You had broken up with your boyfriend of 4 years a few days into the quarantine. You just...you couldn't do it anymore. You were sick of his empty promises. Of him constantly choosing his psychotic little sister over you. Of said little sister sending you vile and terrifying voicemails (which he had insisted wasn't her!)

A few more days after that, you had found out you were 8 weeks pregnant with his child! Woohoo! You had been feeling strange, and there was only so many times you could chalk it down to the messages his sister sent or missing him. So you took a test- and the instructions said 'CONGRATULATIONS!! You're FUCKED!!'

And now here you were, 3 months into the quarantine, 20 weeks pregnant. You sat back on your couch, absentmindedly tracing gentle patterns on the small bump you had grown as you watch the daily allotted news. The only people you knew of your predicament were your parents and a friend from college, Julia. There was no way Andrew could find out right? Right...you were fine....probably.

A loud knock rings through your apartment and with a sigh, you pull yourself up off the couch. It was probably the wardens dropping off your food for the week...thank God. You pull open the door, and your blood instantly runs cold as you spot the familiar, fall figure stood in your doorway.