I still hear the trapdoor slam behind me, and my uncle’s voice, ice-cold: “Get out. Don’t you dare bring that belly back here.”
The porch light cut through the rain like a spotlight on a crime scene. I stood there with my duffel bag half-zipped, my hands shaking so hard I could barely hold the strap. Inside my coat, my stomach felt tight—too tight—as if my body was trying to protect two secrets at once.
Twins.
The nurse had said it like it was nothing. Two heartbeats. Like I should’ve been celebrating. But my throat had closed up, because I couldn’t even answer the first question everyone asked. Who’s the father?
I didn’t know. Not really.
I knew the bar in downtown Nashville, the sticky floor, the way the music thumped through my ribs, and the way I’d told myself I deserved one night of being someone else. I remembered a smile, a warm hand guiding me outside, an Uber ride that blurred into a hotel hallway. I remembered waking up alone with a headache and a panic I couldn’t name. No full name. No number. No trace except the guilt that followed me home like a shadow.
My aunt, Diane, stepped onto the porch behind my uncle and threw my bag into the yard. It hit the wet grass with a dull thud.
“Shameless,” she snapped, like the word tasted good. “You want to ruin this family’s name? Not under our roof.”
“Please,” I said, hating how small my voice sounded. “I can work. I can pay rent. I just need time.”
My uncle, Frank, didn’t even blink. “Time for what? To trap some guy into paying for your mistake?”
My stomach twisted, and I pressed a palm to it, feeling the faint flutter that had started to feel real. “They’re my babies,” I whispered.
Diane’s face hardened. “Then go figure it out. Somewhere else.”
I stepped off the porch into the rain. It soaked my hair in seconds, slid down the back of my neck, and made everything feel colder than it already was. I walked to the sidewalk because I didn’t want them to see me break. I didn’t want them to hear me cry.
Then my phone buzzed.
A single text lit up the screen from an unknown number.
CALL ME. — ETHAN CROSS
My blood froze.
Because I didn’t remember giving anyone my number.
And I’d never told anyone the only name I’d heard that night—half-mumbled against my ear—was Ethan.
I stared at the screen until the rain blurred the letters. Ethan Cross. It wasn’t just the name—it was the certainty behind it, like whoever sent it already knew I couldn’t ignore it.
My fingers hovered over the call button. A sane person would’ve deleted it. A safer person would’ve called a friend. But I was soaked, homeless, and carrying two lives I hadn’t planned for. I needed answers the way my lungs needed air.
I hit call.
It rang once. Twice. Then a man picked up, his voice low and controlled. “Maya?”
My knees almost buckled. Nobody called me Maya unless they knew me. “Who is this?”
Silence. Then, “It’s Ethan. I’ve been trying to find you.”
My mind flashed to the hotel hallway, the glow of a bedside lamp, the sound of my own laugh—then nothing. “How do you have my number?”
“I didn’t,” he said quickly. “Not until today. I… got it from the clinic.”
My mouth went dry. “The clinic doesn’t give out numbers.”
“I know,” he replied, and that pause—too long—made my skin prickle. “I didn’t get it from a nurse. I got it from someone who shouldn’t have had access.”
My grip tightened on the phone. “Are you stalking me?”
“No.” His voice sharpened, like he’d been holding something back. “Listen to me. I saw your name on a list. A medical billing list. I recognized it—Maya Bennett. I recognized the date. And I—” He cut himself off. “I need to talk to you in person.”
My heart hammered. “Why would you recognize me?”
“Because that night wasn’t an accident,” he said. “Not for everyone.”
The world tilted. “What does that mean?”
“It means someone set it up,” he said, and I could hear the tension in his breathing now. “I didn’t know until recently. But I’ve been trying to track the details, and you’re the missing piece.”
My throat burned. “Missing piece of what?”
“Of a mess,” he admitted. “My family’s mess. And now—if you’re pregnant—” He swallowed. “I need to know if it’s mine.”
I laughed once, bitter and sharp. “Congratulations, Ethan. I’m pregnant with twins.”
A sound like a curse escaped him. “Okay. Okay. Where are you?”
