The next few weeks passed in a blur of doctor's appointments, morning sickness, and sleepless nights. Maya's first prenatal visit confirmed what the home tests had already told her—she was approximately six weeks pregnant, with a due date in late March.
The hardest part, they both agreed, would be telling their families.
Maya's parents lived two hours away in a small town where everyone knew everyone's business. Her father, Roberto, was a high school principal with traditional values and high expectations for his only daughter. Her mother, Carmen, was a nurse who'd always dreamed of Maya becoming a doctor. They'd sacrificed so much to help her go to college, to give her opportunities they'd never had.
And now she had to tell them she was pregnant and unmarried at nineteen.
Ethan's situation was different but no less complicated. His parents had divorced when he was twelve, and his relationship with his father was strained at best. His mother, Linda, had raised him and his younger sister mostly on her own, working two jobs to make ends meet. She'd been so proud when Ethan had started college, even if it was just part-time. He was supposed to be the one who made it, who broke the cycle of struggle.
They decided to tell Maya's parents first, driving up on a Saturday morning in Ethan's beat-up Honda Civic. The entire drive, Maya's leg bounced nervously, and Ethan kept one hand on the wheel and one hand holding hers.
"It's going to be okay," he kept saying, though Maya wasn't sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.
Her parents' house looked the same as always—a modest ranch-style home with her mother's carefully tended garden out front. Maya's stomach churned as they pulled into the driveway.
Her mother opened the door before they even knocked, pulling Maya into a tight hug. "Mija! What a wonderful surprise! And Ethan, so good to see you. Come in, come in. I just made coffee."
They settled around the kitchen table, the same table where Maya had done her homework throughout high school, where she'd filled out college applications, where she'd celebrated birthdays and holidays. Her father joined them, shaking Ethan's hand with his usual firm grip.
"So, what brings you two up here?" her father asked, his dark eyes moving between them. "Everything okay with school?"
Maya and Ethan exchanged a glance. They'd rehearsed this moment, but now that it was here, all of Maya's prepared words evaporated.
"Mom, Dad, we need to tell you something," Maya began, her voice shaking. "And I need you to please just... listen before you say anything."
Her mother's smile faded, replaced by concern. "Maya, what's wrong? Are you sick?"
"No, I'm not sick. I'm..." She took a deep breath. "I'm pregnant."
The silence that fell over the kitchen was deafening. Her mother's hand flew to her mouth. Her father's face went completely still, unreadable.
"How far along?" her mother finally asked, her voice barely audible.
"About eight weeks now."
Her father stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "Excuse me," he said tersely, and walked out of the room.
Maya's tears started immediately. Her mother came around the table and wrapped her arms around her. "Oh, mija. Oh, my baby."
"I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry. I know this isn't what you wanted for me. I know I've disappointed you."
"Shh, no. No, you haven't disappointed me. I'm just... surprised. Shocked." Her mother pulled back to look at her. "Are you okay? How are you feeling?"
"Scared. Really scared."
Her mother looked at Ethan, who'd been sitting quietly, his face pale. "And you? What are your intentions here?"
Ethan sat up straighter. "Mrs. Rodriguez, I love your daughter. I'm going to take care of her and our baby. I'm going to do whatever it takes."
"Whatever it takes?" Her father's voice came from the doorway. He'd returned, his face still stern but more composed. "Do you have any idea what it takes to raise a child? Do you have any idea how much diapers cost? Childcare? Medical bills?"
"Dad—" Maya started, but he held up a hand.
"I'm not finished. You're both still children yourselves. You're in school. You're working minimum wage jobs. How exactly do you plan to support a baby?"
Ethan stood up to face him. "I'll work more hours. I'll take on extra shifts. I'll do whatever I need to do. I know this isn't ideal, sir. I know this isn't how you wanted things to happen. But it is happening, and I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to be there for Maya and our baby."
Maya's father studied Ethan for a long moment, and Maya held her breath. Finally, he sighed heavily and sat back down at the table.
"This is going to be hard," he said, his voice softer now. "Harder than you can possibly imagine. Your lives are about to change in ways you can't even comprehend yet."
"We know," Maya said quietly.
"But," her mother added, reaching across the table to take both Maya's and Ethan's hands, "you're not alone. We're here. We'll help however we can."
Her father nodded slowly. "Your mother's right. We're disappointed in the circumstances, but we love you. Both of you. And we'll love this baby too."
The relief that washed over Maya was so intense she started crying again, but this time they were tears of gratitude. Her parents weren't happy about the situation, but they weren't abandoning her either.
They spent the rest of the afternoon talking logistics—Maya would continue school as long as she could, they'd look into state assistance programs, Ethan would talk to his uncle about getting more hours. It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was a start.
Telling Ethan's mother went differently. Linda cried when they told her, but not tears of disappointment—tears of joy mixed with worry.
"A grandbaby," she kept saying, hugging them both. "I'm going to be a grandmother."
But then the practical concerns set in. "Where will you live? Ethan, your apartment is barely big enough for you. And Maya, you have roommates."
"We'll figure it out, Mom," Ethan said, but Maya could hear the uncertainty in his voice.
"You'll move in here," Linda declared. "I'll clear out the spare room. It's small, but it'll work for now."
"Mom, we can't ask you to—"
"You're not asking. I'm offering. You're going to need help, and I want to be there for you. For all of you."
And so it was decided. Maya would move out of her apartment and into Linda's small two-bedroom house. It wasn't ideal—they'd have no privacy, and the room was barely big enough for a bed and a crib—but it was better than trying to afford their own place.