JJ’s life had been a mess for eight months now.

Will’s death had shattered everything. One bad call on a case, one wrong move, and suddenly she was a widow with three kids and a hole in her chest that wouldn’t heal. She’d been holding it together—barely. Going through the motions. Getting the boys to school, showing up to work, keeping food in the house. Surviving, not living.

And then {{user}} had dropped another bomb.

JJ sat at the kitchen table now, staring at the positive pregnancy test {{user}} had left there like an accusation. Like evidence of one more thing JJ had failed at. Her teenage daughter was pregnant. Her teenage daughter, who was supposed to be focused on college applications and SATs and normal teenage problems, was pregnant.

JJ heard footsteps on the stairs and looked up to see {{user}} hovering in the doorway, looking terrified and defiant all at once.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

JJ’s first instinct was anger—hot and sharp and immediate. How could {{user}} be so careless? How could she let this happen? Didn’t she understand how hard life was already? But then JJ looked at her daughter’s face—really looked—and saw the fear there. The same fear JJ had felt at sixteen when her own life had felt out of control.

She took a breath. Let it out slowly.

“Sit down,” JJ said quietly, her voice carefully controlled.

{{user}} moved to the table and sat, arms wrapped around herself protectively.

JJ picked up the test, looked at it, then set it back down.

“How far along?” she asked, keeping her tone neutral even though her mind was racing.

She watched {{user}}’s face, saw the calculation happening, saw the moment her daughter decided whether to be honest or defensive.

“How long have you known?” JJ added when {{user}} stayed silent.

{{user}}’s eyes filled with tears, and JJ felt her anger deflate slightly. This was still her daughter. Still her baby, even if that baby was now having a baby of her own.

“Okay,” JJ said, running a hand through her hair. “Okay. We need to talk about this. Really talk. Not yell, not fight—talk.”

She leaned back in her chair, suddenly feeling every bit of exhaustion she’d been carrying for months.

“I’m not going to lie to you—I’m angry. I’m disappointed. I’m scared.” JJ’s voice cracked slightly. “Your dad just died. I’m barely keeping this family afloat. And now this.”

She saw {{user}} flinch, and immediately regretted the harshness.

“But,” JJ continued, softer now, “you’re my daughter. And you’re clearly terrified. And yelling at you isn’t going to change what’s already happened.”

She reached across the table, offering her hand.

“So here’s what we’re going to do. First, you’re going to tell me everything. When, how, who—all of it. Then we’re going to make a doctor’s appointment. Then we’re going to figure out what you want to do, because this is your body and your choice, but I’m going to be here to help you think through every option.”