Amelia’s POV

The lock clicked open louder than I meant it to, echoing in the quiet of the apartment. I slipped inside barefoot, heels dangling from my hand, praying Cecilia would still be asleep. My stomach was a knot, my head a carousel. The cool air was thick with her vanilla candles, soft and sweet, almost forgiving. I let out a slow breath through my nose, I didn’t want questions, I didn’t want laughter, and I didn’t want to talk about last night at all.

But she was there, of course she was there, perched on the couch with a blanket around her shoulders, hair in a chaotic bun, scrolling her phone like she owned the silence.

Her head lifted at the sound of the door. “Amelia?” Surprise flashed in her eyes. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you since last night.”

“My phone died,” I muttered, my voice more gravel than sound.

She stood, wrapping the blanket tighter. “I was starting to get scared, I thought you ran off with that guy and…” her pause was sharp “…got kidnapped.”

I angled toward the hallway, desperate for escape, but her gaze snapped downward, locking on my dress.

Her mouth fell open. “Oh my God.” A whisper, theatrical and breathless. “No way, Amelia, you slept with him, didn’t you?”

Heat flared across my face like a spotlight, I clenched my jaw and moved to sidestep her.

“You did!” she gasped. “Amelia Moore, one-night stand, this is history.”

“Stop.” My voice cracked raw, not playful. “Please, just stop.”

Her teasing faltered, she blinked, studied me closer, saw the cracks. “You had a bad night?”

I didn’t answer, I couldn’t, my throat was tight enough to strangle the words. I walked past her, my eyes already stinging, every step felt like dragging chains. I’d never felt so dirty. Never felt so not-me. I didn’t even remember all of it, I didn’t know if we’d used protection. Shame washed through me in waves until I could barely breathe.

“Amelia,” Cecilia’s voice softened behind me, “Hey, are you okay?”

“Please just let me shower,” I whispered, and slipped into the bathroom, locking the door.

The mirror didn’t lie, tangled red curls. Puffy green eyes rimmed raw, mascara smeared like bruises, I looked broken, hollow. Not sexy, not powerful, just wreckage.

I stripped and stepped into the scalding water, let it burn, let it sear off his hands, his mouth, the memory of being wanted in a way that felt like possession. Too good, too wrong, the contradiction made me want to claw at my skin.

I threw up once, bile burning my throat, then I just stood there, water pounding until my body gave up and sagged against the tile.

When I finally crawled out, wrapped in a towel, Cecilia was waiting on my bed. Her face had shifted, no teasing now, only worry.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to make fun of you, I didn’t know.”

I curled onto the mattress, knees to chest, silent.

She nudged my shoulder. “We’ve all done impulsive stuff, you're not dirty, you're just human.”

Her words didn’t erase the shame, but the quiet did, sitting beside me, not pushing, not laughing, just there.

Eventually, she exhaled. “So, rent, I got paid today, but I can only cover half, I’m sorry.”

Guilt stabbed sharper than her jokes ever did. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “I’ll look for jobs today, anything.”

She nodded. “Want me to bring food when I get back?”

My lips twitched toward a smile. “Fries?”

She smiled back. “Fries.”

When the door shut behind her, I opened my laptop. Job postings blurred together: Starbucks, retail, babysitting. I clicked one after another until my brain felt numb. At some point, I wandered into a news article about organized crime, mafia names scrolling across my screen like shadowed royalty: Rossi, Costa, Moreno…

Moreno, supposedly one of the most powerful, rich, untouchable, was a world away from mine.

I closed the tab, I wasn’t interested in criminals, I needed survival, not fantasies.

But his voice, the way he’d called me bella slipped back in anyway, uninvited. I shut my eyes hard, swore to myself it was just one night, just one mistake.

And then, a miracle, after two days, I landed a part-time barista job at a tiny café two blocks away, not glamorous, not much, but it was something. My first breath of stability in months, I clung to it, told myself life was finally softening.

For two weeks, I believed it and smiled again. Put my hair in that ponytail Cecilia swore made me look like a porcelain doll. For once, things seemed to be coming up for me.

Until the mornings started.

First, nausea, then waves of it, sometimes before I even opened my eyes. I blamed the smell of coffee, stress, and fatigue, anything but what I feared.

But fear grew louder.

One morning I nearly threw up in the sink, my chest pounded with the thought I didn’t dare name. At lunch, I slipped into a pharmacy, bought a test, and buried it deep in my bag like contraband.

Back home, locked in the bathroom, my hands shook so violently I could barely open the box. The ticking clock and the faint soap smell felt like sirens.

