Can I come home, please?

Lana’s pov

Flashback:

I stood still in the middle of the pharmacy, just staring at the shelf full of pregnancy tests. It had been at least ten minutes. My hands were shaking. I had been throwing up for days, my period was nearly two weeks late, and I could barely stay awake. Deep down, I already knew. I was very likely pregnant. But still, I couldn’t bring myself to buy the test. Not yet. Eventually, I picked up a box of First Response and made my way to the checkout, avoiding the cashier’s eyes. The moment I paid, I rushed straight to the bathroom. That test would change everything. Later, I picked up the phone and dialed the only person I felt safe calling, my mum.

“Why?” she asked the moment I said I wanted to come home. Of course she’d ask. I hadn’t lived at home since I was eighteen, and that was ten years ago now. I didn’t even live in the same state anymore. Honestly, I liked it that way. The further I ran, the better it felt. But not anymore.

“I don’t want to get into it over the phone,” I said quietly, swallowing the lump in my throat. “But… I’m pregnant. I messed everything up. I’m all alone. And I just want my mum. I need you. Can I come home, please?”

If she said yes, I would quit my job and leave tonight. No second thoughts.

“Oh, honey…” Her voice cracked. I could hear the battle in her silence. The long pause that followed felt like forever. Then came the question I knew was coming.

“Who’s the father?” Reasonable and fair,  but still, it hit me hard.

After all… I wasn’t dating anyone. At least, not publicly. And telling her who the father was? That wasn’t something I could just say over the phone. Especially not with the mess I’d made. Especially not with Rita. Did I even want to tell her? Not yet. But I would have to tell her eventually.

“I’ll tell you, Mum, I promise. But some things are better said face to face. Please… can I come home or not?”

End Of flashback

****************

I didn’t plan to disappear. But I had to. The moment Mum said, “Come home,” I packed my bags, left a note for Lisa, and booked the next flight out. I emailed my boss, quit my job, and ran, because I couldn’t stay there another second. Now, I’m in Yale, living in my childhood home again. I’ve been here ever since. That first week, I couldn't slept. I cried more than I breathed. Every hour felt heavier than the last. But eventually, I pulled myself together, found a job at the local elementary school, and started saving every penny. Because raising two babies on your own takes everything.

Of course, Mum was furious when she found out Lee was the father. She begged me to tell him, every single day. It became all we talked about… until it turned into a shouting match that ended in silence. We haven’t spoken about it since. Then Rita called.

Two weeks after I left, she phoned the house. Mum answered. I could tell from her face that the call left a bitter taste. But she didn’t say anything cruel, not to me. And I was grateful. I already had enough guilt eating me alive. Rita and I were inseparable growing up. We moved to Nevada together. Lived under the same roof, supported each other through school. She became a therapist. I became a teacher.

Then she met Lee. They got married. I stood beside her in a bridesmaid dress, holding back tears of joy. I was her maid of honour. And now? Now I’m the woman who slept with her husband, and got pregnant. But the part that haunted me most? Not the betrayal. Not the pain. It’s the fact that I got pregnant in one night… and she might never get the chance. If it were anyone else’s baby, she would’ve been happy for me. I know she would. I would’ve been happy for me too. But how can I ask her to celebrate this? I can’t. It would ruin her. And it would ruin what’s left of us.

The house hadn’t changed. But I had. I pulled into the driveway of my mother’s home, the same house I grew up in. It was still that old, ugly red-brick place with a brown tiled roof and a rusty wire fence. Nothing about it had ever been pretty… except the garden.

That garden looked like something out of a magazine. Mum spent hours out there, pruning, planting, fussing. Flowers lined both sides of the path in neat little rows. I couldn’t name a single one, though. I didn’t get her green thumb or Dad’s patience for her gardening obsession. My goodness, I missed him. If he were still here, he’d hug me tight and tell me it would all be okay. And because he was my dad, and he was always right… I’d believe him.

The lawn was as tidy as ever. Out back, her veggie patch was still going strong. I never understood the point of it, so much work for a few carrots and tomatoes. I once asked her why she didn’t just buy them from the store. She’d looked at me like I was mad and said, “Fresh is best.” I never tasted the difference, but I kept that to myself. No point in hurting her feelings.

I climbed the front steps and paused at the door. My hand hovered over the handle. She was waiting for news about the ultrasound. I was excited… but nervous too. How do you just casually drop “It’s twins” into conversation? Time to rip off the band-aid. I opened the door, and instantly, her arms were around me. Warm, soft, familiar. She smelled like lavender, just like always. That scent had comforted me more times than I could count.

“So?” she asked, pulling back to look at me. “How did it go?”

“Are you ready for the surprise of your life?”

A wrinkle of confusion crossed her face. Before she could speak, I blurted, “It’s TWINS.”

I held my breath. She screamed. Not in fear. Not in shock. In joy.

“Aaaaaahhh!”

She spun me in a circle like she was thirty years younger. I stood there, stunned. I’d been so sure she’d panic or cry or scold me. Maybe I’d been projecting my own guilt onto her. Maybe she was finally coming around.

“Mom, calm down,” I laughed, wiping away tears I hadn’t realised were falling.

It felt good, really good, to see her happy. For once, we weren’t drowning in guilt, or tiptoeing around the past. We were just… in the moment. Right then, I made a promise to myself: I would stop focusing on what I’d lost and start holding on to what I still had. I had made mistakes, sure. I ran from the mess I had made. But here I was, in Yale, with a family growing inside me. And I was determined to love being their mum. I placed a hand over my bump, closed my eyes, and whispered to them for the very first time:

“I love you. And no matter what happens, I’m here. Everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”