LIVELY

The weight of experience is what ages the young into wisdom. A once naive mind knows only what is prior to the lessons we are told before living through them, with fear cautioning us until we inevitably face it. And suddenly, we change—our innocence is taken from us, and everything feels usual; we become carelessly brave.

How can a 15-year-old tell her parents she's pregnant? What does it feel like for hardworking parents to discover that the future they had been working so hard for has been rewritten by a mistake their daughter made behind their backs?

It was a dreary Saturday in February, a week after I'd used ten pregnancy tests and come to terms with my fate. Clouds shrouded the sky, and rain pattered on our roof as I struggled to concentrate on my math homework at the dining table. My thoughts, however, were consumed with how to reach Aaron Wallace—the only boy I had ever trusted with my body, who had led me into this frightening situation. He seemed to have everything he wanted and more, while I was 15, pregnant, and lost. He was out attending high-profile social events in tailored suits, preparing for a future teeming with opportunities. I still didn't have a phone, and his social media account limited who could message or comment. With his constant inflow of followers, it was safe to assume he wouldn't even notice who added him or who didn't. Trying to get in touch with him was exhausting, especially since I had to use the school computer lab every day just to search for an update on him online, and now since a few times I'd been caught by some boys, it was embarrassing enough to stop going there on lunch breaks or ever.

"Anthony, why is there a pregnancy test in our bathroom?" Mom called out from the bathroom, her voice cutting through the music Dad always played in the kitchen while he cooked.

Dad, barely hearing her, asked, "What?"

My entire body had far stiffened the instant mom's announcement aired out, and my mind raced to come up with lies to get me out of this alive. My parents were no abusers; they were the opposite. But imagine the child you worked hard for, hoping to give them a life you never had, only to find out they have done something that ruins both your plans and their future.

I had planned to take the last used test to the trash after spending half an hour in the bathroom earlier, trying to figure out what to do with my life. I had used it a week ago, and in my distracted state, I set it down on the counter and forgot to throw it away like the rest of the nine I destroyed and flushed through the week. Now, Mom wanted answers I was not ready to accept.

"It's pretty obvious with this seven-month bump that I'm pregnant. I'm throwing it away." Her voice sounded too innocent—or suspicious. She'd thought it was one of Dad's stunts from his unduly excitement of the family having twins on the way.

Dad didn't pick up on what she was saying regarding the object she found. He distractedly hummed in response and went on along with his music, absorbed in dicing onions and other spices for the green salad he was making. The combination of the smell and my anxiety churned the food I had managed to keep down last night, threatening to rise in my throat as my heart jackhammered in its cage.

"Why would you even buy it?" Mom laughed when she returned in her prenatal outfit, checking the fish in the covered bowl Dad had already seasoned, all while my body had lost its color and I felt like passing out.

"Buy what?"

"The digital pregnancy test you left there." she nudged into him as she went about to grab hand gloves from the cabinet and his gaze followed her, confusion forming creases at the corners of his eyes.

"What digital pregnancy test?"

Mom's eyes rolled in disbelief.

Dad clarified, "I have no idea what you're talking about," and, clearly baffled, he shrugged the conversation and went back to chopping vegetables. I began to feel a sense of relief, though the smell grew worse with the fish now open.

"It should go into the oven, but everyone else wants it fried," Mom said, putting on her gloves.

"We can have it roast for you, honey. Right, Bug?" Dad turned to me, seeking my understanding of Mom's situation. Only to find me in my miserable condition. My face was flushed, and nausea gripped my throat, stopping my breath.

Don't! I kept pleading with my body, knowing this would out me, but a tear slipped down my cheek at the choking feeling, causing concern to etch itself on my parents' faces.

"Bug?" Dad called urgently, leaving everything to come to assist me. But my body couldn't hold it any longer. I jolted up and rushed to the bathroom, everything pouring out as if I had food poisoning.

The smell in my face and the sight of the mess I was making made it worse. It was distressing, irritating, and hurting so many muscles from my torso up to my throat.

The silence behind me grew heavier as the two people who had been trying to help me were reduced to one. And spontaneously, came a thunderous thud of the door closing behind me, it was unnerving, bringing with it an unsettling sense of tension.

It seemed that Mom, who had been silent for a while after ceasing her attempts to help me, finally understood the true reason behind my sickness.

Dad tried to comfort me, washing my face and rubbing my back as the pressure on my chest was overwhelming. It hurt—Mom probably having put the puzzle together hurt, everything hurt.

By the time it stopped, I was drained and relented, pulling myself to sit up on the toilet cover with my face in my hands and my throat burning.

"Go get her some water," Dad urged Mom, but the door didn't open. I could sense her presence, she was hesitating.

Unlike Dad, she suspected everything, so I waited for her to ask already.

"Lively, did you buy a pregnancy test?" Her voice was sharp, it could cut.

"What kind of question is that?" Dad snapped, anger in his tone at her accusation of his little bug. His trust in me was so deep it made me cry.

"Let me ask her," Mom retorted, strained with impatient.

"Are you out of your mind? Why would you even associate a child with that?" Dad's anger was palpable. Their argument above my head pains even more.

"You didn't bring in a pregnancy test. I didn't either. I'm seven months due. Who needs confirmation? Tell me! We only have two people in this house who could conceive," Mom shouted at him. It was a rare sound in our house. They don't usually fight.

