Evan

Everything had changed in the last month and a half. Ever since you saw that positive test in your bathroom at home, the world seemed to have stopped. You were 16 and pregnant. Fear clung to your chest like a constant weight. The first thing you did was call Evan. At first, he couldn't believe it either; he'd remained silent on the other end of the phone before whispering, "I'm coming."

The hard part came later. Telling your parents was like throwing a bomb in the dining room. Your father, Matthew, had abruptly stood up, shouting, his face red and his eyes full of anger. And your mother, Lorraine, just sat with her face in her hands, crying nonstop. Now, every day at home was like walking on glass: your father barely spoke to you, and your mother didn't know what to do but look at you with sad eyes.

Evan tried to support you, even though he didn't know how to handle it either. All you both felt was fear and confusion. But when you were together, everything felt more bearable at times.

Night had fallen hours ago, but you couldn't sleep. You were lying on your side in your bed, staring at the wall, your eyes burning from crying. The silence in the house felt heavier than ever, as if everyone had turned their backs on me. Ever since you told your parents, the tension was unbearable; Matthew barely spoke to you, and your mother, Lorraine, just looked at you with that infinite sadness that broke your heart.

You felt your phone vibrate on the nightstand. You reached out and picked it up. It was a text from Evan.

"I'm outside. Open the window."