Chapter 3

ISABELLE'S POV

"Where have you been all night?"

My mother's voice met me before I had even closed the front door.

I stood in the doorway, exhausted, with my handbag slipping off my shoulder. My youngest brother sat on the couch, watching us with wide eyes, while my two sisters sat beside him.

I knew that look on my mother's face.

Something was wrong, and somehow, I was about to be blamed for it.

"Mum, please. I've had a long night."

"A long night?" She let out a bitter laugh. "Of course. You're always having a long night. Meanwhile, your siblings are here wondering what they're going to eat."

I dropped my bag on the couch.

"What happened? Why haven't they eaten?"

"Because there is nothing in this house, Isabelle!"

Her words hit harder than they should have. I looked toward the kitchen, hoping I'd find something she had overlooked, but I already knew better. The cupboard had been nearly empty when I left for work the previous day.

"I gave you money on Friday," I reminded her quietly.

"And what exactly can that money do? Buy food, pay electricity, and cover every other expense? Do you think money grows on trees?"

I pressed my lips together.

My mother had a way of making me feel as though every problem in the world rested on my shoulders. Sometimes I wanted to remind her that I was only one person, that I was tired too, that I had dreams beyond keeping our family afloat.

But whenever I tried, she reminded me of the man who had left us.

My father had walked out when I was sixteen. He had promised to return, promised to send money, promised that things would get better.

He never did.

Since then, my mother had worked herself nearly to exhaustion, and I had gradually become the person she expected to fill every gap he left behind.

I understood her struggles. I did.

But understanding didn't make the pressure any easier.

"I'll see what I can do," I said.

"That's what you always say. You need to do better, Isabelle. Your siblings are growing. Your brother needs school supplies, and your sisters need clothes. I can't keep doing this alone."

"I'm trying, Mum."

"Then try harder!"

My youngest sister, Lily, lowered her eyes. At ten, she was old enough to understand when our mother was angry but too young to know what to do about it.

I walked over and gently touched her shoulder.

"Have you eaten anything this morning?"

She shook her head. Something twisted painfully inside me.

"Okay. I'll get something."

I reached into my handbag and counted the money I had left. It wasn't much, but I could buy bread and eggs on my way to work.

My mother watched me.

"You need a better job," she continued. "Or you need to find someone who can take care of you. Someone wealthy enough to give you and your siblings a better life."

I looked up sharply.

"Mum, I'm not going to marry someone because he has money."

"Then what do you want me to do? Sit here and watch us struggle?"

"I didn't say that."

"Your father left us with nothing. I won't watch you make the same mistakes I made. Love doesn't pay bills, Isabelle."

I swallowed the response that rose to my lips.

She wasn't entirely wrong. Love hadn't paid our rent or bought our groceries. It hadn't stopped Lucas from cheating on me either.

But marrying someone for money wasn't the future I wanted.

"I have to go to work," I muttered, picking up my bag.

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Work was the only place where I could pretend my life was normal. I worked long shifts at a small restaurant, serving customers who rarely looked up long enough to notice the person bringing their food. The pay was modest, but it helped me contribute to the household expenses.

That afternoon, I bought bread and eggs for my siblings before heading home.

For the next few days, I buried myself in work. I tried not to think about Lucas, the money my mother needed, or the last person I slept with.

I had no idea who he was, and I had no way of finding him. Every time I remembered the cash he'd left behind, humiliation crept up my neck.

I told myself it didn't matter.

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A week later, I began feeling strange.

At first, I blamed exhaustion. I had barely slept properly, and my shifts had been longer than usual. But by Wednesday morning, even the smell of fried eggs made my stomach turn.

I hurried to the bathroom, convinced I was about to throw up, but nothing happened.

When I returned to the kitchen, Tessa was waiting for me.

She had come over to borrow a dress and had immediately noticed that something was wrong.

"Girl, what's happening to you?"

"Nothing."

She raised an eyebrow. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm just tired”, I murmured.

"You're always tired lately. And yesterday, you said you felt dizzy at work."

I waved her off and reached for my glass of water."I probably haven't been eating properly."

Tessa studied me for a moment. "When was your last period?"

I froze with the glass halfway to my mouth. "I don't know."

"Isabelle…"

"What?"

"Think”, she said calmly.

I tried to remember, counting backward through the weeks in my head. My periods had never been perfectly regular, especially when I was stressed. Sometimes they came late, and sometimes I barely paid attention until the cramps started.

But this time, something felt different. "I think it was last month," I said uncertainly.

Tessa's expression changed. "When did you last sleep with someone?"

I stared at her.

"Why are you asking me that?"

"Because you're feeling sick, you're exhausted, and you can't remember your last period. I'm asking a question, not accusing you of anything."

I looked away.

Neither of us spoke for several seconds. Then the memory returned— the hotel room, the stranger, the money on the pillow.

My throat went dry. "No," I whispered.

Tessa stepped closer. "Isabelle?"

"No. It can't be."

She didn't ask me to explain. She simply picked up her handbag. "Stay here. I'll be back."

"Tessa, where are you going?"

"Just wait."

She returned twenty minutes later with a small pharmacy bag. When she placed it on the table, my heart began pounding. I stared at the pregnancy test inside.

"You're not serious, I'm not pregnant."

"Take it, Izzy. Let's know what's going on before we panic."

My hands felt cold.

I wanted to tell her that she was wrong, that there was no way this could be happening to me. I had enough problems already. I couldn't afford another one.

I took the test and went into the bathroom.

The minutes that followed felt endless. My heart pounding while I waited for the results. When the waiting time was over, I looked down.

Two lines.

I blinked then I looked again. Two unmistakable lines stared back at me. "No," I whispered, shaking my head.

I stepped closer to the light, hoping I had misunderstood the instructions. But the result didn't change.

I was pregnant.

My knees weakened, and I gripped the edge of the sink.Tessa knocked on the door.

"Isabelle? What does it say?"

I couldn't answer. My mind raced through everything that could happen. My mother's disappointment. My job. The future I had barely managed to hold together.

And the father.

I didn't know hisname. I didn't know where he lived or how to contact him. I couldn't even begin to imagine how I would find a man who had

left a hotel room before I woke up.

I stared at the test, tears gathering in my eyes.How was I supposed to tell my family I was pregnant when I couldn't even tell them who the father was?