Emily was 14 years old and sat on the porch of her family’s house in the suburbs of Ohio. She had a duffel bag at her feet and a phone that was only 12% charged. The wind brought the sting of early November, but it wasn’t the cold that made her shudder; it was the quietness behind the closed door.
Two hours before, Emily’s mom had been in the kitchen, looking pale and rigid, holding the pregnancy test that Emily had thrown away. It was wrapped in tissue paper twice.
Her mother remarked in a flat, unnatural voice, “You lied to me.” “All this time.” How long have you been waiting?
Emily couldn’t give a response right away. She was still thinking about it. She hadn’t even told Carter, the boy she’d been dating in secret for four months.
“Eight weeks,” she said softly.
Her mother looked at her and then at Bill, her stepfather, who was halfway into the room. She crossed her arms and didn’t say anything at first.
“You can’t keep him,” her mother replied in the end.
Emily was astonished when she looked up. “What?”
You heard me. And if you think you can just stay in this house and ruin this family’s excellent name—
Bill sighed and said, “He’s fourteen.” “Karen, he has to deal with the music.”
“I’m not…” Emily began, but the phrase didn’t finish. She realized that what she said didn’t make a difference.
She was on the porch at night. No yelling. Don’t beg for stuff. She had time to fetch two pairs of jeans, three T-shirts, her math binder, and a bottle of maternity pills that she had bought at the clinic and was almost empty. She closed the bag up and put everything inside.
She could only think about Jasmine’s mansion. First she sent a text, then she called. There was no response. It was a night of school.
Her stomach was churning. She felt sick to her stomach not just because she was queasy, which she didn’t want to deal with, but also because she was going to be homeless.
She gripped on to herself tighter and looked around the place. There was no noise, and every house was a warm, golden cage of normalcy. The light on the porch behind her went out. Her mom always told it to turn off at a specific time.
That was all.
She wasn’t coming back.
Emily finally gave up attempting to get in touch with Jasmine. She couldn’t type because her fingers were too numb. She went for a walk around 11 p.m. She strolled past the park where she and Carter used to spend time. She walked past the library, where she first looked up “pregnancy symptoms” on Google. It felt like every step was getting heavier.
She didn’t cry. Not yet.
It was five miles to the city’s teen refuge. She had seen it on a poster in class before. “Safe space for kids.” People didn’t ask any questions. “Don’t judge.” That stuck with her.
She was tired and her feet hurt when she got to the shelter. The door was locked, but there was a button to ring. After a minute, a woman with short gray hair opened it and looked her up and down.
“What’s your name?”
“Emily, I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
She thought it would be colder indoors. Not comfortable, but quiet. Donna, the woman, handed her a blanket, a granola bar, and a bottle of water. No chatting. No threats. Emily was in pain in her stomach, so she ate slowly.
That night, she slept in a bunk bed with two other girls: Maya, who was 16 and working on her GED, and Sky, who didn’t say much. They didn’t ask for anything. They obtained it in their own way.
The next day, Donna took her to a little office. “Emily, you’re safe here,” You will be assigned a caseworker. Look after your health. Help with homework. We won’t tell your parents unless you’re in real danger.
Emily said yes.
“Also, I know you’re pregnant,” Donna said in a quiet voice. “We’ll help you with that, too.”
For the first time, Emily felt a little air come back into her lungs.
Emily learnt how to take care of herself during the next few weeks. Angela, her social worker, helped her set up prenatal care, treatment, and enrollment in a local alternative high school where pregnant girls could keep going to school.
Emily worked hard on her academics. She doesn’t want to be known as “the girl who got pregnant at 14.” She wanted to be more than that. For her own good. She also wanted to think about how the baby inside her was doing.
Carter finally texted her around Christmas and said, “I heard you left.” Is that real?
She looked at the screen. She then got rid of the message.
He did know. He just didn’t care enough to come.
By March, her stomach had started to round out. She wore pregnant jeans from the shelter’s clothes closet to school and studied every parenting book in the library. The fear came back on certain evenings. What kind of mother could she be when she was 14?
But there were times during her exam when she could hear the heartbeat or when Sky, who usually didn’t say anything, put a hand on her stomach and smiled. Those were her favorite times.
In May, she stood in front of her alternative school class and gave a final report on how many teens in Ohio were pregnant. She spoke with confidence. What she stated was interesting. It didn’t seem like she had lost everything. She looked like a girl who was working on something new.
Emily’s baby, Hope, was born in July, but she wasn’t with her parents. Instead, she was with Donna, Angela, Maya, and Sky, who were chosen to look after her. Her new family.
She was only 14. She was still afraid. But now she wasn’t alone.
Emily said, “We start from here,” as she held Hope in her arms in the hospital room, which was full of summer sunlight.
