Chapter 1

• "Phone Call"
• "Dylan, why are you taking so long, sweetheart?"
• "Now what, Isabella? Just wait a second. What is the rush?" he asks arrogantly as he drives toward the apartment.
• "I’m sorry! I just really want to see you," Isabella replies, staring at the pregnancy test in her hands, feeling her fingers tremble.
• "I’m almost there. I hope dinner’s ready."
• "Don’t worry, love!" she says, and he hangs up.
• Isabella slowly lowers the phone from her ear and sets it on the dining table. Once again, she looks at the pregnancy test in her right hand. She can’t hold back her tears, she doesn’t even know what she’s feeling. Is it happiness or sadness?
• She quickly sets the table, making sure everything looks perfect. Just as she finishes, she hears the front door close. In a rush, she grabs the pregnancy test and hides it in her cleavage.
• "Alright, tell me now, what was the rush, babe? Smells amazing… I’m starving."
• "Sit down. I really hope you like it. I made something special just for you," she says, leaning in to kiss him.
• "You’re acting weird, Isabella. But fine, I’ll eat, and then you’ll tell me what’s going on. I know you’ve been crying—you can’t lie to me."
• Dylan sits down to eat, and she follows. Isabella takes a deep breath. She has no idea how to tell him or how he’ll react to the news.
• "Aren’t you going to eat?" he asks, noticing she hasn’t taken a single bite.
• Isabella gathers the courage to speak.
• "I’m pregnant!" she blurts out, feeling her heartbeat quicken.
• Dylan stares at her, trying to determine if she’s joking or playing some cruel prank. But no… she’s looking straight at him, waiting for his reaction.
• "What did you just say?" he asks, feeling the blood rush to his head.
• With trembling hands, Isabella pulls the pregnancy test from her cleavage and gently slides it across the table toward him.
• "That’s why my period never came," she says, tears rolling down her cheeks.
• Dylan picks up the test, but instead of showing joy, his face twists with bitterness. Without warning, he hurls it against the wall with force, making Isabella’s nerves skyrocket.
• "What the fuck is wrong with you, Isabella?! How could you be so careless?!" he shouts, spitting out every ounce of rejection for the child that isn’t even born.
• "Please, don’t yell. I’m scared too… but we can get through this together," she rushes to say, trying to calm him down.
• "After everything I gave you. I warned you from the start, “I don’t want kids!" he snaps before grabbing his plate and smashing it to the floor.
• Isabella jumps to her feet, stepping back, fear creeping into her every move.
• "Please, Dylan, calm down," she begs desperately.
• "Calm down?! Let me make this simple for you, Isabella. It’s either that baby or me. I don’t want a bastard in my life. Either you get rid of it, or you pack your shit and leave. Let’s see who’s going to take care of you then!" he shouts, his words dripping with venom, oblivious to the weight they carry.
• At the sound of the word abortion, Isabella’s first instinct is to place her hands over her stomach, shielding the life inside her.
• "You have one hour to make your decision, goddammit!" he spat before storming out of the apartment like a man possessed.
• Isabella broke down, sobs wracking her body as helplessness consumed her. She ran to the bedroom, grabbed her backpack, and stuffed it with a few clothes and personal belongings. Her hands trembled as she reached for the savings she had secretly hidden from Dylan—he never liked her having money.
• Without a second thought, she rushed out of the apartment, the place she had once called home. She had nowhere else to go before, and now, she found herself in the same situation—only this time, she wasn’t alone.
• She ran as fast as she could, not stopping until she reached the bus stop. She needed to get as far away from Dylan as possible, somewhere he couldn’t hurt her or her baby. She didn’t have much money, which was true—but even if she had to beg on the streets, she would never let anyone harm her child.
• California
• The night was cold and desolate. It was 11 p.m. when Isabella finally arrived after a long journey. A bone-chilling wind cut through her, and hunger gnawed at her stomach. She checked what little she had left—thirty-five dollars. Swallowing hard, she couldn’t hold back her tears.
• Fear gripped fear of failing as a mother, of not being able to provide for her baby. She had no job, no family, no stable place to stay. How was she supposed to raise a child?
• Letting out a shaky breath, she scanned her surroundings until she found a bench. She sat down, clutching her bag tightly, silently praying she wouldn’t get robbed. But her stomach growled, her throat was dry, and exhaustion burned in her eyes, demanding rest she couldn’t afford. If she fell asleep, someone could take advantage of her.
• So, she curled up on the bench, holding her bag close, waiting for the sun to rise. She had always believed that every day was different, that each morning brought new challenges but also new opportunities. She had no idea what fate had in store for her, but one thing was certain, her priority now was her child.