My world wasn’t fairy lights and slow dances. It was clinic waiting rooms, government forms, and ultrasounds in dim rooms where the sound was turned low.
Evan told me he loved me.
He was everything I wasn’t supposed to have: popular, admired, charming. Teachers adored him. Coaches praised him. He kissed me between classes and promised we were forever.
When I told him about the pregnancy, we were sitting in his car behind an old movie theater. He cried. He held me. He said all the right things.
“We’ll handle this together,” he told me. “We’re a family now. I won’t leave.”
By the next morning, he had vanished.
No messages. No calls. When I went to his house, his mother answered the door, arms crossed, eyes cold.
“He’s not here,” she said. “And he won’t be.”
I asked where he’d gone.
Leave a Comment