Chapter 7
Three months later, Aaliyah's pregnancy was progressing well.
We'd learned that the baby was a girl.
I still couldn't believe it.
A daughter.
My daughter.
Sometimes I sat alone at night imagining what she might look like.
Would she have Aaliyah's curls?
My eyes?
Her mother's smile?
The thought made me happy.
Then terrified.
Because I knew being a father would require more than love.
It would require patience.
Responsibility.
And the ability to keep showing up when life became difficult.
I was trying.
Every day.
I'd increased my work hours carefully while keeping up with classes.
Aaliyah continued nursing school with support from her adviser.
We attended medical appointments together.
And Dad helped us understand the practical details without taking over.
For the first time, I felt like I was growing into adulthood.
Not because I had all the answers.
But because I was finally asking the right questions.
One afternoon, Aaliyah and I went shopping for baby clothes.
She held up a tiny yellow dress.
"Jordan, look!"
I stared.
It was smaller than my hand.
I laughed.
"That's impossible."
She grinned.
"What?"
"No person is that small."
Aaliyah burst out laughing.
Then placed the dress against her stomach.
"Your daughter will be."
I felt tears rise.
I touched the fabric gently.
For a moment, everything became real.
A little girl would wear this.
Our little girl.
I swallowed.
"Let's get it."
Aaliyah smiled.
"Really?"
I nodded.
"Absolutely."
Then I checked the price.
She laughed at my expression.
"Welcome to fatherhood."
I groaned.
We both laughed.
But the happiness didn't last long.
When we returned home, Mom was waiting in the driveway.
I froze.
She hadn't visited in weeks.
She'd been staying with Aunt Rochelle while she and Dad attended counseling.
We spoke occasionally.
But things were still complicated.
Aaliyah looked nervous.
"Jordan?"
I squeezed her hand.
"It's okay."
Mom stepped toward us.
She looked different.
Less polished.
More tired.
Her curls were pulled back.
She wore a simple green sweater.
When she saw Aaliyah's stomach, her eyes filled.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Mom whispered, "Oh, my goodness."
Aaliyah looked down.
I felt protective.
"Mom?"
She looked at me.
"Jordan."
Her voice broke.
I swallowed.
"Why are you here?"
She took a breath.
"I wanted to talk."
I hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Okay."
We went inside.
Dad was sitting in the living room.
He looked surprised.
"Denise?"
She looked at him.
"Marcus."
He stood slowly.
"I wasn't expecting you."
She nodded.
"I know."
Then she looked toward Aaliyah.
Her eyes filled.
"I owe you an apology."
Aaliyah froze.
I stared at Mom.
For a moment, I wasn't sure I'd heard correctly.
Mom swallowed.
"I was cruel to you."
Her voice trembled.
"You were frightened, and I made you feel worse."
Aaliyah's eyes filled.
Mom continued.
"I treated your pregnancy like a punishment."
She shook her head.
"And I blamed you for something that involved both of you."
I felt my throat tighten.
Mom looked toward me.
"Jordan, I also owe you an apology."
I swallowed.
She continued.
"I used your fear against you."
Her voice broke.
"I made you feel like one mistake meant you weren't worthy of my love."
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
I looked away.
Because she was right.
For months, I'd carried that fear.
Not just about the baby.
About disappointing my parents.
About becoming someone they couldn't respect.
Mom took a breath.
"I don't expect either of you to forgive me immediately."
Aaliyah wiped her cheeks.
Mom continued.
"But I want to do better."
The room became silent.
Then Dad spoke.
"Denise, what does doing better look like?"
Mom looked at him.
For a moment, she seemed surprised.
Then she nodded.
"Respecting their decisions."
Dad waited.
"Listening before reacting."
I swallowed.
"And?"
Mom looked at Aaliyah.
"Not making threats when I'm afraid."
Aaliyah started crying.
Mom's face crumpled.
"I'm sorry."
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Aaliyah whispered, "Thank you."
Mom nodded.
She didn't rush forward.
Didn't demand a hug.
Didn't ask for forgiveness.
She simply sat down.
And for the first time, I saw something different in her.
Not perfection.
Not instant transformation.
But an effort to take responsibility.
Later, Mom asked whether she could see the baby clothes.
Aaliyah hesitated.
Then nodded.
She showed her the tiny yellow dress.
Mom touched the fabric.
Her eyes filled.
"She's going to be beautiful."
Aaliyah smiled shyly.
"I hope so."
Mom shook her head.
"She already is."
I felt my chest tighten.
For a moment, I imagined our daughter growing up surrounded by people who loved her.
Not people who always agreed.
Not people who never made mistakes.
But people willing to learn.
Then Aaliyah's phone rang.
She glanced at the screen.
Her expression changed.
My stomach tightened.
"Who is it?"
She looked at me.
"My mom."
I froze.
Patricia hadn't spoken to Aaliyah since the day she told her to leave.
Aaliyah stared at the phone.
It kept ringing.
Then stopped.
A message appeared.
She read it.
Her face went pale.
I moved closer.
"What does it say?"
Aaliyah looked up.
Her eyes filled.
"She says she's coming here."
My stomach dropped.
May you like
Then Aaliyah whispered something that made everyone go silent.
"And she says she has paperwork proving I can't keep the baby."
