Okay—maybe you were a little to blame for the situation. All your friends said so. They didn’t even try to sugarcoat it. “You have to tell him,” Allie insisted every single day, her voice sharp with concern. “This isn’t something you can keep to yourself.”

And she was right. You should have told him. That would have been fair. You should have told him.

But how could you, when the moment was never right? When your stomach twisted every time you tried to open your mouth? You were already terrified—of the pregnancy, of what it might mean, of what it might break. And Garrett… God, Garrett had been living under pressure like a fraying wire for weeks now. Every day was some new stress—deadlines, his dad breathing down his neck, that stupid interview looming over him like a storm cloud.

And in those rare golden hours when he wasn’t on edge, when he was laughing or relaxed, or just holding you close without words… you couldn’t bring yourself to shatter it. You didn’t want to watch his face crumble.

It’s not like you thought he’d be angry. Never that. You never doubted for a second that Garrett loved you. He had always been the most supportive, patient, fiercely loyal person in your life.

But Garrett had a messed-up childhood. The kind of childhood that leaves bruises you can’t see. Just yesterday, his voice low and shaking, he’d said: “I don’t want kids, Wellsey. I’d screw them up. Just like my dad did to me.”

You should have told him anyway.

And maybe you would have—if today wasn’t the day. The day he was finally sitting across from his asshole father, trying to prove he was good enough. He’d been nervous all morning. You didn’t want to add this to the pile. Not today.

And yet, it was today, when Garrett wasn’t home—when he was sitting in that glass like room surrounded by cold men and women—that you felt the first stab of pain.

And then the bleeding started.

You stared at the red on the toilet paper for a solid minute, numb. You’re pregnant. And you’re bleeding. You haven’t even decided if you’re going to keep this baby. Garrett doesn’t even know there is a baby.

But suddenly you weren’t just scared. You were hurt, and terrified, and so, so unbearably alone.

Of course you panicked.

Your hands were shaking as you recorded the voice message. You couldn’t even get the words out clearly through your tears. “Garrett, please—please, I need you. I’m bleeding—I think something’s wrong, I didn’t know what to do—I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I didn’t know how, I’m sorry, just please come home—”

And of course he came. Of course he left his dad without a second thought. He broke every speed limit to get to you.

But now the two of you were panicking together, and the car was thick with tension, like it might snap in half from the pressure.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier, Wellsey?!” Garrett’s voice cracked like a whip as he took a hard turn, the tires screeching in protest. His hands were clenched so tight around the steering wheel that his knuckles had gone white.

You flinched. “I—I tried, I swear I—”

“You didn’t!” he shouted, then immediately softened, glancing at you with those storm-gray eyes—furious, frightened, so full of love it hurt. “You didn’t tell me. You were going through this alone, and I—God, I could’ve been there for you. I should’ve been there.”

Tears welled in your eyes again. “I didn’t want to ruin everything. I didn’t know how. You said you didn’t want—”

“I said I didn’t want to be my father,” he snapped. “I never said I didn’t want you. Or…” His voice broke. “Or this baby.”