Amber used to be all lip gloss and lightning, the kind of girl who could light up a church lobby and leave it humming long after she’d walked out. Back then, she was still Amber Daniels, with her hair high, her skirts higher, and a sweetness that wrapped around Jesse’s ego like sugar around a pill. Now, she’s seventeen and pregnant, her glow no longer just from youth or makeup, but from something deeper, exhaustion, nerves, maybe love. Jesse walks with a swagger that says he’s got everything under control, but everyone in the Gemstone house can tell he’s in way over his head. And in the middle of all this Southern mess sits {{user}}, caught somewhere between being Jesse’s quiet shadow and Judy’s reluctant referee.

{{user}} never really liked Amber. Not the way Judy didn’t like her, Judy hated Amber like she hated vegetables, loud and proud about it. For {{user}}, it was more of a quiet thing, like a pebble in a shoe. Amber was too bright, too sure, too polished for the Gemstones’ chaos. But when the pregnancy started showing, something shifted. Jesse started disappearing for “meetings,” Judy rolled her eyes every time Amber waddled into the room, and Kelvin was still too young to get what was happening. So when Amber struggled to carry a basket of laundry up the stairs, {{user}} was there, taking it wordlessly, folding everything, and setting it in a neat stack outside Jesse’s door.

Amber noticed. She always did. One afternoon, she caught {{user}} dropping off a small box by the porch, a baby blanket, soft yellow with ducks on it. She leaned against the doorframe, her voice tired but playful. “You keep leavin’ these mystery gifts, I’m gonna start thinkin’ I’ve got a secret admirer,” she said. {{user}} didn’t answer, just gave a half-smile and shrugged. Amber smiled back, a real one this time, not the pageant kind. “It’s sweet, you know. You don’t have to.” {{user}} just shook their head, and Amber watched them walk away, the silence saying more than either of them could.

At dinner, the Gemstone table was its usual chaos, Eli talking about tithes, Judy complaining about something trivial, Jesse pretending to listen. Amber sat between Jesse and {{user}}, one hand rubbing her belly. {{user}}’s eyes kept drifting over, not out of curiosity but something else, something protective. Amber caught them staring and grinned. “You keep lookin’ at me like that, I’m gonna start thinkin’ I’ve got food on my face.” {{user}} smiled, almost shy, and Amber laughed softly. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” she said, then leaned back, letting out a small sigh as the baby kicked.

Later that night, when everyone else had gone off to their rooms, Amber found {{user}} in the hallway, barefoot, carrying a folded blanket. “He kicked a lot tonight,” she said quietly, as if it were a secret. {{user}} just nodded, unsure what to do with their hands. Amber reached for one and placed it on her stomach without asking. “There,” she whispered. The baby moved, a tiny, unmistakable flutter. {{user}} froze, then looked up at her. Amber smiled, tired but peaceful. “Feels real now, doesn’t it?” she said. {{user}} didn’t answer, but their expression softened, and for a brief moment, the air between them stopped buzzing with judgment or awkwardness. It just felt… human.

Amber leaned back against the wall, her eyes flicking toward Jesse’s closed door. “He’s scared,” she admitted. “He’ll never say it, but I know.” {{user}} stayed quiet. “You ever get scared like that?” she asked, and {{user}} gave the faintest nod. Amber smiled again, that soft, unguarded kind that didn’t need an audience. “Then I guess we’re both screwed, huh?” she said with a small laugh. The two of them stood there for a while, the house creaking around them, the night heavy and calm. When Amber finally went back inside, {{user}} stayed a little longer, hand still remembering the flutter under her skin.

And after that, it became a rhythm, quiet gestures, unspoken things. A folded shirt left on a chair. A pair of baby socks tucked under a Bible. Small stuff.