“Like what?”
Her mother stops.
The evening light catches Janey’s face, and though her cheeks are wet now, her eyes are clearer and sharper than I've ever seen them.
“Say it,” she whispers. “Say what you think I look like.”
Eleanor’s mouth tightens. “I think you look confused.”
“No. That isn’t what you were going to say.”
“Janey,” her father murmurs.
“No, Dad. Please.” Her voice breaks, but she doesn’t back down. “Please don’t make this easier for her.”
The horses shift behind us at the rail, sensing tension. Somewhere inside the house, our dinner simmers on the stove, fragrant and forgotten. The whole world seems to narrow to the porch and the woman standing on it, trembling but still upright, holding her ground despite a lifetime of pressure.
Eleanor folds her arms. “Fine. I think you look like a woman throwing her life away.”
Janey closes her eyes.
Mason curses softly under his breath. I turn my head to watch Janey’s face as she opens her eyes again. Her features harden and I brace for her strength to reveal itself now, when she needs it most.
“My life,”Janey says. “Not yours.”
Her mother recoils as if slapped.
Janey descends another step. Mason and I both shift back at once, giving her room. She stands one step above us now, with Mason on her left and me on her right.
Her father stares at her hand.
At the way it rests over her belly.
His face changes first, and Eleanor notices it a heartbeat later.
The color drains from her cheeks. “No.”
Janey’s breathing hitches.
“No,” Eleanor repeats, sharper now. “Janey Marie, tell me you’re not pregnant.”
For one unbearable moment, Janey looks at me, her eyes bright with tears. I cup her cheek in my big palm, letting her know that I’m here, whatever she decides to say. She turns to Mason and he takes her hand in his, squeezing it gently. From the outside, maybe it looks like she’s asking permission, but she isn’t. She doesn’t need us to confirm we want this baby. She knows. She isn’t asking us to step in. She’s stronger than she gives herself credit for. This pause is the last thread tying her to the life she was taught to want enough to compromise everything for.
Then she lets it go.
Janey turns back to her parents. “I’m pregnant.”
Her father makes a sound like the air has been knocked from his lungs. “Honey…”
Eleanor presses a hand to her mouth, then drops it as quickly. “Whose is it?”
Janey’s shoulders draw inward. The old fear rises in her. The instinct to apologize. To smooth herself down into a more acceptable shape. To make herself fit so no one else feels uncomfortable.
I wish I could tell her I would carry this part for her. That I would take the judgment, the shame, and the fury. All of it. But love isn’t about taking her voice away. Love is standing next to her while she finds it.
“I don’t know.”
Eleanor goes utterly still. Janey’s father closes his eyes.
