Chapter 5- The morning after her father kicked her out, Lila woke up in Maya’s guest room, wrapped in a quilt that smelled like lavender and safety. The fabric was soft against her cheek, and for a moment, she forgot where she was. The room was unfamiliar but warm, the kind of place where the silence didn’t feel threatening. Then the memories came rushing back—her father’s voice like thunder, the slam of the door, the cold night air on her face. And the test. And the baby. She sat up slowly, one hand resting on her stomach. It was still flat, still hers, but it felt different now. Like it belonged to someone else too. The ceiling fan hummed overhead, stirring the air gently. A framed photo of Maya’s family sat on the dresser—her mom, her dad, Maya, and her little brother, all smiling like they belonged to each other. Their arms were wrapped around one another, their eyes bright with joy. Lila had never seen her own family smile like that. There was a knock at the door. “You awake?” Maya’s voice was gentle, muffled through the wood. “Yeah,” Lila said. Maya peeked in, holding two mugs. “Hot chocolate. With marshmallows. Because coffee is for people who sleep.” Lila managed a small smile. “Thanks.” They sat on the bed, knees tucked under them, sipping in silence for a while. The chocolate was warm and sweet, and the marshmallows melted into soft clouds. Lila wrapped her hands around the mug like it might anchor her. Then Maya asked, “What are you going to do?” Lila stared into her mug. “I don’t know. I don’t have a plan. I don’t even have a toothbrush.” “You have me,” Maya said. “And my mom said you can stay as long as you need. No questions asked.” Lila’s throat tightened. “I don’t want to be a burden.” “You’re not,” Maya said firmly. “You’re family.” The word hit Lila like a wave. Family. Not the kind that shouted or slammed doors. The kind that opened them. Later that day, Ryan came over. He looked like he hadn’t slept—his eyes were red, and his hoodie was wrinkled like he’d pulled it off the floor. But when he saw Lila, he smiled. That crooked, familiar smile that always made her feel seen. “Hey,” he said, stepping into the room. She stood up and walked into his arms. For a long time, neither of them said anything. His embrace was warm and steady, and she let herself lean into it. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I should’ve been there last night.” “You’re here now,” she said. They sat on the floor, knees touching, backs against the bed. Ryan pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket, creased and smudged. “Okay, so I made a list.” “A list?” “Yeah. Of everything we need to figure out. Doctor appointments, school stuff, jobs, money, baby supplies. I even looked up prenatal vitamins.” Lila stared at him. “You made a list?” He shrugged. “I didn’t know what else to do. So I did what I could.” She laughed—a real laugh, the first in days. It bubbled up unexpectedly, light and full. “You’re ridiculous.” “I’m trying to be responsible,” he said, mock-offended. “This is my dad's energy.” “You’re sixteen.” “Exactly. I’m starting early.” They spent the afternoon planning. It was overwhelming—so many unknowns, so many things they didn’t know how to do. They Googled clinics, scribbled notes, argued about stroller brands they couldn’t afford. Maya joined them halfway through with snacks and a highlighter, turning their list into a rainbow of possibility. But for the first time, Lila felt like maybe she could do this. Not alone. Not anymore. That night, after everyone had gone to bed, she sat at the desk in the guest room with a pen and a notebook. The moonlight spilled across the pages like silver ink. She wrote her first letter to Hope. “Dear Hope, Today we made a list. It’s full of things I don’t understand yet—insurance, diapers, pediatricians. But Ryan says we’ll figure it out. And I believe him. I don’t know what kind of world you’re coming into. But I promise I’ll make it one where you’re wanted. Where you’re safe. Where you’re loved. Love, Mom”
