That wasn’t because of the infants — I adored them long before they had names — but because I was already figuring out how to make myself invisible.
I was figuring out how to occupy less room in corridors and classes, and how to hide my growing stomach behind lunch trays. I was figuring out how to keep a smile on my face as my figure shifted, while the girls nearby browsed for formal gowns and kissed clear-faced guys who had no responsibilities.
While they shared pictures from the dance, I was figuring out how to hold down dry crackers during third period. While they stressed over university admissions, I was noticing my swollen ankles and questioning if I’d even finish high school.
My reality wasn’t packed with twinkling lights and school dances; it was filled with rubber gloves, government assistance forms, and scans in dark medical rooms with the sound turned down.
Holden had claimed he cared about me.
He was the classic star athlete: a team regular, flawless teeth, and a grin that made professors overlook his missing assignments. He would kiss my neck in the halls and whisper that we were meant to be.
When I shared the news of my pregnancy, we were parked behind the rundown cinema. His eyes grew large at first, then filled with tears. He drew me in, inhaled the scent of my hair, and gave me a smile.
“We’ll work this out, Margot,” he murmured. “I love you. And now… we’re making our own family. I’ll be by your side for the whole journey.”
