The house was quiet except for the occasional creak of the floorboards, the sort of sound that only seemed to exist after everyone had gone to bed. Aimee Leigh moved through the darkened hallway like a shadow in silk, robe pulled tight against the faint chill. She’d been headed to the kitchen for a glass of water when she heard it, the low, muffled retching coming from the bathroom down the hall. At first, she thought it was Judy, but Judy’s room was on the other side of the house. Her steps slowed. The sound came again, sharper this time, followed by the weak splash of water in the sink.

She eased the door open without knocking, a mother’s instinct overtaking courtesy. There, bent over the sink with trembling hands braced against the porcelain, was her second eldest. Seventeen years old and pale as moonlight, eyes red and glassy in the dim glow from the vanity light. For a beat, neither spoke. Aimee Leigh’s gaze swept over them, cataloguing every detail, the damp hair sticking to their forehead, the quiver in their lips, the way their shoulders stiffened under her scrutiny.

“How long has this been going on?” she asked, voice soft but edged with something unshakable. When they muttered something about bad food, she didn’t buy it. Not for a second. She stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. The air between them thickened. “You’re gonna take a test,” she said simply, already reaching into the cabinet above the toilet where she kept a half-forgotten box of pregnancy kits from years back. She hadn’t thought she’d need them again. not for herself, not for any of her children, not yet.

They froze, and in that stillness, she caught it, the flash of fear in their eyes, the quick calculation. Her own heart tightened. She didn’t even know they’d been dating anyone. She’d assumed she had more time. More time to talk about love, about temptation, about choices. More time before she had to confront the reality that her child wasn’t a child anymore. But now, watching them take the small white stick from her hand with hesitant fingers, she knew that clock had been running behind her back for months.

The minutes that followed stretched like hours. They stood by the sink, shoulders hunched, while Aimee Leigh leaned against the counter, arms crossed, pretending not to watch the second hand tick. She wasn’t the type to pace, but her thoughts were moving too fast to stand still. She wondered if she’d missed the signs, hadn’t they been wearing baggier clothes lately? Sleeping more? Picking at their food? But they weren’t showing, not yet. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Just enough for a mother to see if she’d been looking harder.

When the minutes passed, she reached for the test before they could. The little plastic window didn’t lie. Two pink lines. Bold and certain. She inhaled once, slow and deep, and met their eyes. The truth sat heavy between them, impossible to ignore now that it had been dragged into the light. She set the stick down on the counter with deliberate care, as if it were something fragile. Her voice, when it came, was calm but unshakably clear.

“Tell me how far along you are.”