Madi Collins 18 And Pregnant Page

And then, at 3:17 a.m., there was a cry. A tiny, furious, perfect cry.

The plastic stick on the edge of the sink had two pink lines. Madi Collins stared at them until her vision blurred, as if the lines might rearrange themselves into a single, negative line if she just concentrated hard enough. They didn’t. The cheap linoleum floor of the gas station bathroom felt cold even through the soles of her sneakers. She was eighteen years old, three weeks past high school graduation, and according to this $12 test from the drugstore, her entire future had just split into two distinct paths.

Cheryl was on the couch, still in her blue scrubs, a glass of cheap red wine on the coaster. She looked up as Madi walked in, her eyes immediately sharpening. A mother’s radar is a terrifying thing. madi collins 18 and pregnant

Madi opened her mouth. Nothing came out. So she just held up the plastic stick.

It wasn’t a romantic declaration. It wasn’t a proposal. But it was something, maybe more: a nineteen-year-old kid deciding to be a man. And then, at 3:17 a

The hard part wasn’t the physical discomfort—the backaches, the swollen ankles, the midnight cravings. The hard part was the quiet. The 2 a.m. moments when she lay awake in the dark, one hand on her belly, and felt the weight of her own childhood ending. She wasn’t a girl anymore. She was someone’s mother.

It was the question everyone asked, wrapped in different packaging. Are you keeping it? Are you getting married? Are you dropping out of school? Madi didn’t have answers. She only knew that when she saw that tiny, bean-shaped heartbeat flutter on the screen, something primal clicked into place. It wasn’t a consequence anymore. It was a person. A very small, very dependent person. Madi Collins stared at them until her vision

The nurse placed a warm, squirming bundle on Madi’s chest. A girl. Six pounds, seven ounces, with a shock of dark hair and Leo’s crooked frown. Madi looked down at that small, wrinkled face and felt something crack open inside her—not her ribs, but something deeper. Something she didn’t have a name for.