While they posted about homecoming, I struggled just to keep saltine crackers down during third period. While they stressed over college applications, I watched my ankles swell and wondered if I’d even make it to graduation.

My world wasn’t filled with fairy lights or formal dances. It was latex gloves, WIC forms, and ultrasounds in dimly lit rooms where the volume was always turned low.

Evan had told me he loved me.

He was the typical golden boy—varsity starter, perfect teeth, and a smile that made teachers forgive late homework. Between classes, he’d kiss my neck and tell me we were soulmates.

The night I told him I was pregnant, we were parked behind the old movie theater. His eyes widened first, then filled with tears. He pulled me close, breathed in the scent of my hair, and smiled.

“We’ll figure it out, Rachel,” he said. “I love you. And now… we’re our own family. I’ll be there every step of the way.”

By the next morning, he was gone.

No call. No note. No answer when I showed up at his house.

Just his mother standing in the doorway, arms folded, lips pressed into a thin line.

“He’s not here, Rachel,” she said flatly. “Sorry.”

I remember staring at the car still parked in the driveway.

“Is he… coming back?”