Chapter 1
I thought I was taking my daughter to a regular doctor's appointment.
That was what Jayla believed too.
At least, that was what she wanted me to believe.
My name is Monique Carter.
I'm thirty-eight years old, a single mother, and I have spent fifteen years telling myself I know my daughter better than anybody.
Her moods.
Her lies.
Her favorite foods.
The way she scratches the side of her thumb when she's nervous.
The way she says "I'm fine" too quickly when she definitely isn't.
And for almost three weeks, Jayla had been saying "I'm fine" a lot.
Too much.
It started with breakfast.
Jayla had always loved eggs.
Then one morning she smelled them and ran straight to the bathroom.
I followed.
"You sick?"
"No."
"You just threw up."
"I'm nervous about school."
"Since when does algebra make you throw up?"
She glared at me.
"I'm fine, Mom."
Then she stopped eating half her favorite foods.
She started sleeping after school.
She complained her jeans felt uncomfortable.
And twice, I caught her standing in front of the bathroom mirror with one hand pressed against her stomach.
I didn't want to jump to conclusions.
Parents can scare themselves with possibilities.
Stress.
Flu.
Hormones.
Some kind of stomach issue.
Anything.
But something inside me wouldn't settle.
So I scheduled an appointment.
I told Jayla it was because she'd been feeling sick.
Technically, that wasn't a lie.
She sat beside me in the waiting room wearing an oversized gray hoodie even though it was warm outside.
Her knee bounced constantly.
"Stop shaking your leg."
"I'm not."
"You are."
She crossed her arms.
"Why are we even here?"
"Because you've been throwing up."
"I told you I'm okay."
"And I told you we're checking."
Her face changed.
Just slightly.
Fear.
I noticed.
"Jayla."
"What?"
"Is there something you need to tell me?"
"No."
Too fast.
I stared.
She looked at the floor.
That was when my stomach tightened.
A nurse called her name.
"Jayla Carter?"
We stood.
Inside the examination room, the nurse asked routine questions.
Age.
Height.
Weight.
Last menstrual period.
Jayla froze.
The nurse looked up.
"When was your last period?"
Jayla swallowed.
"I don't know."
My eyes moved toward her.
"You don't know?"
She shrugged.
"They're irregular."
They weren't.
Not usually.
The nurse glanced between us but didn't comment.
Then she asked:
"Any possibility you could be pregnant?"
My daughter went completely still.
I felt the room change.
I stared at her.
"Jayla?"
She shook her head quickly.
"No."
The nurse remained professional.
"We routinely test when there's nausea and a missed or uncertain period."
Jayla looked at me.
Her eyes widened.
"Mom."
"It's okay."
"No."
Her voice became sharper.
"I don't need that."
The nurse said gently:
"It's a normal part of figuring out what's going on."
Jayla stood.
"I want to go home."
My heart started pounding.
"Sit down."
"Mom."
"Jayla."
She looked terrified.
Not embarrassed.
Terrified.
And that was when I knew.
Not what the test would say.
But that my daughter was hiding something serious.
The nurse stepped out after collecting a urine sample.
Jayla sat on the exam table.
I stood beside the window.
Neither of us spoke.
Finally, I said:
"Who is he?"
Her head snapped up.
"What?"
"Don't."
My voice shook.
"Don't make me drag this out."
Tears appeared in her eyes instantly.
"Mom."
My chest tightened.
"Oh my God."
I covered my mouth.
"Jayla."
She began crying.
That was all the confirmation I needed.
"You already know."
She looked down.
I felt dizzy.
"How long?"
She didn't answer.
"How long have you known?"
"Two weeks."
My knees nearly gave out.
I sat down.
"You took a test?"
She nodded.
"Where?"
"At Kiara's."
Her best friend.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
She sobbed.
"I was scared."
"Scared of what?"
"You."
That hurt more than the pregnancy.
I stared.
"Me?"
"You always say I have my whole life ahead of me."
"You do."
"You said getting pregnant young ruined things for Aunt Renee."
"Because it made her life harder."
"You said you'd kill me if I ever—"
"I didn't mean literally."
"I know!"
Jayla covered her face.
"But you said you'd be disappointed."
My anger collapsed.
There it was.
Not rebellion.
Fear.
My daughter had been carrying this alone because she thought my love could disappear under disappointment.
Before I could answer, the doctor entered.
Dr. Bennett.
She looked at both of us carefully.
"Jayla, Monique."
My heart hammered.
Dr. Bennett sat.
"Jayla, your pregnancy test came back positive."
Even though I already knew, hearing it out loud nearly stopped my heart.
Positive.
My fifteen-year-old daughter.
Pregnant.
I stared at her.
She couldn't look at me.
Dr. Bennett continued speaking.
"We'll need to do bloodwork and determine approximately how far along you are."
I barely heard her.
My brain was screaming.
Who?
When?
How?
Was she safe?
Was this consensual?
Was someone older involved?
Jayla whispered:
"I'm sorry."
That snapped me back.
I looked at her.
"Don't apologize for being scared."
She finally looked at me.
Tears covered her face.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you."
I stood and crossed the room.
For one second, she flinched.
That broke my heart.
Then I hugged her.
Hard.
She collapsed against me.
"I'm scared, Mom."
"I know."
"I don't know what to do."
"I know."
"Are you mad?"
I closed my eyes.
"Yes."
She went rigid.
I pulled back.
"But I'm not leaving."
Her face crumpled.
"I'm scared too."
I wiped her cheeks.
"And we're going to figure this out."
Dr. Bennett gave us a moment.
Then she asked the question I had been avoiding.
"Jayla, I need to ask you something privately and directly."
My stomach tightened.
"Who is the father?"
Jayla looked down.
Her hands started shaking.
That reaction terrified me more than everything else.
Dr. Bennett noticed too.
"How old is he?"
Silence.
I stared.
"Jayla."
She whispered:
"Seventeen."
My breathing eased slightly.
Still a minor.
Still serious.
"What's his name?"
She said nothing.
"Jayla."
Her voice dropped.
"Malik."
I knew Malik.
At least I thought I did.
He played basketball at her school.
Polite kid.
Always said hello.
But something about Jayla's face told me that wasn't the whole story.
"Does Malik know?"
She shook her head.
"No."
"Why?"
More tears.
"Because..."
She stopped.
My stomach tightened again.
"Because what?"
Jayla looked toward the doctor.
Then at me.
"Because I don't think it's his."
The room went silent.
I stared at my daughter.
"What?"
Her lips trembled.
I could barely breathe.
"Then whose is it?"
May you like
She started sobbing again.
And for the first time since we walked into that doctor's office, I realized the positive pregnancy test might not be the worst truth waiting for me.
