Harper’s POV
Ethan's mom is nothing like mine, and the contrast hits me the moment she walks through the door.
She arrives with homemade tamales and a smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes, pulling me into a hug before I can process that she's here. Her hands are rough from years of work, her clothes simple but clean, and when she pulls back to look at me, recognition floods her weathered face.
"Harper." She cups my face the same way she did when I was seventeen, sneaking into her kitchen after Ethan's games. "Mija, look at you—so beautiful, just like I remember."
"Mrs. Reyes." My voice catches unexpectedly. "It's been a long time."
"Too long." She squeezes my cheeks gently, eyes glistening. "When Ethan told me you two found each other again, I cried for an hour. I always knew you were the one for him—even after everything, I never blamed you for the breakup because I knew my son was hiding something." She shakes her head slowly. "Thank you for giving him another chance."
Dinner is loud and warm and completely foreign to everything I grew up with—no silent courses served by staff, no polite small talk about investments. Maria talks with her hands, laughs at her own jokes, and keeps piling food onto my plate no matter how many times I insist I'm full.
"He was so skinny as a child," she tells me, gesturing at Ethan with her fork. "I used to worry he would blow away in the wind, but now look at him—my baby, going to the NBA."
"Mom." Ethan groans, but he's smiling in that soft way he only does around her. "You're embarrassing me."
"It's a mother's job." She squeezes his hand, eyes shining with tears she doesn't hide. "I'm so proud of you, mijo. All those years of sacrifice—you made it."
The love between them fills the room with warmth I've never experienced in my own family. I watch Ethan soften under his mother's attention, and something bittersweet twists in my chest.
"And you." Maria turns to me, her hand finding mine. "I'm so glad he found you again—he was so lost after high school, throwing himself into basketball like he was running from something. But now look at him, happy and in love." She pauses, and her next words land like a blow. "I can't wait for grandkids someday. This family deserves more joy."
The word grandkids slices through every defense I've built over three years. My vision blurs, my breath catches, and suddenly I'm drowning in memories I've tried so hard to bury. Grandkids. Family. Joy. I already took that from him once, and he doesn't even know.
"Excuse me." I push back from the table, voice strangled. "Bathroom—I'll be right back."
I make it to the hallway before the first sob escapes. The bathroom door closes behind me and I slide down to the cold tile, three years of buried grief crashing over me in waves.
The positive test haunts me still—two lines appearing like a death sentence while I sat alone on a gas station bathroom floor. Eighteen years old, six weeks after he left, completely and utterly alone in my terror. The clinic two hours from home because I couldn't risk anyone recognizing me, and Monica in the waiting room, holding my hand, the only person who knew my secret. The silence after stretched for months, an emptiness that settled into my bones and never quite left no matter how hard I tried to fill it.
I press my hand to my mouth, muffling the sobs that tear through me. His mother is out there talking about grandchildren, about joy, about the future, and she has no idea that future already existed once—that I ended it alone in a sterile room while her son was three states away, believing he'd done the right thing by leaving.
A knock on the door makes me flinch violently. "Harper?" Ethan's voice comes through, thick with concern. "You okay?"
"Fine." I force the word out while wiping my face frantically. "Just need a minute."
I splash water on my face, rebuild the mask piece by piece, and return to dinner with a smile that feels like broken glass cutting my cheeks. Maria doesn't seem to notice anything wrong—she's too busy showing me baby photos of Ethan on her phone, cooing over his chubby cheeks and tiny basketball jersey.
By the time she leaves, pressing kisses to both our cheeks and making us promise to visit soon, I'm hollow and empty, running on nothing but the desperate need to keep the truth locked inside where it can't hurt anyone else.
Ethan closes the door behind her and turns to face me in the sudden silence. The apartment feels too quiet now, the absence of Maria's warmth making the air feel thick and heavy.
"Harper." His voice is careful, measured, like he's approaching a wounded animal. "Talk to me. Please."
"I'm fine, Ethan."
"You've been saying that for weeks and it's never been true." He crosses to where I'm standing, his hands finding my shoulders with desperate gentleness. "Something happened in that bathroom, and something's been happening since Seattle came up. I can't help you if you won't let me in."
The words build in my throat, choking me with their weight. I've held this secret for three years—through the grief, through the healing, through every relationship that failed because I couldn't let anyone close enough to see the scar.
"Six weeks after you left me." The words come out broken, barely audible. "I found out I was pregnant."
Ethan goes completely still, his hands freezing on my shoulders, his breath stopping mid-inhale like I've punched him in the chest.
"I was eighteen, terrified, alone." Tears stream down my face but I force myself to keep going because I've started now and I can't stop. "You were gone—you made it clear you didn't want me. And I didn't know what to do, so I went to a clinic two hours from home. Monica drove me and sat in the waiting room while I..."
I can't finish the sentence, but I don't have to—his face tells me he understands.
His expression cycles through emotions too fast to track—shock, horror, grief, something that looks like his heart shattering in real time. His hands drop from my shoulders and he takes a step back, staring at me like he's seeing a stranger wearing my face.
"I couldn't tell you." The words pour out now, unstoppable and raw. "You broke up with me in front of everyone and said I was a distraction. I thought you hated me, thought everything we had was a lie, so I handled it by myself."
He still doesn't speak, and the silence is unbearable, pressing down on my chest until I can barely breathe.
"I'm telling you now because you're about to move across the country for your dream." I wipe my face with shaking hands. "And you should make that choice knowing everything—knowing who I really am, what I really did."
"Harper—"
"I'm not telling you to make you stay." I cut him off before he can say something kind, something forgiving that I don't deserve. "I'm telling you so you can decide what you want, without feeling guilty about me."
The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating, and I watch him process the truth I've carried alone for three years. Grief settles into his features like a physical weight, and something I can't name flickers behind his eyes.
Then he stands up and grabs his keys from the counter. "I need some air."
The door closes behind him before I can respond, and I stand in the middle of his apartment, alone with the echo of my confession and the shattered pieces of everything I thought we were building.
I curl up on his couch, unable to leave, unable to sleep, watching the door and waiting for him to come back. Midnight passes, then one, then two, the clock ticking forward while I wait for him to yell, to cry, to tell me he forgives me or that he never wants to see me again.
Dawn light creeps through the windows, painting the apartment in shades of gray, but the door stays closed and his side of the bed stays empty. He doesn't come back, and I realize I might have lost him all over again.