I looked back at the house—at the porch light, at the curtains that hid the people who’d raised me and just threw me away. “Outside,” I said. “In the rain.”
“Stay there,” he ordered. “I’m coming.”
“I’m not meeting a stranger—”
“I’m not a stranger,” he cut in. “And you’re not safe.”
That word landed like a slap. “What are you talking about?”
“My aunt thinks this pregnancy can ruin her,” he said, voice tight. “She’s the kind of person who ‘handles problems.’”
The rain felt suddenly louder. “Who is your aunt?”
His answer was quiet, almost reluctant.
“Diane.”
My aunt’s name.
My stomach dropped so hard I thought I might throw up. “That’s impossible,” I whispered.
“It’s not,” Ethan said. “And if she kicked you out tonight, it’s because she’s already panicking. Maya, you need to trust me for the next ten minutes.”
Headlights turned the corner at the end of the street.
And my phone buzzed again—another message, this time from a blocked number:
DON’T GET IN HIS CAR.
My whole body locked up. Two cars slowed near the curb—one coming from the left, one from the right—like the street had suddenly become a trap with moving walls. I backed up onto the wet grass, the duffel bag heavy in my hand, my other arm instinctively wrapping around my belly.
Ethan’s voice came through the phone, urgent now. “Maya, talk to me. What do you see?”
“Headlights,” I whispered. “Two cars. And I just got a text saying not to get in your car.”
He swore under his breath. “That’s her. Or someone she sent.”
I shook my head, dizzy. “Why would Diane do this? She’s my aunt. She raised me.”
“She raised you,” Ethan said, “because she needed control. She takes in what she can manage and throws away what she can’t.”
The first car rolled closer. The driver’s window cracked open. A man I didn’t recognize leaned out. “Maya Bennett?” he called, like he was checking a delivery label. “You need a ride?”
My stomach clenched. “No,” I said, stepping back. My voice came out stronger than I felt. “No, I’m fine.”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s pouring. Don’t be stubborn.”
Ethan’s car—if it was Ethan—stopped across the street. The door opened and a tall man in a dark jacket got out, hands visible, moving slow like he didn’t want to spook me.
“Maya,” he called. “It’s me.”
I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My mind was screaming that every choice could be the wrong one.
Then Diane’s voice rang out from behind me, sharp as broken glass. “Maya!”
I turned. She was standing on the porch again, robe pulled tight, hair perfectly pinned like this was just another Tuesday. Frank was behind her, arms crossed.
Diane’s smile was small and poisonous. “Honey, come back inside. We can talk like adults.”
Ethan’s jaw tightened when he saw her. “Don’t you touch her,” he said.
Diane’s eyes flicked to him, then back to me. “You see? He’s dramatic. Always has been.” She lifted her chin. “Maya, you don’t know what you’re stepping into.”
Ethan took one step forward. “You mean what you set up.”
Frank barked, “Enough!”
And in that moment, something snapped into place: Diane didn’t look shocked Ethan was here—she looked furious I had options.
I took a slow breath, then another, and did the only logical thing: I didn’t go to anyone’s car. I walked to the center of the street, under the harsh wash of both sets of headlights, and called 911 with shaking hands.
“My name is Maya Bennett,” I told the operator, voice steady despite my heart trying to explode. “I’m pregnant, I’ve been kicked out, and I think someone is trying to force me into a car. I need an officer here now.”
Diane’s smile vanished. Ethan exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for years.
When the police arrived, the stranger’s car drove off too fast. Diane tried to act offended. Frank tried to act innocent. But Ethan stood beside me and told them everything he knew—about the list, about Diane’s connections, about why he believed the pregnancy threatened something bigger than gossip.
That night, I didn’t go back inside. I didn’t get in his car either—not immediately. But I did accept one thing: the truth was finally moving, and it wasn’t going to stop.
If you were in my shoes—pregnant with twins, nowhere to go, and two people calling your name from opposite sides of the street—what would you do next: trust Ethan, cut him off, or confront Diane head-on? Drop your take, because the choice I make after this… changes everything.
