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Chapter seventeen

Daphne

The bag in my purse feels like I’m carrying some kind of beacon that’s blaring with a neon sign that says ‘there’s a pregnancy test in here’ that only gets more obnoxious with each step I take up to my campus dorm.

I’d managed to avoid running into anyone on the way back, but the peace of my single dorm is a double-edged sword. It gives me space, sure, but it also leaves me alone with my thoughts.

I glance at the door, suddenly filled with fear and panic, that once I go inside I know I’m going to take that test. I don’t know if I’m ready. My feet move before I think about it as I take a detour through the campus park, desperate for some air. The late afternoon sun filters through the trees, painting the grass in golden streaks. It’s quiet here, just the rustling of leaves and the distant hum of traffic. My chest expands fully for the first time all day.

Near the edge of the park, a little boy and who I assume is his mom are playing. Is there a playground here? I guess it would make sense if there were, but until now, I’ve never thought about it.

The little boy is no older than three, a curly-haired bundle of energy chasing a foam soccer ball across the grass. The mom laughs, clapping her hands as he kicks it toward her, stumbling on his tiny legs. When he falls, she’s there in a second, scooping him up and brushing the dirt off his knees.

I freeze, my feet rooted to the spot. The scene pulls at something deep inside me, a thread of curiosity and longing I didn’t expect. My throat tightens, but not in the suffocating way it did earlier. This feels different.

Would I ever be able to do that? Be that for someone? The thought is terrifying, but for a brief moment, it’s also…not.

The boy wiggles free from his mom’s grasp, kicking the ball again. His laughter floats through the air, and I catch myself smiling. It’s an infectious sound, bright and unfiltered in a way that makes my chest ache.

My fingers curl tighter around the strap of my bag. “I can’t even figure out my own life,” I whisper under my breath. “How am I supposed to raise someone else?”

The little boy turns, his big, curious eyes catching mine for a split second. He grins, his chubby cheeks glowing in the sunlight, before running back to his mom.

I exhale slowly, shaking my head. The ache in my chest doesn’t go away, but it shifts, and I turn, resolution fueling each step toward my dorm to stop procrastinating.

The shared bathroom is just down the hall, and for the first time, I curse not having my own. The thought of taking the test out there, with the chance of someone walking in, makes my skin crawl.

I pace the room, chewing my lip. Maybe I should wait until it’s late, when the bathroom’s empty. But Liv’s words echo in my head: One step at a time. You’ve got this.

Grabbing the test, I shove it into my hoodie pocket. My hands shake as I inch open my door and peek down the hallway. It’s quiet, no sound of running water or doors opening, so I dart out, making a beeline for the bathroom.

As I step inside, locking the stall door behind me, the fluorescent lights buzz faintly. My heart races as I pull out the test and open the box, the crinkling plastic echoing in the empty space.

“Just do it,” I whisper to myself. “It’s, well, I was gonna say it’s not a big deal, but it is. Anyway, just…do it.”

The little plastic stick in my hand feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. I force myself to breathe and go through the motions, though, because I have to know.

When it’s over, I carefully cap the test and wrap it in toilet paper before tucking it into my pocket. I can’t just stand here for three minutes and risk someone walking in.

Back in my room, I set the test face down on my desk and set a timer on my phone. My legs feel like jelly as I sit on the bed, my hands shaking in my lap.

When my phone rings, I practically leap out of my skin. But then I see Liv’s video call request.

Her dark hair comes into view first, styled in two messy space buns that make her look effortlessly cute. She leans close to the camera, her eyes narrowing. “It’s been over two hours, Daph. I’m losing my mind. Are you okay?”

“You’re losing your mind?” I snap, though the words come out more like a frantic whisper. “I’ve got a ticking time bomb in my bedroom that has less than three minutes to change my life, or maybe not, and then all this stress will have been for nothing.”

Her eyes widen. “You’ve peed on the stick already?”

I nod, and another wave of nausea threatens to make an appearance. “I’m so scared, Liv.”

“I know,” she says softly. “But you’re brave too. And I’ll be right here.”

I take a deep inhale and exhale it through my mouth. “The timer probably has, like, one minute left now, but it’ll go off on my phone. Distract me?”

“Okay,” she says. “Did I tell you that my professor wants me to consider being a TA for her next year?”

“No, you didn’t tell me that!”

“Yeah, her current TA graduates and, well, she thinks I’m a dream student. Imagine that, little old me, and she wants to help me with my course selection so I can get the most out of studying history.”

“Liv, that’s amazing. I’m so proud of you.” A wedge of emotion clogs my throat as I think of how it feels like my best friend is thriving, while I’m over here, staring down the barrel of being a teenage pregnancy statistic and wishing that there was an easier way to make changes in the field I want to study.

