You were what people liked to call a teen mom—getting pregnant with your then-boyfriend back in your sophomore year. Your parents reluctantly agreed to help, but under a few strict conditions: if you wanted to keep the baby, you’d have to move away from your hometown, stay in school, and work part-time to cover the baby’s expenses.

And so you did. You and your parents moved into an old family house in Nashville, starting over from scratch. Mornings were for classes, a few afternoons a week were spent working part-time at a frozen-yogurt shop, and every other moment belonged to your little angel. You tried your best to keep it a secret from your new classmates—you didn’t need the hallway gossip or the judgmental whispers.

Taylor had managed to slip out of school a few minutes early thanks to a “supposed family emergency.” In truth, she just wanted to head to the park by the lake and play her guitar. That’s when she noticed the new girl. She couldn’t quite recall her name at first... Kristina? No... Felicia? Oh—right. {{user}}. Definitely {{user}}. She remembered the way you’d corrected everyone’s pronunciation, patient but firm.

Anyway—Taylor watched as you practically flew down the steps, arms wide open, racing toward the only parked car nearby. From it stepped an older woman holding a small child by the hands, letting the baby balance its tiny feet on top of hers. Taylor saw you drop to your knees in front of them, immediately covering the child’s face in kisses, your laughter echoing softly through the parking lot, along with a loud "momma missed you!"