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The next morning started like any other.

Sunlight poured through the kitchen window. Mom was making scrambled eggs while humming softly to a country song playing on the radio. Sam was feeding the cat one kibble at a time, like it was royalty. Lily sat at the table, still in her pajamas, sleepily poking at a piece of toast like it had personally offended her.

I poured myself a glass of milk, the coolness settling the odd, restless feeling I'd woken up with.

Then the phone rang.

Mom wiped her hands on a towel and grabbed the cordless off the counter. "Hello?"

Her voice was casual—until it wasn't.

"Oh—yes. Of course. She's here."

She looked at me.

The room instantly felt too still.

She covered the receiver. "Emily, it's the county attorney's office."

I froze, glass halfway to my lips.

My heart thumped once, hard.

With shaking fingers, I took the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi, Emily, this is Ms. Kessler, the victim advocate with the county. I'm calling to let you know the case has officially moved forward. Trevor's trial is being scheduled, and the judge has asked to begin witness coordination."

I didn't speak. I couldn't. It felt like the air had thickened.

"You'll likely receive a subpoena within the next few days. It doesn't mean you have to testify yet, but we want to start preparing you for the process. We'll also be offering support services throughout. Are you okay?"

Was I okay?

No. Not really.

But I nodded anyway. "Yeah. I... I understand."

"We'll be in touch soon with more details. You're not alone in this, okay?"

"Okay."

I hung up slowly, my hands cold even though the kitchen was warm.

Mom was already next to me, her hand on my back. "Sweetheart?"

"They're moving forward with the trial," I said quietly. "It's really happening."

Sam stopped feeding the cat. Lily looked up from her toast, suddenly alert.

No one said anything at first.

Then Mom wrapped her arms around me. "You're not doing this alone. Not now. Not ever."

And as scary as it was... I believed her.

I sat down slowly at the table, the phone still warm in my hand. My thoughts were spinning, but there was something else I needed to ask—something that had been sitting in the back of my mind for a while.

"Mom?" I said softly, not looking up. "Is there a way to prove it's his? I mean... the baby."

Her eyes softened with concern, but she didn't hesitate. "There is. They can do a paternity test before birth."

My heart fluttered. "Really?"

She nodded. "It's called a prenatal paternity test. They compare your blood with a sample from him—if the court orders it—but it's more complicated than a regular test."

I swallowed. "Complicated how?"

She sat across from me and took my hands gently. "There are a few kinds. Some are non-invasive and safe, but depending on what the court requires, there are other kinds that might carry a small risk of miscarriage."

My chest tightened.

"But that's only if they do an amniocentesis or chorionic villus sampling, and that's rare—especially now that blood tests have gotten better."

I nodded slowly, still unsure how I felt.

"There's no pressure," Mom said. "And they may wait until after the baby's born anyway. But we'll talk to the doctors and lawyers first before anything happens. Nothing's done without your say."

"Okay," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

She gave my hands a squeeze. "We'll make sure you're safe. Physically and emotionally."

Lily's voice broke the silence. "Wait... what's a paternity test?"

Sam muttered, "It's a science thing. Don't worry about it."

"I like science," Lily said, crossing her arms.

Mom gave me a small smile, and I returned it, just a little.

This was all happening.

Faster than I expected.

Scarier than I wanted.

But I wasn't alone.

Not now. Not ever.

The rest of the morning passed in a fog.

I helped dry dishes, sort laundry, even picked up Lily's trail of stuffed animals from the hallway, but everything felt distant. Like I was moving through water.

By lunchtime, I found myself texting Jasmine.

Me:
Hey. Can you and Mia come over? I need to talk.

Jasmine:
We're on our way. Be there in 10.

They didn't ask why.

They didn't have to.

When they arrived, I was sitting on the porch swing, knees tucked up to my chest. Jasmine flopped down next to me like she lived there, and Mia settled on the steps, a water bottle in her hand.

"What's up?" Jasmine asked softly.

I didn't answer right away.

I just handed them the folded note I had jotted down from the call earlier.

Mia read it aloud, her voice quiet. "Trial being scheduled... victim witness prep... possible testimony..."

She looked up. "It's really happening?"

I nodded.

Jasmine reached for my hand and squeezed it. "Are you okay?"

I swallowed hard. "I don't know. I thought I would be. But now that it's real... I'm scared."

"Of course you are," Mia said. "But you're not doing this by yourself."

"You've got us," Jasmine added. "We'll be right there the whole time—even if we're sitting in the hallway with you holding snacks."

That made me laugh, just a little. "You always bring snacks."

"I cope with food," she shrugged.

"I mean it," Mia said, leaning forward. "If you want help practicing what to say, or if you need to scream into a pillow or throw water balloons at something—we're in."

"And," Jasmine added with a sly smile, "if Trevor tries to pull anything again, I'll throw another tray of mystery meat at him. I'm not above cafeteria justice."

I laughed harder this time, the tension breaking like a popped balloon.

"Thanks, guys," I said quietly.

"Anytime," Jasmine replied. "This isn't just your fight anymore. It's ours too."

And sitting there between them, under the warm sun and the soft creak of the porch swing, I finally let myself breathe.

And sitting there between them, under the warm sun and the soft creak of the porch swing, I finally let myself breathe.

