CELESTE
It's been months.
Somehow, ninety days can feel like a lifetime. The sharp edges of the panic have dulled, replaced by a weird, numb acceptance. This is my life now. Waking up in Maya's guest room, the smell of her coffee drifting under the door instead of our housekeeper's.
And the bump.
I was pulling on one of Maya's looser sweaters when she popped her head in. Her eyes immediately dropped to my stomach and a huge, ridiculous grin spread across her face.
"Whoa there, mama. Someone's saying hello to the world this morning."
I tried to scowl, I really did. But the pure, unfiltered joy on her face was infectious. I looked down. She was right. The small, firm curve was undeniable now, stretching the soft fabric of the sweater. My sweatpants were definitely feeling tighter.
I huffed, crossing my arms over it. "It's not that obvious."
Maya just laughed, coming in to poke it gently. "It is! And it's adorable. You're literally growing a whole person in there. That's the coolest, weirdest thing ever." She mimed a little kick. "Hey there, little roomie. Your Auntie Maya is gonna teach you all the best bad words."
I finally broke, a real laugh bubbling out of me. With Maya, it doesn't feel like a scandal. It feels… almost normal. Like this is just something exciting we're doing together.
But the feeling didn't last.
Walking across the NYU campus later, the normalcy evaporated. My sweater didn't feel so loose anymore. It felt like a neon sign. I kept my arms crossed, my folder held like a shield over my stomach.
I could feel the stares. They weren't all mean. Some were curious. Some were just quick, surprised glances. But each one felt like a tiny pinprick. I saw a girl from my economics seminar do a double-take, her eyes widening before she quickly looked away, whispering to her friend.
I know, I wanted to say. I know what you see. The Lawson disgrace. The girl who messed up.
My face felt hot. I kept my head down, focusing on the cracks in the pavement. What could I do? This was my life now. The proof was right there, growing under my ribs for everyone to see. There was no hiding it.
I just had to keep walking. One foot in front of the other. Through the stares, through the whispers, through the heat in my cheeks.
Such was my life.
The walk home from campus felt longer than usual. A cold, drizzling rain had started to fall, misting my hair and beading on my jacket. I hunched my shoulders, trying to disappear into myself, my mind already back at Maya's warm, safe couch.
Then I saw it.
A massive digital billboard, glowing like a beacon through the grey drizzle. It was sleek, modern, and utterly infuriating. LAWSON TECH LTD. it proclaimed in stark, elegant letters. Below it, smiling like he owned the world—and he basically did—was my brother, Chris. The heir. The chosen one. The caption underneath read: "Forging the Future. The Next Generation of Leadership."
A hot wave of irritation, sharp and bitter, shot through me. There he was, pristine and perfect, plastered fifty feet tall for all of Manhattan to see. Meanwhile, his sister—the other half of his "next generation"—was trudging through the rain in Brooklyn, soaked and pregnant, with exactly $47.32 to her name.
The hypocrisy of it was a physical ache. The future they were forging clearly didn't include me or my child. I just stood there on the sidewalk, staring up at his smiling face, feeling smaller and more invisible than ever.
And then, as if the universe decided I hadn't had enough, a black town car sped through a deep puddle right next to the curb.
I didn't even have time to flinch.
A wave of icy, brown, gritty water crashed over me. It soaked through my jeans, drenched my jacket, and splattered across my face. I stood there, frozen in shock, dripping mud and filthy water.
For a single, crystal-clear second, there was only the sound of the car driving away and the cold, shocking wetness seeping into my skin.
I looked down at myself. I was a mess. A complete and utter mess.
I looked back up at the billboard. At Chris's perfect, dry, smiling face.
A sound escaped me—a choked half-sob, half-laugh of pure, utter frustration. Of course. Of course this would happen. The universe had a really, really stupid sense of humor.
Tears of self-pity mixed with the rain and mud on my cheeks. I was cold, I was filthy, I was broke, and I was alone on a street corner with a giant reminder of everything I'd lost staring down at me.
I took a shaky breath, wiped my muddy face with an even muddier sleeve, and kept walking. What else could I do?
I pushed open the door to Maya's brownstone, a dripping, muddy mess. The warmth of the house hit me, but it did little to thaw the cold knot of anxiety in my chest.
All I could think about, on that entire miserable walk, was the math. A terrifying, impossible equation: NYU tuition + diapers + formula + rent.
The numbers swirled in my head, each one a heavier weight than the last.
Maya was on the couch, sketching in a notebook. She looked up, and her eyes went wide. She dropped her pencil.
"Whoa. Celeste?" she said, a slow grin spreading across her face. "Why do you look like shit? Did you decide to take up mud wrestling on the way home?"
I just stood there in the entryway, water and bits of dirty brown slush pooling around my shoes. I tried to smile back, to play along, but my lip trembled. The joke, usually so comforting, just made me want to cry.
"A car… a puddle…" I mumbled, my voice thick. I shrugged off my ruined jacket, my movements slow and defeated. "And the billboard. The stupid Lawson Tech billboard with Chris's stupid face…"
Maya's smile faded instantly. She was off the couch in a second, coming over to me. "Oh, honey. Come here, let's get you cleaned up." She started helping me out of the wet layers, her touch gentle.
The kindness broke the last of my resolve. The words tumbled out, choked and panicked. "Maya, how am I going to do this? How? My scholarship doesn't cover everything. I have to work, but who's going to hire me like this?" I gestured vaguely at my now-visible bump. "And then after… with a baby? I can't… the numbers don't work. They just don't."
I was spiraling, my breath coming in short hitches. I was shivering from more than just the cold.
Maya guided me to the couch and wrapped a blanket around my shoulders. She knelt in front of me, her expression serious now, all traces of the joke gone.
"Hey. Look at me. We will figure it out. I promise. We'll get creative. There are options. I have some money saved, and—"
The doorbell rang, sharp and insistent, cutting her off.
We both froze. Nobody ever rang the bell. It was always a knock, usually a delivery person.
Maya frowned, getting to her feet. "Who on earth…?"
She went to the door and peered through the peephole. Her body went still. I saw her shoulders tense.
She turned back to look at me, her face pale, all the color drained from it. Her eyes were wide with something that looked an awful lot like shock.
"Celeste," she said, her voice a hushed, disbelieving whisper. "You need to see this."