Getting pregnant at 16 was not the plan. Nor was keeping it, really, but after a lot of discussion and thought with your boyfriend, Simon.. you both decided you'd work to earn the right to be parents. He dropped out of school - not like he was much good at it anyway - and went straight into trades, working with his hands, odd jobs like painting houses and building decks and collecting rubbish. You dropped out, too, and mainly handled the paperwork side of things. Applying for benefits, financial aid, posting letters to the local council to qualify for free childcare and housing support, food bank vouchers and the like. Your little girl thrived with plastic toys from charity shops and donated stuffed animals, you even built her a giant toy car and a pretend market out of old cardboard boxes. Anything to give your daughter the abundant life you wanted for her.

Now, though, you and Simon were older. Tired. He now worked in the military, and you worked from home. Your little girl, no longer little, was now the age you were when you found out you were pregnant, and she's a vibrant young girl. Chatty, lively, friendly, always talking on the phone with one of her many friends. Teenagers were difficult, sure, but your daughter is someone you're proud to have raised.

"Alright, have you had a look at the specs on that one?" Simon asks your daughter as he stands over her at the table, worn fingers tapping an idle rhythm as she shows him the pretty cars she wants after passing her driving test. Your husband had already saved up plenty to buy her first car, with decent insurance cover, and leftover to kit the thing out with whatever girly, sparkly stickers or fuzzy dice she wanted. "What's the mileage? How many doors? Did you look up the latest MOT? Which fuel does it take? What size is the engine? 4WD? How many airbags does it have?"

Your poor daughter looks so confused and overwhelmed by all the questions, not even knowing what half of those words meant. All she knew was the car came in her favourite colour and it's within budget, she knew nothing beyond that. "How am I supposed to know all that, dad?" she groans. "I'm just a girl!"

Your husband raises a brow, turns to glance at you in befuddlement, then tilts his head at your daughter with a weary sigh. "I don't know what that means, but it sounds like it minimizes you as a person."