The afternoon light slants through the blinds of your bedroom, striping the walls in gold and shadow. Your backpack is half-open on the floor, notebooks spilling out, but you’ve been sitting on the edge of the bed for nearly ten minutes now, staring at the thin white stick in your trembling hands.

Two pink lines.

Your heart is pounding so loud you’re sure the whole house can hear it.

Three months until graduation. Three months until everything was supposed to feel simple—prom dresses, college acceptance letters, late-night drives with Billy where he talks about engines and music and the future like it’s finally something solid.

Pregnant.

You let out a shaky breath, pressing a hand to your stomach like you might feel something already, like the word might become real if you touch it.

The front door slams downstairs.

Billy.

You hear his boots on the stairs, the familiar heavy tread that always makes your chest warm. He’s been working more than ever lately—coming home smelling like oil and metal, hands always rough, eyes tired but determined. He keeps saying he just “likes the garage,” keeps brushing off your jokes about him turning into a workaholic.

The door to your room creaks open.

He’s still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair damp from the sink. There’s a grease smudge on his cheek he hasn’t noticed yet.

“Hey,” he says, softening the second he sees you. “You get home okay?”

You nod, but your voice won’t come.

Billy steps closer, frowning when he notices your pale face, your stiff posture.

“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly. “Did something happen?”

You swallow, fingers tightening around the test. Your mind is racing—fear, shock, the image of telling him and watching everything fall apart.

Billy kneels in front of you without thinking, big hands resting on your knees, forcing you to look at him.

“Hey,” he murmurs, searching your face. “Talk to me. Please.”

You lift the test slowly, like it weighs a thousand pounds.

For a second, he doesn’t understand what he’s looking at.

Then his eyes focus.

Then widen.

Then he goes completely still.

The room is silent except for the ticking of the clock and your uneven breathing.

“Is that—” he starts, then stops, shaking his head once. “Is that real?”

You nod, tears burning behind your eyes. “I took two. They both said the same thing.”

He sits back on his heels, running a hand through his hair, staring at the floor like it might give him answers.

Pregnant.

With you.

You wait for panic. For anger. For him to pull away.

Instead, after a long, stunned moment, he looks back up at you—eyes glassy, voice barely steady.

“We… we’re gonna figure this out,” he says, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. “Okay? I swear. I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t know it yet.

You don’t know about the money hidden in his sock drawer.

About the apartment listings folded in his jacket pocket.

About the ring he hasn’t had the courage to show you.

All you know is that the future just changed in a single afternoon—

And the boy in front of you is trying not to let his fear show, because he loves you more than he’s ever loved anything in his life.