The room fell silent at the realization. Dad's resignation was the loudest sound in the confined space, breaking my heart. I knew I had to admit it and shatter his heart.

"Bug?" Dad called softly, squatting in front of me and pulling my hands from my teary face.

Seeing the truth in my eyes, he shook his head in denial.

"Who hurt you? Tell me, and I'll deal with them," he immediately assumed, his voice tight with pain.

Did Aaron hurt me? Not physically. Everything was with my consent. I let him. I wanted him. I can't lie on that.

I shook my head weakly at Dad, embarrassed to face my parents with this face of mine. Dad looked at me with eyes full of concern, not judgment. But I couldn't bring myself to look at Mom. She has to hate me. She had to.

"I'm pregnant," I admitted in a shaky, hoarse voice.

"What the hell?" Mom exclaimed, her voice breaking with the strong language we never used at home. But I had done the unthinkable.

"No! No, how? Who?"

Aaron watched me leave and didn't care. I have no access to him now. What do I say? What name should I give? Would it matter?

"I don't know," I whispered from the thought.

"Bug, there has to be a reason. You must have been with someone. Give me a name. Tell me who. You're such a good girl, something had to have happened. Who?"

I wish I could help him save me, protect me, and stand for me, but the name he wants would only hurt him.

"I don't know."

"Were you raped?" Mom asked, her panic evident.

My head shook in a daze, gaze fixed on the white wall in front of me. "No."

"What do you mean 'no'? How can you not know who is responsible for getting you pregnant then? Was a pill slipped into your drink? You don't go to parties based on what we know unless you've been lying to us," she shouted, making my body flinch as I struggled to hold back the sobs rising in my throat.

Distrust, that's how it started.

Dad stood up and held her back from reaching me. "Calm down," he begged.

I shrank, trembling as I searched for signs of hatred and disgust from the two people who had always loved me. If Mom wanted to hit me, I wouldn't be mad at her. I knew I had messed up, I needed someone to tell me that.

Being with a Wallace for someone like me is the most foolish thing to do, at least if it was a regular kid in school, I could confront them, but Aaron is out of my league.

"How can I calm down? She's only 15. Look at her. This is outrageous," Mom said furiously to Dad. But then her gaze turned to me, filled with many emotions—disgust wasn't one of them, but confusion was overpowering. "Tell me now," she demanded, trying to free herself from Dad. A sob escaped my throat.

It was a grandson of the Wallaces, a powerful family with immense influence. If one of them wasn't on your side, they could ruin you. My family? Dad and Mom wouldn't stand a chance against them. Only Aaron could. So until I see him again and he agrees to support me, this is my only secret.

"I don't know."

Mom, frustrated, turned around and tugged at her hair.

Dad, too, was frustrated but wasn't buying my lie. He crouched down to me, his eyes filled with reassurance. "Bug, just give me a name. I will defend you with all my life."

"Dad, I was stupid, like any high school girl. I don't know which one it is," I lied to convince them, selling the story I was a whore.

His mouth fell open in shock, unsure of what to say or believe. In short, I had brought them disappointment and disgrace.

Mom wailed, drawing our attention. She was clutching her stomach and stooped over in pain. Dad rushed to her as she let out a piercing cry and I shot up to my feet.

What is happening?

All I remember is our chaotic drive to the hospital, filled with my mother's intense cries. No one mentioned my case again because this was worse than anything overall, Mom wasn't supposed to be due until three months' time.

Upon our arrival, the nurses moved her to the emergency room. Dad and I waited outside for so long, with him eventually taking me back home to rest because the labor was taking too long. The next morning when he returned to check on me, his eyes were red from crying, which he said was due to lack of sleep, but I am no fool to not see I had hurt them more than anything ever did.

"It was an early labor. The twins are gone." Was what he only said, depletedly collapsing onto my bed with his face in his hands.

This devastated him so much.

I had caused all of this. I had taken so much from them.

***

present

Now six years later, I wasn't going to drag them into another round of suffering caused by Aaron's family.

With all my strength, I ran on insufferable heels through the halls of the lake house with orchestra music vibrating through the walls, eventually bumping into Mom at the entrance, who was carrying my son and his oxygen tank with devoted love even after I had caused her an immense loss.

"Where is Dad?" I asked in a panic, for they were alone.

"What?" She looked confused. "Why? He'll be staying with you until the event is over."

"Okay." I blurted out and started ahead, then it hit me—she said he was staying. Stopping, I turn to her, feeling strained in the dress. "You're leaving?"

"Bubble misplaced his pain relief patches."

My stomach dropped. What? He can't be without those.

"He's in pain?" My voice trembled at the news.

The boy who's usually active, seems asleep in her arm. I know that weakness, the inability to function because every muscle in his body was burning.

I hate my life right now.

"I'll go to a pharmacy. Go to your dad." Mom ordered but I stalled with a tightening chest.

I don't want to leave my son like this, and I owe it to my parents to protect them from the family I brought them to.

With wide eyes, I moved around her to Bubble. His eyes are closed. He was drenched in sweat, his breathing ragged. I don't like this.
"Mom, is he okay?"

"He will be. I will find the nearest pharmacy," she assured.

"Get the car. I'll get Dad and we'll be right outside." I speed towards the door.

"Livy, I've got this," she called after me.

My mind wasn't at ease, nor was it with her. I nodded without truly acknowledging, determined to get Dad out of there before Beaumont found him and before Bubble was hurt too much.