“Yeah, but you know me, I change my mind all the time. I like history now, but maybe I won’t next year. We’ll see.”

My alarm blares through the phone speaker, only heard by me, and I press the red square to stop it. “That’s the timer.”

“Okay,” Liv says. “You can do this. Just flip it over.”

Swallowing hard, I nod. “Yeah.”

She gives me a small nod of encouragement, her dark gaze steady, offering me a kind of calm I don’t feel.

I stand slowly, the bed creaking beneath me as I cross the room to my desk, phone still in hand. The test is sitting there, face down. My hands are trembling so badly that I almost knock it off when I reach for it.

“Take a breath,” Liv tells me, probably noticing how I’m hesitating.

I follow her instructions, taking a shaky inhale and exhaling through my mouth in a whoosh, my stomach churning as saliva pools, threatening revolt.

I finally manage to pick up the test.

Flipping it over, all the air disappears from my lungs.

Two lines.

I blink, my brain stuttering to process what I’m seeing. Two lines. Two very clear, very unmistakable lines.

“Daph?” Liv pulls me out of my daze.

“Two…there’s t-t—” And then I turn to hurl into my wastebasket by my desk, throwing up nothing because I haven’t been able to eat all day, except a mouthful of that salad I didn’t want. When I settle again, Liv is still on the phone. I grab a tissue, clean myself up, and look at my screen.

“There’s two lines?” she asks when I don’t say anything.

“I’m pregnant,” I whisper, the words tasting foreign in my mouth. My knees feel weak, and I stumble back until my legs hit the bed, clutching the phone in one hand and the test in the other. “It’s…positive.”

“Okay,” she says after a beat. “Okay. Daph, look at me.”

I tear my eyes away from the test and meet hers on the screen, but everything is blurry.

“You’re going to be okay,” she says firmly. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you will be.”

“How?” I sob, my voice breaking as hot tears stain my cheeks. “I don’t even know his last name.” My chest heaves with shallow and jagged breaths as my hands shake uncontrollably. “I have no idea where he lives, no idea how to find him, or—or how to even tell him.”

I grip the edge of my bed, my knuckles white, as another sob tears from my mouth. “Oh my god, I can’t do this. I can’t do this. My dad is going to lose his mind. My mom is going to be so mad.” My worries tumble out in a frantic rush, barely coherent as my heart races.

Pressing my palms to my forehead, I try to steady myself, but the panic swirls tighter, louder, crushing me.

“You have options here,” Liv says. “We can talk about them when you’re ready, but I don’t want you to think you’re stuck, because you aren’t. You have a choice.”

I know exactly what she means, but as soon as the thought crosses my mind, I want to throw up again. “Liv, there’s no way. I can’t do that. I can’t do anything, any of it.”

“Oh babe…”

Then my phone begins to buzz again. It’s a text from Finn that I can’t read properly, but I’m guessing he’s feeling some kind of way. I can’t even fathom talking to him at the moment.

Tears flow freely, streaming down my face, my shoulders shaking as I collapse fully onto the bed. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Liv leans closer to the screen, her voice softening. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. First step? You breathe. Second? We sit down and make a plan when you’re ready. But tonight, you don’t have to do anything except feel whatever you’re feeling.”

I nod weakly, wiping at my face again. “I just… I feel so stupid, Liv. How could I let this happen? I’m always so careful and meticulous, and we even used protection, both times. I don’t understand.” I’ve built my life around control, planners, carefully balanced classes, everything perfectly aligned. And now, one night, one moment, has thrown it all into chaos.

“You’re not stupid. You’re human. Stuff happens, and it’s messy and complicated, but it doesn’t mean you’re stupid. You made a mistake. Welcome to the club. We all do.”

I let out a humorless laugh, the sound is broken. “This is bigger than a mistake, Liv. My whole life is changing.”

“You’re exhausted, and you’ve been through a lot today. Tomorrow, we’ll talk more, and we’ll figure out what’s next.”

My head feels too heavy to argue. “Okay.”

“Call me if you need me,” she says. “Doesn’t matter what time it is.”

“I will,” I murmur.

She pauses, studying my face for a moment before giving me a comforting smile. “Love you, Daph. You’re going to be okay.”

As the call ends, I’m left alone in the quiet of my dorm room. The test still sits on the bed beside me, a glaring reminder of choices I can’t take back and all the ones I’ll have to make going forward. Things I never thought to plan for.

I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as the emotions swirl and settle in a way I can’t name. I’m too tired to sort through them now, too overwhelmed to make sense of what any of this means.

All I know is that everything has changed, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.