The kind of breath that reaches all the way down to where the fear usually sits.

Jasmine leaned her head against my shoulder. "Remember when we were worried about that science project last semester? This feels like a hundred science projects stacked on top of each other."

"But with way more emotional trauma and no poster board," Mia added.

"Or glitter," I said with a snort. "Unless someone brings emotional glitter."

"I have stickers," Jasmine said immediately. "Do not underestimate the power of a sparkly star sticker."

I wiped my eyes with the edge of my sleeve, still smiling. "You two are ridiculous."

"That's what we're here for," Mia said. "To make you laugh when everything feels like garbage."

"And to help you through the serious stuff too," Jasmine added, her voice quieter now. "You're not going to have to sit on that witness stand alone. Even if we're not in the room, we'll be just outside the door. Always."

I looked at them both and felt the lump in my throat come back—but this time, it wasn't fear.

It was gratitude.

I had family.

But I also had them.

And together, somehow, I knew I could get through whatever came next.

That night, sleep did not come easily.

Even after the porch cooled, even after Mom checked in on me twice, even after I wrapped myself up in my softest blanket—I couldn't get comfortable. My mind wouldn't quiet down.

And when I did finally fall asleep, it wasn't peaceful.

It started in a doctor's office.

Everything looked familiar—sterile white walls, the faint hum of fluorescent lights, the smell of alcohol swabs and latex gloves. I was lying on an exam table, my shirt pulled up, the thin paper crinkling beneath me. Mom sat in the corner, her face unreadable.

A nurse smiled at me too brightly.

"It'll only take a second," she said, as she held a long, glinting needle in her hand.

I tried to speak, to ask what was going on, but my voice wouldn't come out.

I looked down at my stomach—and something inside me twisted.

"No," I whispered, finally finding my voice. "I—I don't want this."

But no one heard me.

The nurse pressed the needle toward my belly.

I cried out.

Suddenly, everything went red.

An alarm sounded. The walls around me began flashing with warning lights. The paper on the exam table turned dark. My hands shook as I looked down and saw—

Blood.

So much blood.

I screamed, begging someone to stop it, to help me.

But the nurse was gone.

Mom was gone.

Everyone was gone.

It was just me and the emptiness.

I clutched my stomach, sobbing. "No, no, no—please..."

The sound of a flatline pierced the air.

And then—

I woke up.

Gasping.

Drenched in sweat.

My heart hammering so hard it felt like it would burst through my ribs.

It took me a few seconds to realize I was safe. In bed. In my room. Not in that nightmare.

The baby.

My hands flew to my stomach.

Still there. Still mine.

But I couldn't stop crying.

Not because the dream was real...

...but because it could be.

I didn't even hear the door open.

I was curled up in the blankets, hands pressed tightly to my stomach, my body still trembling when I felt the mattress dip beside me.

"Emily?"

Mom's voice was soft, careful.

I couldn't answer. I just choked back another sob and turned toward her.

She didn't say anything right away. She just pulled me into her arms.

I buried my face in her shoulder, clinging to her like a child, the nightmare still vivid in every corner of my mind.

"I dreamed I lost the baby," I finally whispered, my voice raw.

Her arms tightened around me, one hand gently stroking my hair. "Oh sweetheart..."

"It was... there was a needle and a test and then everything went wrong. There was so much blood. I couldn't stop it."

She didn't shush me. She didn't tell me it was silly. She just held me while I cried.

"It felt real," I said. "It felt so real."

"I know," she murmured. "Nightmares like that can feel like they're gripping your soul. But you're safe now. The baby's safe. You didn't do anything wrong."

I took a shaky breath, still clinging to her.

"I'm scared," I whispered. "What if something really does happen?"

She pulled back just enough to cup my face in her hands. Her eyes were red-rimmed with sleep but focused on me like nothing else mattered. "Then we face it together. Every appointment, every test, every fear—you won't go through it alone. I promise you that."

I nodded slowly, my tears beginning to slow. The warmth of her hand, the quiet creak of the house settling, the hum of the air conditioner—it all grounded me, piece by piece.

She tucked the blanket back around me and kissed my forehead. "Do you want me to stay?"

I hesitated, then gave a small nod. "Yeah. Just for a little."

So she stayed.

Right there on top of the covers, one hand resting protectively over mine.

Mom shifted gently beside me, her hand still wrapped around mine. After a long silence, she brushed a strand of hair from my face and whispered, "Lily used to calm down when I sang to her as a baby... maybe this will work for you."

And then, quietly, she began to sing. Her voice was soft—just above a whisper—but it carried like a lullaby across the stillness of the night:

"Close your eyes, my starlit one,
The world outside can wait.
Rest beneath the silver moon,
And let go of the weight.

Safe inside this quiet room,
With love in every wall.
Even when the dark feels near,
You're not alone at all."

Her thumb gently stroked the back of my hand as she continued:

"Breathe in deep, the morning waits,
Though now the sky is wide.
Your heart is stronger than you know—
I'll be here by your side.

Dreams may come, and some may sting,
But daylight always grows.
You are more than what you fear—
More than you'll ever know."

The last note lingered like a promise.

She didn't ask if I liked the song. She didn't need to.

Because my breathing had slowed, and the tears had dried.

And I was finally drifting.

Safe.

Loved.

And not alone.