The morning began like any other. I stood in the kitchen, staring at the pregnancy test trembling in my hands—two pink lines. Pregnant. Again.
For a brief moment, I felt joy. A baby is a blessing, right? But that feeling quickly gave way to panic. How were we supposed to manage this?
Mark was already worn thin working as a janitor, and my nanny salary barely kept us afloat. Our son, Leo, had just turned seven and needed new shoes. The car was making those familiar, worrisome noises again—repairs we couldn’t afford.
Mark sat in the living room, tying the laces on his worn-out boots, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of another long day.