Mummy, Please Marry Uncle Biker Daddy
They didn't deny it, and that tells me enough.
My mother exhales slowly. “Mara,” she begins, her voice calm but firm, “you just told us you’re pregnant.”
“I know.”
“You’re not married.”
“I know.”
“You’re living in a house that’s already too small.”
I hesitate, my defensiveness faltering for a fraction of a second. “…we’re working on that.”
“With a man we don’t fully understand,” my father adds, stepping away from the window.
I look right at him. “You don’t have to understand him,” I say firmly. “You just have to trust me.”