!” she whispered, hugging me.

As much as I hated what brought her into existence, I couldn’t deny her life. I couldn’t become someone who took away an innocent chance at breathing.

That night, I cried myself to sleep in the hospital bed, my tears silent but endless.

---

Two months later, exam season came like a storm. My body was heavier, but I refused to give up. Each time I looked at my little bump, I reminded myself this was no excuse to fail.

The rumours continued, but I didn't let it deter me. And when the results were finally announced, I stood frozen in disbelief.

“Top of the class… Tricia Alvarez,” the dean read aloud, smiling proudly as applause thundered around the hall.

My name. My name was at the top. Despite everything, I passed! I excelled. I stepped up to collect my awards and certificates, and for the first time in months, I felt a flicker of pride.

I clutched them tightly against my chest, placing one hand on my belly, whispering silently to the baby inside me. "We did it, baby, you and I."

---

Five months later, my life shifted completely. I packed my small bag, left behind the whispers and the shame, and moved to New York City. The city roared with lights and chaos, but it also offered a clean slate. I rented a tiny apartment with peeling paint and leaky taps, but it was mine.

There, I gave birth to a baby girl.

The first time I held her, her little cries filled the sterile hospital room, and something inside me cracked open. She was tiny, warm, and perfect. Her dark lashes curled against her cheeks, and her small fist wrapped tightly around my finger. I named her Melody. My Melody. My song in the middle of the storm.

The following three years were both beautiful and brutal.

I worked as a waitress in a busy diner. My hands were constantly raw from washing dishes, my feet ached from endless shifts, and yet every coin I earned went to Melody’s food, clothes, and daycare. She grew into a lively three-year-old with curls bouncing around her face and laughter that made my darkest days bearable.

Sometimes, I would come home with tears in my eyes, exhausted and hungry, but Melody would run into my arms, hug me tightly, and whisper, “Don’t cry, Mommy. I love you.” And just like that, my heart would find the strength to keep going.

But not everyone saw me the way she did.

One evening, while serving tables, a wealthy man in a suit grabbed my wrist and tugged me closer. His eyes were clouded with arrogance, his smile vile. “Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be serving food. How much for the night?” he slurred, his hand sliding too close.

I jerked back in disgust. “Let go of me.”

He laughed, leaning closer. “Don’t play hard to get. I can give you more money than you’ll ever see in your life.”

Before I knew it, my hand flew across his face with a sharp slap. Gasps filled the diner. The man’s jaw tightened, and his anger boiled as he stormed toward the manager’s office.

Minutes later, my boss called me in. His voice was cold. “Tricia, this is unacceptable. We can’t afford to offend wealthy customers. You’re fired.”

I stood there trembling, tears burning my eyes. “But he—he tried to harass me! I was only defending myself!”

“It doesn’t matter. Pack your things.”

When I left the diner, my legs were weak, and tears spilled freely. Melody tugged at my hand, her big brown eyes searching my face. “Mommy, don’t cry. It’s okay. I’ll be good.”

Her innocent words cut deeper than anything. I dropped to my knees, hugging her tightly, my sobs muffled in her tiny shoulder. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

That night, after tucking her into bed, I sat at the small table in our kitchen and stared at my degree framed on the wall. I had worked so hard for it, yet here I was, serving plates and getting fired for defending my dignity.

I whispered to myself, “I deserve better. Melody deserves better.”

The next morning, I polished my resume and began applying for bigger jobs. Not just any job—I aimed high. Corporations. Companies where my degree mattered.

Day after day, I sent applications. Rejection emails piled up. My hope withered with each one, but I pushed on.

Then, one week later, my phone buzzed with an email notification.

Dear Miss Tricia,

We are pleased to invite you for an interview at Blackwell Group.

My hands shook so violently I almost dropped the phone. The Blackwell Group. One of the biggest companies in the city. A place I never dreamed I could even step foot in.

I stared at the email until tears blurred my vision. Melody climbed onto my lap, pointing at the screen. “What’s that, Mommy?”

I hugged her tightly, my heart pounding with renewed hope. “That, baby girl, is our chance.”