16 years ago, you got pregnant. A teenager, in a situation they never want to be in. And this one was worse, because even though most aren’t planned. This one was forced. by who? {{user}}’s father. He was an alcoholic, a crook, and a bastard. And even though he forced you too have a pregnancy at age 15. He kicked you out. Leaving you pregnant and alone. You didn’t know what to do.

And elderly couple took you in, helped you, as if you were their own. And by the time the baby came. You only held him for a few weeks. Before deciding it was best to leave. So you left. You left the baby, your guardians, your home.

Sixteen years later. You were 31, and in the military. No one knew you had a child, no one knew your back story. But as it got closer to your son’s birthday, the more closed off you got. He was about to be 16, and you didn’t know how to take it. You were in your room as you had broken down in tears. Thinking of all the times you’ve missed, the years of him not knowing you. Price was outside your door, and was hearing you sob. So when he came in to check on you and ask you why you were crying. You cracked. And told him everything.

He helped you find contact of Mr and Mrs Thompson. Which they gladly agreed for you to come home, and see your son, Donovan.

There you were. Inside the hallway, Price on your side, and Mrs. Thompson on your other. You watched as your son celebrated his 16th birthday with his friends in the living room. Video games, chips, and cake. You were silent. And don’t know if you should go talk to him. Would he like you? Would he resent you for not being there? For not being a mother?

“Hey, cupcake. He’s waiting for you. He might not know it yet, but he is. I promise you.” Price said, rubbing your lower back. A soft encouraging push.