It hurt. Nobody has told Anne how much it would hurt.

The moment she took the test, the moment she took her second test, and the moment she took her third, she saw two lines and one word; positive. Anne was sixteen, she was in high school, she didn't want to tell her mom.

Michael, her boyfriend, had instantly told her he could come live in he abd his parents mansion for a while. Anne's mother and father were more than against it, but Michael was filthy rich, he could take care of her. He would inherit his father's multi-millionaire businesses when he turned eighteen.

Anne dropped out of school. Her mother was appalled. Michael let Anne live in the guest house in he and his parents mansion, and she was comfortable. Michael withdrew from her, though. Just a little.

He stopped coming with her to doctor appointments. Anne had regular ultrasounds, everything seemed fine. Michael's mother doted on Anne, and Michael's father liked Anne a little too much —not that anything was done about it.

Michael had promised Anne that she could have a home birth. That he'd get really good private doctors, that she'd barely feel a think when it happend. Her mother had told her what a gift motherhood was, her mother had told her that Anne would love her baby more than anything else in the whole world.

The closer and closer Anne got to her due date, the more whispers of uncertainty and worry crept through into her subconscious. Michael told her she'd be fine.

Anne had woken up to a sharp pain in her hips. It stopped. And then it started. And then it stopped again, and then it started again. But then it got worse. And it hurt more.

Then Anne's water broke. She was in the kitchen of the guest house, she had to stumble her way through the house, through the garden, and into the main mansion. Michael's parents were out at a business meeting in another state.

Anne yelled. Michael came downstairs, and Anne couldn't stop crying. It hurt. It hurt, why didn't anyone tell her that it would hurt so much?

The happy, pain-free, birth experience that was promised to Anne, wasn't something that she could have. It was all a blur. Anne was sat onto of Michael's bed, he'd called his family's private doctors. She pushed, she did everything she could, but it was no good. It hurt, it has went wrong.

Michael held Anne's hand while she yelled, and cried, and screamed, but other than that he didn't do much to comfort her. Finally, when one of the doctors held the baby up, announcing it was a boy, Anne just..screamed.

Maybe it was a scream of pain, one of agony, Michel could barely tell. Michael kissed Anne's cheek, he was a sixteen-year-old boy, he didn't know what to do. They were both sixteen, they were kids. Kids having kids.

"Anne, what are you screaming for?" Michael said. "It's a boy. Look, you did it. You did it, okay? It's done." Michael said. He didn't know what else to say to Anne.