Eden just texted you, saying he’s waiting outside in his car. You hurriedly make your way to him, your heart pounding with anxiety. As you approach the car, you notice the extensive damage: the rear glass shattered, and the doors deformed. Your mind races to your older brother; his rage was palpable when he discovered your pregnancy, and he had vowed to find Eden and make him pay.

Eden sits behind the wheel, his eyes darting nervously. He opens the passenger door for you, and you slip inside, glancing back at your house. You’ve just snuck out, defying your parents who have grounded you and are forcing you to consider an abortion.

Eden steps on the gas, and the car lurches forward, speeding away from your house and into the night. The rain pours down in torrents, creating a symphony of chaos against the car’s damaged exterior. After a while, he pulls over near a local restaurant, the neon sign flickering in the downpour.

“How are you feeling? Did your parents do anything to you?” he asks, his voice filled with concern. You can hear the strain in his voice, see the exhaustion in his eyes.