Grief consumed Emma. She barely ate, her jeans hanging loose on her frame. Morning sickness hit hard, but she didn’t notice at first, too lost in her pain. When she finally took a pregnancy test, the two pink lines stared back, undeniable. Her heart lurched with joy and terror. A baby. Jake’s baby. It was a piece of him, a reason to keep going. But panic followed. How am I gonna raise a kid alone? No money, no family, and school? Can I even do this?
Desperate for help, Emma swallowed her pride and went to Jake’s parents’ mansion in Naperville. She stood at their polished doorstep, hands trembling, and poured out her heart. “I loved Jake,” she said, voice cracking. “I’m pregnant with his baby—your grandkid. I’m scared, and I don’t know what to do. Please, I need you.”
Susan’s face twisted with disgust. “You little leech!” she spat. “Trying to trap us with some sob story? That kid’s not Jake’s! You’re just after our money, fam! Get out before I call the cops!” Robert stood silently, arms crossed, as Susan slammed the door. Emma stumbled away, tears streaming, rage boiling inside. They don’t want their own grandkid? Fine. I’ll figure it out alone.
The next day, she sat in a Planned Parenthood clinic in Chicago, clutching a referral slip for an abortion. Her hands shook as she waited for the doctor, a stern older woman with gray hair. When Emma mumbled her decision, the doctor sighed, removing her glasses. “Listen, honey,” she said softly, “I’ve seen a lot of women in your shoes. You’re young, scared, and life’s kicking you hard. But this baby’s real, alive, and already loves you. If you go through with this, you might regret it forever. I know it’s tough, but you’re tougher. Think it over.”
Emma’s eyes filled with tears. She bolted from the room, her mind racing. What kind of mom am I? she thought. I swore I’d never abandon my kid, and here I am, ready to give up? No way. I’m not my mother. That night, she dreamed of Jake. He sat on her bed, his warm hand brushing her hair. “You’ve got this, firecracker,” he whispered. “I’m right here.” She woke up gasping, alone, but certain. Jake’s words felt like a sign.
Emma took a leave of absence from UIC and hunted for work. She landed a cleaning job at the Willis Tower, scrubbing floors for minimum wage. Her boss, a grumpy woman named Karen, nitpicked constantly. “Missed a spot, Emma! Pregnant or not, do it right!” Emma bit her tongue, saving every penny for the baby. At night, she’d rub her growing belly, smiling as the baby kicked. “We’re gonna make it, little one,” she’d whisper. Despite her tight budget, she still slipped a dollar or two to the unhoused folks in the Michigan Avenue underpass, their grateful smiles warming her heart.
One day, she saw that quiet guy with the crutch again, his cap out for change. She handed him a Dunkin’ coffee and a bagel, plus a five-dollar bill. He blushed, muttering thanks, but trouble brewed. Other unhoused men started shoving him, snatching his money. “You’re hogging the good spot!” one yelled. Then three thugs in leather jackets jumped in, kicking him hard. Emma’s blood boiled. Pregnant or not, she charged in, swinging her purse. “Stop it! He’s a person, not your punching bag! I’m calling 911!” The thugs laughed but backed off, sneering, “Mind your business, lady, or you’re next!” Emma’s outrage choked her—she couldn’t believe their cruelty.
Emma’s heart pounded as she faced the thugs in the Michigan Avenue underpass. “He’s not your slave!” she yelled, her voice shaking with fury. “His life’s hard enough—leave him alone!” The guy on the crutch, still curled up from the beating, looked at her with wide, grateful eyes. The thugs just laughed, spitting on the ground. “You wanna play hero, preggo? Fine, take your cripple boyfriend. But it’ll cost ya—ten grand. Got that kinda cash, fam?” They swaggered off, leaving Emma fuming.
She knelt beside the guy, handing him a tissue to wipe the blood from his lip. “Come on,” she said gently. “Let’s get you a burger at Portillo’s. You took a bad hit.” His eyes softened, but he shook his head. “Thanks, but I can’t leave. They’ll come back.” Emma frowned, hurt by his refusal. I’m trying to help, and he shuts me down? Whatever. She walked away, muttering to herself.
Tommy “One-Eye,” one of the regulars, caught up with her. “You’re somethin’ else, girl,” he said, chuckling. “Ain’t scared of nobody. But that new guy? He’s odd. Don’t talk much, don’t share nothin’. We don’t even know his name. Like he’s hidin’ somethin’.” Emma nodded, but her mind was already racing. Those blue eyes, that shy smile—she couldn’t shake them. All day, she replayed the scene, her heart fluttering despite herself. Get a grip, Emma, she thought. You’re pregnant, and he’s homeless. This is crazy.
The next morning, she jogged through the underpass, her pulse quickening as she scanned for him. There he was, leaning on his crutch. Before she could say hi, he held out a single daisy, plucked from who-knows-where. “I was waitin’ for you,” he mumbled, blushing. “Thought you might not come back. This is for you.” Emma’s cheeks warmed, her fingers brushing his as she took the flower. “Wow, thanks,” she said, her voice soft.
From then on, their mornings became a ritual. She’d bring him a Dunkin’ coffee, and they’d chat—about the weather, the city, little things. He never said much about himself, but his gaze, warm and intense, made her knees weak. It reminded her of Jake, the way he’d look at her like she was the only person in the world. Emma hated how much she craved these moments. I’m pregnant with Jake’s baby, she scolded herself. This guy’s got nothing, and I’m falling for him? What’s wrong with me?
But her heart didn’t listen. Every day, her excitement grew, her steps lighter as she neared the underpass. One morning, he wasn’t there. Her stomach dropped. She scanned the crowd, tears prickling. He’s gone. Just like that? Her day dragged, the world gray and heavy. On her way home, she froze at State Street and Randolph. Chicago PD’s Narcotics Unit had three of those thugs in cuffs, and leading the bust was a tall, clean-cut cop—blond, no crutch, no curls. But those blue eyes? Unmistakable. It was him.
He spotted her and jogged over, sheepish. “Hey, sorry for the act. I’m Ethan, undercover cop. Couldn’t tell you—it was part of the job. You mad?” Emma just stared, speechless. He grinned. “Meet me tomorrow at the underpass. Coffee’s on me. We gotta talk.” Emma’s face lit up, and she nodded, her heart soaring.