I hear someone suck in their breath. I’m pretty sure it’s my mother. But neither one of them says anything for the longest time.
“You’re pregnant?” Dad asks finally. His voice sounds steady, but I can still hear the disappointment in it. Like this will be the thing that breaks him at last.
“Yes,” I croak. “Almost… almost three months.”
I’m painfully aware of the fact that Mom hasn’t said a word since I made the reveal. “Yes.”
“Three months ago…” he growls, “you were about to walk down the aisle.”
“Darling,” Mom jumps in, her tone rife with a strange combination of desperation and hope, “don’t you see? This was meant to be.”
“You and Dane. You’re clearly meant to be together. Why else would God have blessed you with a child?” she says as if the answer is self-evident. “It’s important
