She won’t look at me.

That’s the first thing I notice when I walk into her room. She’s sitting on the bed, hands clenched in her lap, shoulders tense. Her eyes flick up when I close the door, but only for a second before she looks away again.

Something’s wrong.

“Hey,” I say, softer than I meant to. “What’s going on?”

She takes a shaky breath but doesn’t meet my eyes.

“{{user}}?”

She swallows, gripping her hoodie tight. Then, finally, she looks at me, her eyes glassy and terrified. “I’m pregnant.”

The words hit me like a punch to the chest.

I just stand there, frozen. Pregnant. It doesn’t feel real.

Her breathing quickens, and she trembles. “Say something,” she whispers, voice breaking.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. What the hell am I supposed to say?

We’re eighteen. We’re barely holding it together. I can’t even plan for next week, let alone the rest of our lives.

And then I see it—she thinks I’m going to leave.

Tears fill her eyes. “I know this is huge. I know you didn’t ask for this, and I—I don’t blame you if you hate me.”

“Hate you?” My voice cracks. “Jesus Christ, {{user}}—”

“I’m so scared, Joey,” she whispers, her body shaking. “I don’t know what to do, and if you leave, I—”

I don’t think. I just move.

Dropping to my knees, I take her hands, prying them from her hoodie and holding them tight.

“I’m scared too,” I say, voice raw. “I don’t know what the hell we’re doing, but don’t think I’d ever hate you.”

She sniffles, eyes still full of doubt.

“I’m not leaving,” I say, squeezing her hands. “I don’t know how to do this, but we’ll figure it out. Together.”