I sat down, breathing shallow. Whispered to myself, One line. Just one line. Please, God, one line.

Minutes stretched like hours, then…

Two.

Two lines, bright and undeniable.

The world went silent, my vision blurred, my lips trembled, tears welled up hot until I couldn’t see the test anymore, but I didn’t need to, I knew.

His face, his accent, his hand at my waist, all of it replayed, sharpened now into consequence.

I slid to the floor, knees to chest, whispering no, no, no like a mantra against the universe. Abortion flashed across my mind like lightning, could I? Could I live with it? And if not… what then? A single mother at twenty-two. A café paycheck, no degree, no partner. My father’s disgust, my mother’s tears, the stares of strangers.

The shame weighed heavier than fear.

I cried until my chest hurt, until my breath came in frantic gasps. Until the test slipped from my hands and clattered to the tile.

At some point, I heard the apartment door, Cecilia’s footsteps. Her voice is calling my name, a knock at the bathroom door.

“Amelia?”

I wiped my face, croaked, “I’m okay.” My voice betrayed me on the last word.

Silence, then gently: “Can I come in?”

I opened the door with trembling fingers, and she stood there with a grocery bag, her eyes dropping instantly to the test in my hand.

Her breath caught. “Oh my God.”

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but cry, holding the test between us like proof of my undoing. Two pink lines, brighter than any future I could imagine.

Because gosh, everything had changed.

Cecilia didn’t rush forward, she didn’t gasp again, she just stood frozen in the doorway, her hoodie sleeve bunched in her fist, her eyes locked on the test.

The silence between us stretched until it felt unbearable. Finally, she whispered, “How far along do you think?”

“I don’t know.” My voice broke on the words, my throat was too tight.

She stepped closer, cautiously, like I might shatter if she moved too fast. “Is it… is it his? From that night?”

I didn’t answer, I didn’t need to, my silence was enough.

Her mouth parted, but no words came. She reached out slowly, hesitated, then gently took the test from my shaking hand and set it on the counter like it was fragile. Her hands lingered there, braced on either side of the sink.

“You’re sure?” she asked quietly, almost pleading.

I shook my head. “I took it once. I—I didn’t want to see it twice, I can’t.”

Cecilia exhaled, long and shaky, then crouched down in front of me. She was so close now that I could see the freckles dusting across her tired face. Her voice was soft, careful. “Okay, we’ll figure this out, you're not alone in this.”

My chest caved at that, the tears I’d been holding back broke free again. I pressed my palms over my eyes. “I can’t do this, I can’t, I’m broke, I don’t even know his last name, God, Ceci, I don’t even remember everything that happened that night, I don’t even know if he…” My voice trailed into silence, sharp with shame.

Her arms came around me, firm and steady, anchoring me to the ground. “Hey, stop, don't do that to yourself, you didn’t ask for this.”

“But it happened,” I choked out against her shoulder. “It’s real.”

“I know.” She rubbed my back in slow circles, her voice firm but kind. “And you’re scared, that’s normal, but you are not broken, Amelia, you are not disgusting, you're in shock.”

Her words wrapped around me, but the panic was still there, clawing. “My dad will kill me. My mom will, God, I don’t even want to think about it, I can’t tell them, I can’t tell anyone.”

“Then don’t, not yet,” she said. “You don’t owe anyone the truth until you’re ready. Right now, you only need to take the next step, just one, not the whole staircase.”

Her calmness rattled me more than her teasing ever could. I pulled back to look at her, my eyes burned. “What if I can’t do it? What if I… I can’t be a mom?”

“Then you don’t have to be,” Cecilia said simply, though her eyes softened with the weight of it. “You have choices, none of them is easy, but you’re not trapped, you hear me? You’re not trapped.”

The word choices hovered heavily between us.

I wanted to believe her, wanted to believe there was a way out of this suffocating loop of panic, but my mind kept circling the same nightmare, me, broke and alone, holding a baby I wasn’t ready for, a baby tied to a man whose name I didn’t even know.

Cecilia squeezed my hands. “Promise me you won’t go through this by yourself. Whatever you decide, I’m with you, even if you hate yourself, even if you scream at me, I’m not going anywhere.”

Something in my chest cracked. The tears came hot and relentless, and I let her pull me into another hug, let myself fold into her steadiness.

For the first time since I saw those two pink lines, I didn’t feel destroyed. Still shattered, yes, but not alone in the ruins.

And in that fragile silence, with Cecilia holding me like I was worth saving, I realized I had no idea what came next.

Only that everything from here on out would never be the same.