6

Maxine's POV

The ride to the club felt longer than it actually was. Kristen sat beside me, quiet for once. She was usually full of chatter, her energy bouncing off the walls, but today she barely said a word. I appreciated the silence. My thoughts were loud enough.

My fingers fidgeted in my lap, my mind cycling through hope and dread in equal parts. What was I expecting, really? That he’d be there like nothing happened? That I could walk up to him, tell him I was pregnant, and he’d magically know what to do? I hated how naïve I still was, even when I tried to be rational.

The car pulled up in front of the club, and the same thumping music greeted us — muffled through walls but unmistakable. Neon lights flashed across the pavement, casting our shadows in brief, distorted colors.

I hesitated before walking in. The last time I was here, my life was normal. Simpler. A night out, a poor choice, a stranger’s smile — it all felt like a hazy dream now. But what came after it… that was painfully real.

Inside, the crowd was the same — loud, laughing, lost in the night. I scanned every face. None of them were his. Still, I forced myself forward, weaving through the bodies until I reached the bar.

A young guy with tired eyes glanced at me. “What’ll it be?”

“I’m looking for someone,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “He used to come here. Name’s Thomas… or maybe Damien.”

He paused, wiping a glass slowly. “You talking about Ledger?”

My breath caught. “Yes.”

“He’s gone. Left about a week ago. No one’s seen him since.”

That was it. No explanation. No way to find him. Just gone.

I nodded, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. “Thanks.”

Kristen was waiting near the exit, her arms crossed, watching the crowd with mild annoyance. When she saw me, she didn’t even need to ask. She read the answer in my face.

“Nothing?” she asked as we stepped outside.

“He’s gone,” I said, voice low.

She didn’t say I told you so, though I could tell she wanted to. She just sighed and followed me to the car. The ride back to the dorm was as quiet as the ride there. She drove with one hand on the wheel, her face unreadable in the dim light of the dashboard. I stared out the window, watching buildings pass, feeling like I was moving through someone else’s life.

We then went to his house and as we expected, the house was locked and there was no sign of him. 

Back in the dorm, I dropped onto my bed, the pregnancy test still tucked in my drawer like a secret I didn’t want to touch. The quiet buzz of the heater filled the room. Kristen stood by her bed, glancing at me now and then like she was waiting for me to say something first.

“I’m keeping the child,” I said finally.

Kristen blinked, as if she hadn’t heard me right. “What?”

“I’m going to have this baby.”

She crossed her arms, taking a second before responding. “Max… come on. You don’t even know this guy. You don’t know where he is. What if he never comes back?”

“I know.”

“Then why would you go through with this?”

I looked at her, my voice barely above a whisper. “Because even if it wasn’t planned… this child exists now. It’s not about him anymore. It’s about me, and the life I carry.”

Kristen paced a little, her frustration peeking through. “You’re going to do this alone. You’ll have to tell your parents, maybe leave school, maybe deal with things you’re not ready for. Your whole life is going to change, Max.”

“I know,” I said again. “But I’ve thought about this. I’ve felt it. And as scared as I am, I just… can’t bring myself to end it. It’s not about morals or religion. It’s just… something inside me says not to.”

She stared at me for a long second, then dropped onto her bed with a sigh.

“You’re too soft sometimes.”

“Maybe.”

Kristen glanced sideways at me, her voice softer this time. “This isn’t what I would’ve done. I still think it’s a bad idea. But…” She trailed off for a second, then looked at me again. “I’m not going to leave you alone in this.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of my lips. “Thank you.”

“I mean, if I have to deal with a crying baby in this dorm, I’m going to make you suffer with me,” she muttered, flopping back against her pillow.

I laughed quietly, the first time in days. The weight in my chest was still there, but it shifted slightly — from isolation to something more bearable. Maybe even something close to hope.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I stared at the ceiling, one hand resting gently on my stomach. I didn’t know what the future held, or how I’d get through it. I was still scared. Still uncertain.

But I wasn’t running anymore. I'm not making a bad decision, and this child deserves to live.

And that had to count for something.