7

The next morning came too quickly. I woke up early, even before the sun peeked through the curtains. Kristen was still sleeping, her breath steady and peaceful, and for a moment I wished I could pause life right here—in this still, quiet bubble where things didn’t feel so overwhelming.

But that wasn’t reality.

I sat by the window with a cup of lukewarm tea, staring at nothing. My thoughts kept circling the same truth: I was pregnant. Nothing had changed overnight. There was no miracle fix, no undoing what had happened. I was carrying a child. Damien’s child.

And I had to tell my parents.

Just thinking about their reaction made my hands tremble. My mother would be devastated. My father might not even speak to me for a while. I imagined their faces—shock, anger, disappointment, fear. I hated that I was about to bring all those emotions into their lives. But I couldn’t hide this forever.

I picked up my phone, stared at the screen, and put it back down. Then picked it up again.

Kristen stirred, yawning as she sat up and rubbed her eyes. “You okay?” she asked groggily.

I nodded, too quickly.

“You’re not okay,” she said, stretching her arms. “You look like you’ve just walked out of a hurricane.”

“I think I’m going to tell my mom today,” I said, barely above a whisper.

Kristen’s eyes widened slightly. “Are you sure?”

I shrugged. “No. But I have to. She’ll find out eventually. Better it comes from me.”

Kristen got out of bed and walked over to me. She placed a hand on my shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “You’re doing the brave thing. That doesn’t always feel good, but it matters.”

I smiled weakly, appreciating her calm, grounded presence more than words could express.

After Kristen left for her class, I sat alone for a while longer, rehearsing how to start the conversation. I didn’t want to do it over the phone, but I knew I couldn’t face them in person yet. So I did the next best thing: a video call.

My mother answered after three rings. Her face lit up at the sight of me, even through the screen.

“Max! It’s been days. I was starting to worry.”

“I’m okay,” I lied.

She studied my face. “You look tired. Are you eating well? You don’t look like yourself.”

“I… need to tell you something, Mumma.”

Her smile faded.

“I’m pregnant.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. She didn’t speak. Her expression froze between disbelief and heartbreak.

“I didn’t plan it,” I said quickly, my voice cracking. “It was one mistake… one night. I’m sorry.”

The silence was unbearable. I wanted her to yell, cry, something. But she just sat there, eyes wide and glassy, as if my words were still sinking in.

“Maxine,” she said finally, voice trembling. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m keeping it.”

She closed her eyes. “Why? You’re still so young. You have your whole life ahead of you. Do you understand what this means?”

“I do,” I said, trying not to cry. “At least, I think I do. I just know that I can’t end this. I already feel like… it’s part of me.”

My mother covered her face with her hands for a moment. Then she exhaled deeply.

“I’m not angry,” she said softly. “Just scared. For you. For what this will do to your life. But if this is your decision, I’ll stand by it.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks. I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear those words until she said them.

“Thank you, Mumma.”

“We’ll figure it out,” she said. “We always do.”

After we ended the call, I curled up on my bed and cried—not because I was sad, but because I felt the weight of everything crashing down. I had a long road ahead, but I wasn’t completely alone.

Later that night, Kristen brought food and sat cross-legged beside me on the bed, poking at her takeout noodles.

“How’d it go?” she asked.

“She didn’t scream,” I said with a soft laugh. “That’s a win, right?”

Kristen nodded. “Totally.”

“She’s scared. But she said she’d support me. I think she meant it.”

“Of course she did. She’s your mom.”

We ate in comfortable silence for a while.

“You know,” Kristen said, “when we first became roommates, I thought you were so… delicate.”

“I am delicate,” I said.

She laughed. “Yeah, but you’re also tougher than you let on. I don’t know many people who’d face something like this and still keep their head straight.”

“Who said I’m keeping my head straight?”

“Fair. But still. You’re doing good, Max. And no matter what happens, I’ve got your back.”

“Thanks, Kristen. For everything.”

“Don’t mention it. Just let me be the godmother, okay?”

I chuckled. “Deal.”

The night felt calmer somehow. My world was still uncertain, still scary. But I was learning to breathe through it, learning to live one moment at a time. And in each of those moments, I was finding strength I didn’t know I had.

And maybe that was enough for now.