The chaos of my childhood home greeted me before I even reached the door. I could hear the twins through the thin walls, laughing, arguing, probably both.
Their voices carrying down the hallway of the apartment building like they owned the place. The familiar sounds wrapped around me, equal parts comfort and claustrophobia.
Nothing had changed.
The place was still small, still cluttered, still bursting with an energy that defied its square footage. Even with the girls older now, the household hadn't calmed.
I wasn't sure it ever would.
"Kitty!" Two bodies slammed into me with the force of small hurricanes, arms wrapping around my waist, voices overlapping in excited chaos. "You're here! Why didn't you tell us you were coming? Can we show you the dance we learned? We’ve been practicing all week—"
"I've been practicing," Maya corrected, elbowing her twin. "Lily keeps messing up the second part."
"I do not!"
I laughed and hugged them back just as tight.
These girls were one of my few soft spots, a crack in the armor I'd built so carefully. They were twelve now, all gangly limbs and boundless energy, and every time I saw them, I remembered why I was fighting so hard.
Not just for myself. For them.
For a future where they didn't have to count pennies or wear hand-me-downs or pretend they weren't hungry when the fridge was empty.
"I'll watch the dance later, I promise." I gently untangled myself from their grip. "But I need to talk to Mom first, okay? Grown-up stuff."
Their faces fell in perfect synchronization. "Boring grown-up stuff?"
"The most boring. But I'll make it up to you."
They scattered reluctantly, sensing the shift in my tone, and I made my way to the kitchen.
Mom was there, as expected, standing at the counter with a dish towel over her shoulder and exhaustion etched into every line of her face.
She was only forty-four, but she looked older—years of double shifts and single parenting had taken their toll. Her heart condition didn't help.
"Kitty." She smiled when she saw me, but her eyes were already searching, already suspicious. "This is a surprise. Everything okay?"
"Everything's fine." I sat at the small table and forced a casual tone. "Just wanted to check in. How are the girls handling school this semester?"
We talked and I danced around the real reason for my visit like it was a live wire, hoping I could ease into it, soften the blow somehow.
Mom wasn't fooled. She'd known me my whole life, could read me better than anyone. After ten minutes of my obvious stalling, she set down her coffee cup and fixed me with a look that stripped away every defense I had.
"Katherine."
My full name. Never a good sign.
"I know when something's wrong. I know the difference between my daughter visiting because she misses me and my daughter visiting because she needs something. So just tell me."
I opened my mouth to deflect again, but the words wouldn't come.
The truth sat heavy in my chest, pressing against my ribs, demanding to be released. I couldn't keep dancing forever.
"I'm pregnant."
The silence that followed was deafening. Mom's face went through a series of emotions, shock, disbelief, something that looked almost like grief, before settling into a pale, stricken stillness.
She sank back in her chair, one hand pressing against her chest, and I panicked.
"Mom, your heart—don't stress yourself out, okay? It's not catastrophic. It can be fixed." I was talking too fast, trying to reassure both of us. "I just need a little help covering the cost, and then it's over."
She stared at me for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was firm in a way I hadn't expected. "No."
"What?"
"I won't give you money for that." She shook her head slowly, something hardening in her expression. "Not now. Not ever. I'm sorry, Kitty, but I can't help you end a pregnancy."
The words landed like a slap. I'd prepared myself for disappointment, for lectures, for the heavy silence of maternal disapproval.
I hadn't prepared for outright refusal.
"Mom, be reasonable. I'm twenty-two. I'm still in school. I have plans—real plans, plans that don't include a baby derailing everything I've worked for."
I kept my voice steady, clinical, laying out the facts like a business proposal.
"This isn't a debate about philosophy or morality. It's math. I can't afford a child. I can't afford to lose my future."
"Then we'll figure something else out." Her chin lifted, stubborn in a way I recognized because I'd inherited it. "We can sell the apartment. I'll take on extra shifts at work, pick up a second job if I have to. We can borrow from friends, pawn the jewelry your grandmother left me. Anything but this."
"Mom, can you hear yourself?" The frustration boiled over before I could stop it. "You're talking about destroying your life, the girls' and mine lives, for what? A bunch of cells?"
Her expression hardened, a rare steel entering her eyes that I'd only seen a handful of times in my life.
"Don't you dare talk about your child that way. It's not just cells—it's a living thing, a future person, a life that deserves a chance. I raised you better than this, Katherine. I raised you to value life."
"You raised me to be smart!" The words exploded out of me. "You raised me to make something of myself, to not repeat your mistakes. And now, what—you want me to throw all of that away? Misery loves company, so you want me stuck in the same trap you've been in for twenty years?"
The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I'd gone too far.
Mom's face crumpled, then hardened again, pain and anger warring behind her eyes. "You've always been cold."
Her voice was quiet now, but it cut deeper than shouting.
"Always thought you were better than where you came from, better than me, better than this family… Maybe this is the universe humbling you, Kitty. Maybe this is God's way of teaching you that you're not as in control as you think."
I stood so fast the chair scraped against the floor. "I came here for help. Clearly, that was a mistake."
"Kitty, wait…"
But I was already gone, the door closing harder than necessary behind me.
That evening, I sat in my dorm room, staring at the wall and running numbers I already knew didn't add up. My scholarship funds weren't enough. My savings were a joke. Every option I'd had was gone.
A knock at the door pulled me from the spiral.
Brianna stood in the hallway, holding an envelope. She pressed it into my hands without ceremony, without preamble. Inside was cash—the exact amount needed for the procedure, plus extra.
"Bri..." I stared at her, stunned. "Where did you get this?"
"Just take it. Don't worry, there won't be any problems." Her tone was light, but something flickered behind her eyes—something painful, something she didn't want to discuss.
I knew. I knew exactly where this money came from.
Her family. The people she'd cut ties with before college, the household she'd escaped, the doors she'd fought so hard to close. And yet she'd gone back. For me.
The cost of this envelope was so much more than money.
I didn't have words for what that meant, so I didn't try to find them. I set the envelope aside, pulled her into my arms, and held on tight. She hugged me back just as fiercely, and neither of us said anything.