Before I could, she told me she was pregnant.

I’m only 19, and the words hit me like a truck.

In my panic, I blurted out,

“That’s impossible — I can’t have children.” She froze.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she broke down, crying uncontrollably.

I didn’t know what to do, so I drove her home in silence.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

My mind was spinning with questions and confusion.

Around 2 a.m., I woke up to get some water and heard her voice faintly coming from the living room.

She was on the phone, speaking quietly.

Curious and uneasy,

I stayed still and listened.

Her words sent chills down my spine: “He believed me.

He doesn’t know the truth.

Now what should I do next?”

My stomach dropped.

In that moment,

I realized the pregnancy wasn’t real — it had been a desperate attempt to keep me from leaving.

The next day, I calmly confronted her.

Instead of anger,

I told her I hoped she’d find the support and healing she clearly needed.

Then I walked away for good,

knowing that honesty — no matter how painful — was the only path forward.