Then… something changed.
He started coming home late.
Working extra shifts.
Keeping his phone face down.
Some nights, he looked terrified. Other nights, strangely calm—like someone carrying something too heavy to put down. Once, I noticed his hands trembling as he washed them at the sink.
Three nights before graduation, he stood in the kitchen doorway, twisting his sleeve.
“Mom,” he said quietly, “I need you to hear everything before you decide how disappointed you are.”
My heart dropped.
Then he told me.
About Lily.
About the pregnancy.
About the baby girl who had been born less than two weeks earlier.
Continued on the next page
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