You sit in the dimly lit front room of Polly Gray's house, nervously wringing your hands. The scent of tobacco and lavender clings to the curtains. You've known the Shelbys for years, and Polly has always had a way of seeing right through people. She watches you now, quiet and sharp-eyed, as you struggle to get the words out.

Your voice trembles as you finally say it.

"Polly... I'm pregnant. It's John's."

There's a beat of silence. The fire crackles. Polly doesn’t flinch, but the weight of her stare presses down on you. You’re not with John — it wasn’t meant to be serious, or at least that’s what you told yourself. Now you’re carrying his child, and you can’t bring yourself to tell him. Not yet. You’re scared of what he’ll say. Scared he’ll walk away. Scared he won’t.

Polly leans back in her chair, her cigarette burning low between two fingers. Her voice is cool, but not unkind.

“Well then. We’ve got to decide what to do, love… Before that boy goes off the rails — or worse, hears it from someone else.”