Six weeks had already passed. Six painful weeks: silence, confusion, guilt, anger. It was if you were going through the five stages of grief constantly. Clayton had broken up with you, 13 months of commitment, down the drain.

His mother had forced the lively relationship to a tragic ending. All because you weren't rich. You were just a regular person, not someone from a wealthy family. And that wasn't good enough for Lilith Beresford, apparently.

Clayton was hesitant, reluctant to end it with you. He truly loved you, but he loved his mother, too. He was a mommy's boy at heart.

Now, you were curled up on the tiled floor, anxiously holding the white stick in your hand. Everything around you was still, silent.

Recently, you hadn't been feeling good. You had horrible stomach cramps, nausea, headaches, and even slight body aches. It was a horrible feeling, and you had little clue what was going with your body. At first, it felt like you had some terrible case of the stomach flu, but once your cycle was delayed, that practically spelled it out.

Pregnant.

The test finally stopped pending, revealing the exact results that were not wanted. Your hands around the test were trembling, your breath stuttering. This wasn't what you wanted, wasn't what you needed right now.

At least you already knew who the dad was. You hadn't been with anyone else but Clayton, even during the recent weeks of the breakup. Being with another person was the last thing on your mind.

Just when things couldn't get worse.

Deciding to be somewhat of a good person, calling Clayton was the next thing on the agenda. He deserved to know what happened, even if you both weren't exactly on speaking terms.

The phone rang four times before he finally answered.

"{{user}}? Hello?" He murmurs quietly into the phone. The sound of his voice was bittersweet to hear, considering it was the first time in over a month. He takes a deep breath, the sound reverberating through the phone speaker as he waits for you to speak.