Jolene

It’s been two weeks since I found out I was pregnant. Nathaniel and I saw the doctor the very next day, and he confirmed what the two pink lines already told me.

 

Three days ago, I had my first ultrasound, and the baby measured at ten weeks.

​

And the moment I saw that tiny flicker of a heartbeat on the screen, the first thing that hit me was that night at Casey’s house. The drinks. The foggy memory. The way I laughed too hard and slept too little.

​

I had a minor panic attack afterward, convinced I’d done something wrong. Nath held my hand the entire time, then drove me straight to the doctor, who gently reassured me that everything looked okay. No bleeding. No cramping. Just... anxiety.

​

But the guilt? That stuck.

​

I feel like I’ve already failed our baby. Nath keeps telling me it’s not my fault as I didn’t know. But I can’t help thinking I should have known. If my life hadn’t been so chaotic, if I hadn’t been running on autopilot, maybe I would have caught on sooner.

​

I push the thoughts aside as I pull away from the curb in front of our house. Casey and I drove down from Kansas City in my car a few days ago, and today I offered to take her back. Nathaniel suggested it might be a good time to talk to her. To finally tell her.

​

She doesn’t know yet.

 

No one does.

​

And I want her to be the first.

​

“Please tell me you’re moving back here,” I say, glancing at her in the passenger seat. She’s watching Bryson in the side mirror as we pull away, her eyes soft but distant.

​

“I don’t know,” she says with a sigh. “I want to, but... I don’t know. I’d have to find a job. A place to live. I can’t stay at Mom and Dad’s while dating Bryson. That’d be a nightmare.”

​

“Why?”

​

“Because we’d either be at his parents’ place or mine, and honestly, I’m getting real tired of having sex in the back of his truck.”

​

I laugh, but the truth stirs in me too. Nathaniel and I need a place of our own. Especially with a baby on the way.

​

“Why not just use your bed like a grown-up? You’re twenty-nine, not a bashful teenager.”

​

“I know,” she groans. “But there’s only one thing worse than hearing Mom and Dad having sex, and that’s knowing they’re hearing me have sex.”

​

“Ugh. Don’t even,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “I heard them once. That was enough to scar me for life.”

​

She shudders dramatically, making us both laugh. “Let’s change the subject. Where’s all your music? Don’t tell me you still keep CDs in here.”

​

“It’s all on Spotify. Way easier.”

​

“You mean to tell me you’ve ditched the Backstreet Boys and Aqua CDs?”

​

“Oh, they’re still here,” I say, flashing her a cheeky grin. “Just updated for the digital age.”

​

We fall into our usual rhythm, talking music, trading throwback favorites. It’s comforting. Easy. For a little while, I almost forget

what’s weighing on me.

​

I love country music, sure—but I’ve always had a soft spot for pop and indie stuff. Amy Shark’s Adore hooked me the first time I heard it. There’s something in her lyrics that feels like it cuts straight through skin.

​

When we reach McAlester, I slow the car and turn into a quiet park.

​

Casey frowns. “Uh... what are we doing?”

​

“Just wait,” I say as I pull into a parking spot facing the swings.

​

I switch off the ignition but don’t move. My seatbelt stays on, and so does the pressure in my chest. “I need to tell you something.”

​

Her hand lands on my arm, steady and warm. “What is it? Is something wrong with you and Nath? I thought you guys were doing great.”

​

“We are,” I say, managing a smile. “More than great. He makes me feel safe. Not in a ‘he completes me’ kind of way, but... like I can breathe easier with him beside me.”

​

She nods, her eyes searching mine. “So what’s going on?”

​

I unclip my seatbelt and step out of the car. “Come sit with me?” I ask, motioning toward the park bench. I don’t wait for her answer—I need the air. The space.

​

But before I can walk away, she reaches out and grips my shoulder.

​

“Hang on. Jo... what is it? You’re scaring me. You’ve been acting off all morning.”

​

I’ve replayed this conversation a thousand times. At night, alone in bed. While brushing my teeth. While staring at the ceiling, wondering what kind of mother I’ll be.

​

I want this baby more than anything. But I don’t want to hurt her. Casey has cried on my shoulder more times than I can count. I’ve always been the strong one, the fixer, the soft place to land.

​

And now, I’m the one about to make her cry.

​

I turn to face her.

​

“I’m pregnant,” I say, the words trembling on my tongue. A tear spills down my cheek. “I’m pregnant... and I didn’t know how to tell you.”

​

Her hand drops from my shoulder. She just stands there, mouth open, but no sound coming out.

​

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” I whisper. “You’re my sister. My best friend. The last person I’d ever want to hurt.”

​

“I’m not hurt,” she says, her voice small but steady. “You just caught me off guard.”

​

A second later, she closes the space between us and wraps her arms around me. “Oh my God. You’re going to be a mom,” she says, voice cracking into a delighted squeal. She hugs me tighter, and this time I let myself lean into it.

​

“I know. Nath and I haven’t told anyone yet. It’s felt kind of... surreal. But now that I’ve told you, it feels real. Finally.”

​

I press my hands over my belly, and a smile pulls at my lips.

​

“I can’t believe you told me first. I thought for sure you’d tell Mom or Caroline first.”

​

I shake my head. “No way. I wanted you to hear it from me. No surprises. No secondhand news.”

​

She looks at me with glassy eyes, then pulls me into another hug. “That big heart of yours is going to make you the best mom.”

​

“I hope so.”

​

“There’s no hoping. I know you will be.”

​

By the time we’re back in the car, my shoulders feel lighter. The weight I’ve been carrying since I first saw those two pink lines doesn’t feel so suffocating anymore.

​

I don’t know what kind of mother I’ll be. I don’t know if I’ll mess up, or if I’ll do it all right.

​

But I know I’m not alone.

​

And for the first time in weeks, that feels like enough.