Chapter 1
My mother grabbed the front of my black hoodie so hard that I stumbled against the hallway wall.
In her other hand, she held a pink pregnancy test.
Two lines.
Positive.
The evidence that my life was about to change forever.
"You got her pregnant?!"
Her voice echoed through our house.
I stared at her, unable to speak.
My name is Jordan Mitchell.
I'm nineteen years old.
And until that moment, I had never seen my mother look at me with such a mixture of anger, disappointment, and fear.
"Mom, please."
"Don't you dare 'Mom, please' me!"
She shoved the pregnancy test closer to my face.
"Do you understand what this means?"
I swallowed.
"Yes."
"No, Jordan. I don't think you do!"
Behind her, Aaliyah stood near the hallway entrance.
She was eighteen, with burgundy curls falling around her tear-streaked face.
She wore a black hoodie over a white top.
Her hands were trembling.
And every time my mother raised her voice, Aaliyah looked like she wanted to disappear.
"Mrs. Mitchell," she whispered, "please stop."
My mother turned sharply.
"Don't you start defending him!"
Aaliyah flinched.
That movement hurt me more than I expected.
I pushed away from the wall.
"Don't talk to her like that."
Mom spun toward me.
"Oh, NOW you want to protect her?"
I stared at her.
"You don't have to scream."
"She's eighteen, Jordan!"
"I know how old she is!"
My mother stepped closer.
"Then why weren't you thinking about her future?"
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because the truth was painful.
I loved Aaliyah.
I had loved her for almost two years.
But love hadn't prepared either of us for a pregnancy.
We were still figuring out college.
Jobs.
Money.
Everything.
And now there was a baby.
A real baby.
Growing inside the girl I loved.
I looked at Aaliyah.
She wiped her cheeks.
"I'm sorry."
My heart broke.
I moved toward her.
"Don't apologize."
Mom stepped between us.
"Oh, she should absolutely be asking questions!"
I stared at her.
"What questions?"
My mother pointed at me.
"Does he have a job that can support a child?"
I lowered my eyes.
"Not enough yet."
"Does he have his own place?"
"No."
"Does he have a plan?"
I swallowed.
"I'm working on one."
Mom laughed bitterly.
"Working on one?"
She shook the pregnancy test.
"You should have been working on a plan BEFORE this happened!"
Aaliyah began crying harder.
"Please. We only found out this morning."
My mother turned.
"What?"
I looked up.
"Mom, that's what I've been trying to tell you."
She stared.
"We took the test today."
For a moment, her expression softened.
Then it hardened again.
"And you thought you could hide it from me?"
I shook my head.
"No."
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
I glanced toward the living room.
"Because I wanted Aaliyah to have time to breathe."
Mom's jaw tightened.
"Well, breathing time is over."
She pointed toward the front door.
"You're going to tell your father yourself."
My stomach dropped.
Dad.
Marcus Mitchell.
Forty-eight years old.
Former college football player.
Owner of a successful construction company.
A man who believed responsibility was the foundation of everything.
My father had worked two jobs when he was nineteen.
He'd married Mom young.
And he'd spent my entire childhood warning me not to repeat the mistakes he'd made.
I felt cold.
"Dad doesn't know?"
Mom stared at me.
"Not yet."
I looked toward Aaliyah.
Her face was pale.
She knew how much my father's opinion mattered to me.
She also knew something my mother didn't.
I had already started saving money.
I'd been researching apartments.
And earlier that morning, I'd called my supervisor to ask for additional shifts.
But none of that felt important now.
Not with my mother looking at me like I'd destroyed our family.
"Mom," I whispered, "can we please talk before Dad gets home?"
She shook her head.
"No."
I swallowed.
"Please."
She grabbed my sleeve.
"You're not going to hide behind me."
I pulled my arm free.
"I'm not hiding!"
"Then act like a man!"
The words hit me harder than I expected.
I stared at her.
For years, I'd heard the same sentence.
When I cried after losing a football game.
When I failed my driving test.
When I admitted I was scared about college.
Act like a man.
As though fear made me less worthy of respect.
I took a breath.
"I am scared, Mom."
Her expression changed.
I continued.
"I'm scared because I don't know how to be a father."
My voice cracked.
"I'm scared because I love Aaliyah and I don't want to fail her."
Aaliyah started crying.
I looked at her.
"And I'm scared because there's a baby who didn't ask for any of this."
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then my mother whispered, "You should have thought about that."
I lowered my eyes.
"I know."
Suddenly, three hard knocks struck the front door.
We all froze.
My heart stopped.
Through the frosted glass, I could see the silhouette of a tall man.
Broad shoulders.
Straight posture.
My father.
Mom looked toward the door.
Then at me.
Her face became unreadable.
She moved the pregnancy test behind her back.
I stepped forward.
"Mom."
She ignored me.
She reached for the handle.
"Mom, don't open it."
Aaliyah grabbed my hand.
Her fingers were icy.
My mother looked over her shoulder.
"Too late."
Her voice was cold.
"Your dad's home."
I stared at the door.
My mind raced.
I wanted to run.
I wanted to tell Dad everything before Mom could turn the situation into another explosion.
But I couldn't move.
Aaliyah squeezed my hand.
I looked at her.
She was crying silently.
And suddenly, I realized something.
Whatever happened next, she needed me to stand beside her.
Not behind my mother.
Not behind my father.
Beside her.
Mom slowly turned the handle.
The door opened a few inches.
My father's voice came from outside.
"Denise? Why is everybody standing in the hallway?"
I stopped breathing.
Mom's fingers tightened around the pregnancy test.
Dad stepped closer.
May you like
And just before the door opened completely, Aaliyah whispered something that made my blood run cold.
"Jordan, there's something else I haven't told you."
