Chapter 8
Ethan did not accept rejection quietly.
The next week, he shifted from apology to punishment.
He posted a picture of baby shoes with the caption:
Trying to do the right thing, but some people love drama more than family.
Everyone knew what it meant.
Linda commented with a heart.
Sandra shared it.
People started messaging Mia again.
Let him be a father.
Stop using the baby.
A child needs both parents.
Mia read the comments until her hands shook.
Then she handed me her phone.
“Please take it.”
I did.
No speech.
No lecture.
Just took it.
Dad called Rachel.
Rachel filed for a temporary parenting order before the baby was even born. She also sent cease-and-desist letters for harassment and false public statements.
Linda Parker called it “aggressive.”
Rachel called it “Tuesday.”
Meanwhile, graduation summer moved without us.
People posted beach trips, dorm shopping, parties.
My college orientation emails piled up.
I had planned to leave in August.
State University.
Four hours away.
Pre-law track.
A future I had worked for while Ethan told me he loved my ambition.
Now every time I thought about leaving, guilt wrapped around my throat.
Mia was pregnant.
Dad was dealing with legal chaos.
Our house had become the center of a storm.
One evening, Dad found me sitting on the back steps with my laptop unopened.
“You’re thinking about deferring,” he said.
I looked up.
“How do you know?”
“You’ve been staring at that admissions email like it owes you money.”
I sighed.
“I can’t just leave.”
“Yes, you can.”
“Dad.”
He sat beside me.
“Mia’s situation is not your sentence.”
“She has no one.”
“She has herself. She has legal help. She has temporary housing here if needed. She has adults.”
“She has us.”
He nodded.
“She has us. But she does not get your future as payment for what happened.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“I feel selfish.”
“You are allowed to choose yourself without being selfish.”
I looked toward the guest room window.
“What if she falls apart?”
Dad was quiet for a moment.
“Then we help her stand. We don’t become her legs.”
That stayed with me.
The next day, I told Mia.
We were making sandwiches.
My hands shook more than hers.
“I’m still going to State.”
She stopped spreading peanut butter.
“Good.”
I blinked.
“Good?”
She looked at me like I had insulted her.
“Ava, if you stay because of me, I will never forgive myself.”
“I thought you might feel abandoned.”
“I will,” she said honestly.
That hurt.
“But I’ll survive it. And I need to learn how.”
I leaned against the counter.
“I don’t know what we are anymore.”
She put the knife down.
“Me neither.”
“I don’t know if I can forgive you.”
“I know.”
“But I don’t want you destroyed.”
Her eyes filled.
“That may be more than I deserve.”
“Probably.”
She laughed through tears.
I did too.
It was fragile.
Not the old laugh.
But real.
Court came in July.
Not a dramatic trial.
A hearing.
Still, Linda dressed like war.
Ethan wore a suit and tried to look mature.
Mia wore a simple black dress and kept one hand over her stomach.
I sat behind her with Dad.
Rachel presented the messages.
The posts.
The threats.
The attempts to control the story.
Linda’s attorney tried to argue that the Parkers were concerned grandparents.
The judge raised an eyebrow.
“The child is not born yet, counsel.”
That shut him up.
The temporary order gave Mia control over medical decisions, prohibited harassment, required communication through a co-parenting app, and warned both families against public statements.
Ethan looked furious.
Linda looked humiliated.
Mia looked like she could finally breathe.
Outside the courtroom, Ethan approached me.
Dad stepped forward.
I touched his arm.
“It’s okay.”
Ethan looked thinner than before.
Less golden.
More ordinary.
“I loved you,” he said.
I stared at him.
“No. You loved being loved by me.”
His face tightened.
“That’s not fair.”
“Neither were you.”
He looked away.
“I messed up.”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to be a dad.”
“Yes.”
“I’m scared.”
For a moment, he sounded eighteen.
Not cruel.
Not manipulative.
Just scared.
But fear did not erase damage.
“Then grow up,” I said. “But not on my heart.”
I walked away before he could answer.
Mia watched me.
“You okay?”
I thought about it.
“Yes.”
And I was.
Not healed.
Not untouched.
But okay.
That night, Dad brought home the graduation cake he had forgotten in the freezer.
It was slightly freezer-burned.
The blue frosting had cracked.
Congratulations Ava still showed across the top.
We ate it with plastic forks at the kitchen table.
Mia cried because hormones.
May you like
Dad cried because Dad.
I cried because I was leaving soon and staying alive had started to feel possible again.
