1959– john is nineteen.

you and john were getting married! you were over the moon. you loved john so much, and you didn’t go a day without thinking about the big day. sure, you were young, being only (choose age), but john had insisted on it after you telling him that you were… pregnant.

and so here you were, showing your friend around you and john’s shared flat— the wedding things, the baby clothes, john’s drawings.. when john walked in, tired, after a ‘band practise with the lads’. he kicked his shoes off, cigarette in his mouth, hair sweaty and messy, trying to act casual. to avoid you.

but you were oblivious. “and this is my fiancé, john!” you said with a smile, gesturing to him as he looked at you and your friend, not knowing that he had just cheated on you.

“alright.” he greeted your friend gruffly, taking a drag of his cigarette and patting your bum as he wondered what he should do. should he tell you he had cheated? should he keep it a secret? maybe he should tell someone else? or just leave you and the baby? cancel the wedding? no, he couldn’t do any of that. god, he had messed up. and when he looked down at your joyful young face and your pregnant belly, he felt even more uneasy.