Chapter 5 #2
It’s that same tone he used when I fell off my bike when I was eight, when he found me crying in the driveway with a skinned knee.
He sounds sad, not disappointed. That almost hurts worse.
The words hit something deep in my chest. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
“I wish you’d told me sooner. Where are you?”
I swipe at my face, but the tears won’t stop. “At the clinic.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
He exhales, long and heavy. I can picture him now rubbing the back of his neck, pacing the kitchen, the worn floor creaking beneath his work boots.
I imagine the half-empty coffee mug still sitting on the counter, the newspaper folded next to it from when he brought it in from the stoop this morning.
All ordinary things that make the moment feel impossibly surreal.
“Come home,” he says, his voice steady. Firm in that way that’s always made me feel safe. No hesitation. No judgment. Just a command wrapped in love. “We’ll talk. We’ll figure it out. You don’t have to do this by yourself.”
“Okay,” I mumble.
“I love you. Drive safe. I’ll see you soon.”
The drive feels endless.
My hands won’t stop shaking long enough to turn them down. My fingers slip on the steering wheel, slick with sweat. My eyes sting from crying, every blink burning as headlights smear into ribbons of white and gold.
Every mile feels like a life sentence looming over me, each passing exit sign another chance to turn around, to run, to pretend that this isn’t real.
But I keep driving.
The city lights fade behind me, swallowed by the long stretch of highway that leads home.
The same route I’d driven only a few weeks before suddenly feels foreign.
When I finally pull into the driveway, Dad is already at the door waiting for me. The cold air hits me hard when I pop the door open, biting at my face, but I barely notice it.
I leave the engine running when I exit, headlights slicing through the light dusting of flakes that have started to come down.
For a second, I think maybe he’ll yell at me.
Maybe the long drive home has given him the time to think about my confession and see it for what it really is: a stupid, rash decision I made and am not being forced to face the consequences of.
I’m terrified that I’ve become someone unrecognizable to him. That he sees me as someone other than his little girl.
But then he’s stepping off the porch and down the driveway with his arms held up.
I don’t even make it up the steps before I break down again.
The sound that comes out of me is ugly and raw, somewhere between a sob and a gasp.
And he’s there, pulling me in tight, holding me against his chest just like he used to when I was little and the world was still simple.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs into my hair. “You’re okay. We’re going to face this together.”
I clutch his coat, fingers fisting the fabric, and sob until my chest aches and my throat burns.
He doesn’t rush me. He doesn’t say anything else until I’ve finally cried myself into exhaustion.
He just stands there, holding me while I fall apart.
When the worst of it passes, he shuts my car off and leads me inside, his hand firm on my back.
The house smells just like it did weeks ago.
Everything suddenly becomes a painful reminder of the mistakes I made while under this same roof.
Every choice that led up to this outcome, every impulsive decision now punishing me.
He sits me down at the kitchen table and pours me a glass of water. The glass trembles in my hands.
My reflection ripples on the surface every time my fingers twitch.
Dad sits across from me, elbows on the table, studying me with that quiet, unshakable focus he’s always had.
His eyes are tired, rimmed with worry, but there’s no anger there, no disappointment, just concern and love.
“You know who the father is?”
My stomach twists painfully.
It’s a fair question.
One I should’ve expected him to ask.
One I should’ve prepared an answer for during my drive to keep my secret locked and buried inside me.
My hand tightens around the glass, making my knuckles grow white. “It was a…a one-night stand…someone on campus.”
The lie sounds stilted to my ears, but he has no reason to question it.
And even less reason to suspect the actual truth.
“You don’t have to decide tonight,” he finally says quietly. “You don’t have to decide tomorrow, either. You’ve got options, Noelle. All kinds of them. And whatever you choose, I’ll back you up. You hear me?”
My throat tightens. “I don’t want to lose you…”
He reaches across the table, taking my hand in his and gripping it hard. He shakes his head. “You won’t. Not over this. Never over something like this.”
I squeeze his hand, my next words dying on my tongue. If he knew the truth, he wouldn’t be saying that.
It kills me to lie to him, even worse that I’m intentionally keeping something this big to myself.
But I can’t go through with being honest, not when I know it will already completely ruin my life and his.
So, instead, I just nod and ask him to sit with me on the couch while we watch old Christmas movies.
It’s past the holiday, but I just need a little more cheer, if it’s possible.
I don’t know when I fall asleep, but the next thing I know I’m waking up tucked into my bed hours later.
When morning comes, pale light leaks through the blinds, dappling my blanket in soft gold and grays.
I stare at the ceiling for a long time, listening to the quiet rhythm of the house.
My hand drifts to my stomach without thinking.
The touch is tentative, circling around the spot that will eventually swell if I let it.
Fear curls in me like a fist, tight and suffocating, but beneath it…something else stirs. Something fragile but undeniable.
Life.
The word is small, but it echoes through me. It terrifies me, the enormity of it.
What it means and what it asks of me, but it also roots me in a way nothing else has. It’s not just a consequence anymore.
I close my eyes and for the first time I let myself imagine it: a future that’s blurry and uncertain, but mine all the same.
A small hand gripping my finger.
A laugh, light and pure. A pair of eyes blinking up at me with trust I’ll have to earn every single day.
I see messy hair and tiny socks, a crib by the window, mornings that are filled with laughter and loud music.
I don’t know who they’ll be or what kind of mother I’ll turn out to be, but for the first time since finding out, the idea doesn’t send me spiraling, it steadies me.
Maybe this is my chance to create something good out of the wreckage I’ve made of my life.
I’m twenty-two, almost finished with my degree. I can do this.
When I finally hear Dad stirring downstairs, the smell of coffee seeping up the stairs and under my door, I sit up. I know what he’ll say when I tell him.
I know he’ll worry, that he’ll see the road ahead clearer than I do, but I also know he’ll stand by me.
He always has.
I’ll never tell him about that night. Not about Grant’s steady hands, or Dean’s easy laugh, or the way Cal’s gaze burned right through me those few nights we shared together.
That part is mine alone to bear.
A secret I’ll carry with me to my grave, a mistake I can’t undo but won’t let define me.
The rest I’ll face with my dad.
For the first time in weeks, I feel steady enough to breathe again.