I stepped out of the bathroom and headed for the kitchen, trying to ignore the gnawing ache in my stomach. My body was tired, my mind heavier than ever. I needed something, anything to eat before the nausea hit again. But as I turned the corner into the living room, I froze.
Aunt Grace stood there. Still and Silent.
Her back was to me, arms folded tight across her chest like she was trying to hold herself together. Her phone was still in her hand, but the call had ended. My heart dropped instantly I knew she'd heard everything.
"Talia?" she said slowly, still not turning around. "Is that who you were talking to?"
I didn't answer.
"Answer me, Ava."
"Yes," I said, my voice small. "She's the only one I can really talk to."
She finally turned to face me. Her eyes were glassy, filled with a hurt I'd never seen before. It wasn't anger, not yet. It was disbelief. Grief. Her voice cracked as she asked, "You're really planning to get rid of it?"
I swallowed hard. "I can't have this baby, Grace. I'm only Twenty. I can't be a mom. I didn't even choose this, none of this."
"But the baby didn't choose it either," she snapped. "It's not that child's fault what happened to you."
"It's not mine either," I fired back, my voice shaking. "Do you think I want to wake up every day and be reminded of what someone did to me? That I want to carry this for nine months and then live with it forever?"
"You're talking about a life, Ava. A real one."
"And what about mine?" I screamed. "What about the life I had before all this? It's gone! Do you even care that I cry myself to sleep every night? That I can barely look at myself in the mirror without hating what I see?"
She flinched. "Don't you dare say I don't care. I'm the one who stayed. I'm the one who fed you when your mother dumped you on my doorstep. I'm the one who's been trying, oh God knows I've been trying."
I stared at her, chest heaving. "Then let me make my choice."
"No." Her voice was firm. Cold. "Not in this house. If you want to kill your child, you won't do it under my roof."
I backed away like her words had slapped me. My heart was pounding so loud I could barely think. "So that's it? You'd rather throw me out than help me?"
She hesitated but didn't say no.
I blinked back tears, laughing bitterly. "You really think this baby is some kind of blessing? A miracle in disguise?"
Aunt Grace stepped closer. "You think this child is the curse. But maybe… just maybe, it's the only piece of light left in you."
I felt something inside me crumble.
I grabbed my phone, turned, and stormed into my room. My hands moved faster than my thoughts shoving clothes into a bag, grabbing my charger, my ID, the little bit of cash I had hidden in my drawer.
I didn't know where I was going. I just knew I couldn't stay.
Minutes later, I stood at the door. She didn't follow me. She didn't call out.
Not a single word.
As I stepped out into the cold night air, my hand trembled as I zipped up my hoodie. The street was quiet. Still. But my head was a war zone.
For the first time in weeks, I felt something else besides numbness.
I felt... free and alone. Terrifyingly alone.
But somewhere deep in my gut, I knew this night would change everything.
The wind slapped my cheeks as I stepped out into the night. The street was almost silent, save for the low hum of a faraway generator and the occasional bark of a restless dog. The sky above was dark, heavy with clouds, but no rain had fallen yet.
I didn't have a plan. I didn't even have a jacket. All I had was this storm inside me, louder than anything outside.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Talia.
"Where are you?" she asked immediately, her voice soft but rushed. "Ava, what happened?"
"I left."
"What?"
"I had a fight with Aunt Grace. She heard me talking about the abortion... I couldn't stay."
There was a pause on her end. "Do you have somewhere to go?"
"No."
"Okay. Come to my place. I'll sneak you in through the back gate. My mom's working overnight."
The warmth in her voice nearly undid me. I didn't deserve her. But right now, I needed someone. Anyone.
"I'll be there in twenty," I whispered.
She gave directions even though I already knew the way.
"Thanks," I said, and hung up before my voice could crack.
As I walked, memories of the night at the party crept in like shadows. That dark room. The feeling of hands that didn't belong to me. The cold floor. The missing pieces. My throat tightened.
I started walking slowly, one step at a time, the dim streetlights flickering like they couldn't decide whether to stay alive or give up. The road to Talia's wasn't far but at this hour, it felt like a stretch of shadow and fear.
I was barely halfway when I heard footsteps fast approaching.
I turned. Two men, barely older than me, were walking fast and in sync. One of them whispered something to the other, and they changed direction toward me.
My pulse skipped.
I tightened my hoodie and picked up pace. But their steps matched mine. Closing in.
One of them muttered, "Hey babe, where you rushing to?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
"Hey! We talking to you."
A chill shot through me.
Suddenly a loud, sharp whistle pierced the silence. Again. Then again.
Across the street, barely visible beneath the flickering streetlight, a scrawny little boy, probably no older than ten, stood waving something shiny blowing a plastic whistle like his life depended on it.
"Shit," one of the men muttered.
"Police," the other hissed, and they both took off like startled rats.
My knees nearly gave out.
I stumbled to the sidewalk and collapsed near a closed store. My breathing came out in shallow gasps. I hadn't even realized I was holding my breath.
The boy crossed the road, cautiously approaching.
"You okay, ma'am?" he asked, his voice small but concerned.
I looked at him. He wore oversized slippers, a torn T-shirt, and carried a dirty school bag on his back. His face was smeared with dust, but his eyes… they were sharp. Alive.
"You saved me," I whispered.
He grinned. "They're always disturbing people here. I use the whistle to scare them away. They don't know it's fake."
I managed a small laugh, half relief, half tears.
"Where are your parents?" I asked.
His expression changed.
"Don't know. My mama left when I was little. Papa… never met him. I just stay around. Sometimes Madam Uche gives me bread at the junction."
A part of me broke.
"You sleep on the streets?"
He nodded like it was the most normal thing in the world. "Sometimes in the church behind the market."
I looked at him, this little warrior in plastic slippers who blew a whistle to protect strangers. And suddenly…
I felt the weight of the child inside me.
Would he survive this world?
Would he be strong enough?
Would he blow whistles for someone else someday?
A lump rose in my throat.
"Thank you," I said, and handed him the little change I had. "Be safe, okay?"
He nodded, gave me a gap-toothed smile, and darted away into the shadows like he belonged to them.
I watched him disappear, then slowly rose, legs still trembling.
The world was cruel, Unfair. But somehow… that kid had found a way to fight back. And I couldn't stop thinking… Maybe my child could too.