Before I could, she told me she was pregnant. I’m only 19, and the words hit me like a truck. In my panic, I blurted out, “That’s impossible — I can’t have children.” She froze.
Tears welled up in her eyes, and she broke down, crying uncontrollably. I didn’t know what to do, so I drove her home in silence. That night, I couldn’t sleep.
My mind was spinning with questions and confusion. Around 2 a.m., I woke up to get some water and heard her voice faintly coming from the living room. She was on the phone, speaking quietly.
Curious and uneasy, I stayed still and listened. Her words sent chills down my spine: “He believed me. He doesn’t know the truth.
Now what should I do next?” My stomach dropped. In that moment, I realized the pregnancy wasn’t real — it had been a desperate attempt to keep me from leaving. The next day, I calmly confronted her.
Instead of anger, I told her I hoped she’d find the support and healing she clearly needed. Then I walked away for good, knowing that honesty — no matter how painful — was the only path forward.
