Ch. Sorry Hayden, I’m Seven Months Pregnant with Another Man’s Baby 65 Sorry Hayden, I’m Seven Months Pregnant with Another Man’s Baby 65

Chapter 7 

I stared at her, confused, unable to process why she was here. Emily Parker lived in our building and went to my school-different class, but close enough that we’d found each other. One of the only friends I had. 

Most kids didn’t want anything to do with me. I was too quiet, too strange. 

We’d been paired up in gym class once because no one else wanted either of us, and somehow, we just 

stuck. 

Then her parents found out about Mom’s depression, about the bruises. They told Emily to stay away from 

After that, we’d sneak hellos in the hallway and pass notes when the teachers weren’t looking. She knew 

more about my life than anyone. 

Mrs. Parker stood in the doorway with Emily, and the second she saw Mom, she yanked Emily behind her like 

Mom might lunge at them. 

“We’re not coming in. Emily, say what you came to say, and then we’re leaving.” 

I knew what was coming. I lunged at Emily, trying to cover her mouth. 

My hands went right through her-she was a ghost to me. All I could do was watch her say the things I’d 

begged her never to tell anyone. 

“Tommy Miller did it. Him and his friends from St. Mary’s.” 

The moment the words left Emily’s mouth, Mrs. Parker yanked on her arm. Emily resisted, planting her feet. Something shifted in her, and she turned back. 

“And Mr. Fletcher downstairs! He made Lily-” 

“Enough!” Mrs. Parker’s hand clamped over Emily’s mouth. 

She turned to my parents, her voice cold with warning. “We’ve said our piece. Our conscience is clear. But if anyone finds out Emily was here, if her name gets mentioned, we don’t want any trouble. Do you 

understand?” 

Emily hadn’t finished, but Mom and Dad had heard enough. 

Mom’s face crumpled. She fell against Dad, and the sound that came out of her was something I’d never 

heard before-raw, broken, and animal. 

“It’s my fault. This is all my fault. I didn’t protect her. I didn’t even see-” 

Dad’s shoulders shook. He made a sound like something had been torn out of him. 

He was carrying it too-all that guilt, all that blame. Everyone in the building knew about us by then-the 

depressed mother who beat her kid. 

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They all knew I was the kid nobody wanted. Tommy’s parents had money, connections. He knew he could get 

away with anything, especially when it came to kids like me. 

They’d pin me down, pressing lit cigarettes to my arms, laughing so hard they could barely breathe. Made me 

eat things they’d thrown on the ground and stomped on. 

Stabbed me with needles they found in the trash. The pain was one thing; the humiliation was another. 

But I never told Mom or Dad. 

If Mom saw me crying, she’d lose it. “Stop that right now! You come home looking like someone died every 

single day-it’s pathetic!” 

Dad didn’t want to face it either. “Go to your room if you’re gonna cry. Don’t bring everyone else down with 

you.” 

I learned to keep my mouth shut about what Tommy and his friends did to me. 

The nights Mom locked me out, I’d run into Mr. Fletcher. He’d give me candy, wipe my tears. 

He was kinder than Dad had ever been to me. He said it was too cold to wait outside and brought me to his 

apartment to warm up. 

I called Dad on my smartwatch once, scared, begging him to come get me. 

Dad’s voice came through tinny and distant. “Just wait it out, Lily. Your mom needs time to cool off. You can 

come back up soon.” 

Mr. Fletcher heard the whole thing. He took my hand and led me inside. 

His apartment was dark. I did what he told me to. 

Dad had told me to endure it. That if I was patient, I could go home. 

I kept my eyes shut tight, letting him do things I didn’t understand-things that felt wrong. 

I looked at Mom and Dad, watching them fall apart. They were hitting themselves, tearing at their hair, 

pounding their fists against their chests. 

The sounds coming from them were pure anguish. 

I tried to wipe my face, but the tears wouldn’t stop. This wasn’t what I wanted. 

I’d been right to hide it. They couldn’t handle the truth. 

Their pain scared me more than anything Tommy had done, more than what Mr. Fletcher had made me do. 

That’s why I never said anything. 

So why did knowing make everything so much worse? 

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