Chapter 5 Janie #2
"I know," I whisper. "But if I tell him, he’ll feel obligated. He’ll do the right thing, and it’ll blow everything apart."
She studies me for a long beat, then says calmly, "So here’s what we’re going to do. We're going to take this one step at a time. Starting with a call to your mom."
I curl into the corner of my couch, my apartment lights dimmed except for the small lamp beside me. Outside, Chicago continues its evening symphony of distant sirens, the rumble of the L train, and voices drifting up from the street. My finger hovers over Mom's contact
I stare at her profile photo, one we took together after a girls' day shopping together last fall. Her happy smile, completely unsuspecting of the bomb I'm about to drop on her, blurs through my tears.
Just press call. Just do it.
My hand trembles as I finally tap the screen. Each ring stretches like an eternity until—
"Janie! Happy birthday! Did you get the silly message from your father and me singing to you?"
"Mom." The word catches in my throat, ragged and raw.
The cheerful bustle on the other end stops. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Is everything okay?"
"I'm pregnant."
The silence that follows is endless. I press the phone tighter to my ear, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Oh, Janie." Her voice softens. There's no judgment, just concern. "How far along?"
"Eight weeks." I swipe at the tears coursing down my cheeks. "I just found out today."
“And the father?”
The question freezes my lungs. Panic seizes my chest until I can barely breathe. Warren’s face flashes in my mind, his hands on me, his mouth whispering my name.
The truth hovers, but I choke it back.
I need to tell him first. Then we can decide together how to break the news to my family.
“Just… some random guy I met here. The first night.” The lie scrapes my throat raw. “I don’t even know his last name. We haven’t seen each other since.”
Mom doesn’t shudder or scold. She exhales slowly, like we're not discussing a life-altering fork in the road. “Janie, I know what this feels like. I was close to your age when I had Blake. As you know, his father wasn’t in the picture, and it was just the two of us for years. I know how scary this must be for you.”
I press the phone tighter to my ear, tears spilling hot and fast. “And you always said it was the hardest thing you ever did.”
“It was. But I survived it. And then Hank came into our lives and loved us both. The point is, I understand the fear. I understand the weight. And I know you can carry it, because you’re mine. And you have your father and me. We will support you and help you in any way you need us.”
Tears burn my eyes, but something steadier pushes through the panic. “What if I can’t? Grad school, fellowship, the city. I don’t even know if I can take care of myself most days.”
Her voice softens. “Janie… you don’t have to make any decisions tonight. You have options. Have you considered…? Do you want to keep this baby?”
The answer is there before I can second-guess it. “Yes. I’m keeping it. No matter what. The only question is whether I should come home or if I can do this alone. Oh, mom. I'm so sorry.”
My sobs fill the silence. If there was ever a time I needed my mom, it's right now. I'm not sure I've ever needed her as much as I do right now.
"Baby. You have nothing to be sorry for."
I rub my eyes and wipe my forearm across my nose.
“If you’re keeping this baby, you finish what you went to Chicago for. And you won’t be alone. Your dad and I will come there, we’ll help you set up help so you can still go to work and get your schoolwork done. Hell, I’ll move up there and stay with you if you want. We’ll figure it out together.”
A shaky laugh slips from me. “You really think I can do this?”
“I know you can. It won’t be easy. But you’re stronger than you think. And…you may want to see if you can locate the father. If nothing else, he could help financially.”
My stomach twists. “I don’t need financial help.”
“Honey, babies are expensive. I’m only saying this because I want to make sure you have every bit of support you can get.”
“I’ll figure it out.” The words come out harder than I mean.
Mom exhales again, quieter this time. “Alright. I can tell you don’t want to talk about the father right now, and that’s okay. When you’re ready, you’ll tell me. For now, let’s just focus on you and the pregnancy, okay?”
I bite my lip hard. “Thank you, Mom. You have no idea how much this means.”
“I’d go to the ends of the earth for you, honey. And so would your dad.”
When we hang up, the weight hasn’t vanished, but it’s shifted. After a full day of sheer panic, one phone call with my mom, and suddenly it’s bearable. If she believes in me, then I can believe in myself, too.
The brief sensation of resolve evaporates quickly when I pull up Warren's text stream. Stupid decision. Warren’s last unanswered message stares back, and the lie I just told settles like a stone in my stomach.
Our last exchange stares back at me. Then below it, four bright blue bubbles from me spread across weeks, compared to a wall of silence from him.
Saw this coffee cup and thought of you. The barista even got your grumpy face right!
? Read 6:57 AM
How's your week going?
? Read 7:42 PM
Oh, my god! Some guy walked past me in a Gators hoodie, and I almost tripped him. Seminoles for life, amiright?
? Read 3:15 PM
They sell sweet tea up here in bottles. Actual bottles. I told them this was a crime against the South.
Not Delivered
My stomach drops. Not delivered? That can't be right. I tap the message, watching the spinning wheel try to resend it. Nothing happens. The little exclamation point appears next to my text.
"No, no, no," I whisper, my heart rate accelerating.
I type quickly, my fingers trembling.
Call me, please
The message sits there, processing, before the same error appears. Not delivered.
My pulse spikes as the realization hits. He's blocked me. My chest heaves, each breath shorter than the last. The phone's suddenly hot in my hand, burning with rejection.
He knows I tried to reach him. He saw my messages. And now he's erased me completely.
This can't be happening.
I curl deeper into the couch corner, knees pulled to my chest. The fragile calm my mother's call had given me is a distant memory. The panic returns, sharper than before, slicing through my momentary courage.
My hand moves instinctively to my still-flat stomach. Eight weeks. Inside me grows the connection to Warren I can never sever, even if he's cut all ties with me.
What am I going to do now? The question hangs in my empty apartment, unanswered.
Mom doesn't know the truth. Blake would be devastated. And now Warren has made it crystal clear he wants nothing to do with me.
I'm truly alone with this secret.
But something small and fierce flickers inside me. It's not just the barely-formed life, but a resolve I didn't know I possessed. My mother raised Blake alone. She survived. She thrived.
I can do this.
I have to do this.
I set the phone facedown on the coffee table, unable to look at those undelivered messages anymore. My heart still pounds against my ribs, a persistent reminder that this isn't just a bad dream I'll wake from.
The lie, the baby, the silence—they’re all mine to carry now. And I know they’ll break me if I let them.