Chapter 3 The Reckoning

Elena's POV

The pregnancy test sat on the bathroom sink like an accusation.

Two pink lines. Clear as day. Damning as hell.

I'd taken three tests. All positive. All staring at me with the same unforgiving certainty.

My hands shook as I gripped the edge of the sink.

The porcelain was cold beneath my palms, grounding me when the world tilted sideways. In the mirror, a stranger looked back—pale, hollow-eyed, terrified.

This can't be happening.

But it was. Four weeks since graduation. Four weeks since that night.

Four weeks of telling myself the nausea was stress, the exhaustion was job hunting, the missed period was just my body being difficult like always.

I was an idiot.

The bathroom door rattled. "Elena! How long are you going to hide in there?"

Viviana's voice cut through the wood like a blade.

I scrambled, shoving the tests into my jacket pocket, flushing the toilet for effect.

"Coming," I called, hating how my voice cracked.

I splashed cold water on my face, steadied my breathing. I could do this.

I just had to get through breakfast, then I'd figure out what to do. There had to be options. There had to be—

The door swung open.

Viviana stood there, designer robe cinched tight, perfectly styled hair, eyes sharp as a hawk's.

Behind her, the hallway stretched toward the kitchen where my father pretended to read his newspaper and her children laughed over their eggs.

"You look terrible," she said flatly.

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You've been sick every morning for a week." Her gaze raked over me, clinical and cold. Then her eyes narrowed. "What's in your pocket?"

My heart stopped.

"Nothing."

"Show me."

"It's nothing, I—"

She moved faster than I expected, snatching at my jacket.

I jerked back, but she was already pulling out one of the tests, and the look on her face shifted from suspicion to disgust so quickly I almost didn't catch it.

"You stupid, stupid girl."

The words hit like a slap.

She held up the test like evidence at a trial, two pink lines facing me like tiny executioners. "Is this what I think it is?"

I couldn't speak. Couldn't move.

"Answer me!" Her voice rose, sharp enough to carry down the hall. Footsteps paused in the kitchen. "Are you pregnant?"

The word hung in the air, ugly and final.

I forced myself to nod.

For a moment, Viviana just stared. Then she laughed—cold, bitter, without humor. "Of course. Of course you are. I should have known. The moment you graduated, the moment you had even a shred of freedom, you throw it all away on some—" She stopped herself, jaw tight. "Who's the father?"

"I don't—"

"Don't lie to me."

"I don't know." The admission burned my throat. "It was one night. I don't... I don't know his name."

The silence that followed was worse than shouting.

Viviana's expression twisted into something close to pity, but colder. "You don't even know his name," she repeated slowly. "My God, Elena. Even I gave you more credit than that."

Shame flooded through me, hot and suffocating.

"Does your father know?"

I shook my head.

"Well." She smoothed her robe, composed herself with the precision of someone who'd practiced controlling her reactions her entire life. "He's going to. And then you're going to fix this."

"Fix—?"

"Get rid of it." She said it so casually, like she was suggesting I return a dress that didn't fit. "There are clinics. I'll pay for it. Quietly. Then we can all move on and pretend this never happened."

The world tilted again.

Get rid of it. Like it was a problem. A mistake. An inconvenience.

"I..." I pressed a hand to my stomach—flat still, no sign of the life growing inside. But it was there. Real. "I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both."

Viviana's eyes went flat. "Then you're on your own."

"What?"

"You heard me." She stepped back, putting distance between us like I was contagious. "I've put up with you for years, Elena. Your father's guilt project. The ghost of his first wife haunting my house. But I'm done. If you're stupid enough to keep this baby, you do it somewhere else."

Panic clawed up my throat. "You can't just—"

"I can. And I will." She turned, already walking away. "Pack your things. You have until tonight."

"Wait—" I followed her into the hallway, desperation making me bold. "Please, I just need a little time to figure things out, I'll get a job, I'll—"

"Tonight, Elena." She didn't even look back. "And if you're still here when I get home, I'm changing the locks."

She disappeared into the kitchen. I heard her voice, calm and controlled: "Elena's leaving. Family emergency."

My father said nothing. Of course he didn't.

I stood in the hallway, the pregnancy test still clutched in my shaking hand, and felt the ground fall out from under me.

---

By six o'clock, everything I owned fit into two suitcases and a backpack.

It wasn't much. Clothes, books, my laptop, a framed photo of my mother I'd hidden in my closet where Viviana couldn't throw it away.

The essentials of a life that had never really belonged here anyway.

I'd called my grandmother's old house—the one she'd left me in her will, the one Viviana had been furious about because "Elena didn't deserve it." It had been sitting empty for a year, waiting for me to be brave enough to claim it.

Guess I was brave now. Or desperate. Hard to tell the difference.

The taxi pulled up as the sun set, casting long shadows across the pristine lawn.

I loaded my bags into the trunk, my hands mechanical, my mind numb.

I didn't say goodbye. No one came to see me off.

As we pulled away, I looked back once.

The house stood there, lit from within, warm and golden and completely untouchable.

Inside, they were having dinner. Laughing, probably. Relieved I was gone.

My father never came to the door.

I turned forward, pressed a hand to my stomach again.

"You still there?" I whispered.

No answer. Of course not. Too early for that.

But I felt it anyway—the weight of responsibility, of choice, of consequence. This tiny, impossible thing that had just cost me everything.

"It's just us now," I said softly.

The taxi driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror but said nothing.

Grandmother's house appeared through the trees—small, ivy-covered, desperately in need of repair. But it was mine. The only thing in the world that was truly mine.

I paid the driver with the last of my savings, dragged my bags up the cracked front steps, and unlocked the door.

Inside, dust motes danced in the fading light. The furniture was covered in sheets. Everything smelled like lavender and old memories.

I dropped my bags, sank onto the covered couch, and finally let myself cry.

Not because I was scared—though I was.

Not because I was alone—though I was that too.

But because for the first time in my life, I'd made a choice. A real choice. Not what Viviana wanted. Not what my father expected. Not what was safe or smart or easy.

I'd chosen this baby. This life. This terrifying unknown.

And God help me, I was going to survive it.

Outside, the last light faded. The house creaked and settled around me.

I wiped my eyes, stood up, and started unpacking.

There was work to do.