Chapter Text
The window creaks open with a soft protest, the cool night air rushing in like a secret whisper. Ginny slides out slowly, toes brushing the ledge as she lowers herself into the dark embrace of the backyard.
Her breath is shallow, heart thudding like a quiet drumbeat against ribs that feel too tight. Every step toward her car is careful, measured — a dance between the shadows and the soft glow of the streetlamp.
She pauses, hand pressed against the hood of the car, feeling the cool metal beneath her palm — solid, real, grounding.
The world feels impossibly vast and impossibly small all at once.
Ginny pulls her hoodie tighter around her, hiding the trembling beneath. The quiet hum of distant traffic blends with the flutter of thoughts swirling in her mind — the conversation with her mom, Wolfe’s silence, the road ahead.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, she sighs, the weight of the night pressing down but also a flicker of resolve kindling in her chest.
The door shuts quietly, a tiny barrier between her and everything waiting inside.
She grips the steering wheel, knuckles white, as the engine rumbles to life — a low, steady promise.
The first mile of the drive stretches ahead, dark and unknown, but somehow hers to claim.
The headlights slice through the night, casting long, thin shadows on the empty streets. Ginny’s hands rest lightly on the wheel, but inside, a storm churns — swirling doubts, hopes, fears all tangled together.
Her eyes flicker to the rearview mirror, catching her own reflection — tired, pale, but still holding on.
The city hums quietly, indifferent to the battles she fights beneath its glow.
She thinks about the life growing inside her — a tiny heartbeat like a secret drum, pulsing with quiet insistence.
A tear slips down, catching the light as she blinks it away, swallowed quickly.
The radio murmurs softly — a slow song with whispered lyrics about holding on and letting go.
Her thoughts drift to Max, to Sophie, to the brief moments of laughter and light they shared just hours ago.
How do you keep going when everything feels like it’s breaking?
She bites her lip, gripping the wheel tighter.
The miles stretch ahead — endless, uncertain.
But somehow, the road feels less lonely.
She exhales slowly, the breath steadying her trembling heart.
For now, the night holds her, fragile and fierce.
~
The car glides smoothly up the narrow street, the familiar cityscape fading behind Ginny as she pulls into the underground garage beneath her dad’s penthouse. The sharp click of the garage door rolling open echoes softly, swallowed quickly by the hum of the city night.
She breathes in deeply, the cold air laced with a faint scent of rain and asphalt, before stepping out and closing the door behind her with a muted thud.
Dark wooden floors gleam beneath her feet, cool and solid, grounding her in the stillness. The walls are painted a deep charcoal, offset by warm amber light spilling from modern sconces that line the hall.
The staircase catches her eye — wide steps of thick, dark wood, suspended by sleek black steel railings that curve gently upward, like a sculptural heartbeat pulsing through the space.
She sets her bag down carefully, the sound muted against a large woven rug patterned in muted earth tones. The furniture is minimalist but inviting — a low, charcoal sectional couch with soft cushions, a glass coffee table reflecting the soft glow of a flickering candle.
Ginny’s footsteps echo faintly as she moves through the open-plan living area, the quiet of the space wrapping around her like a shadow.
The scent of cedar and sandalwood lingers faintly, from the candles her dad always lights — a reminder that even in the silence, there’s something warm beneath it all.
She climbs the stairs slowly, the polished wood cool beneath her bare feet, fingers tracing the smooth railing as she ascends to her sanctuary.
Her bedroom door is just as she left it — heavy curtains drawn tight against the night, walls painted in deep slate, a canopy bed draped with thick, soft linens that swallow her whole when she finally collapses inside.
She closes the door gently behind her, the lock clicking with a soft finality.
~
The soft creak of the bedroom door breaks the stillness just as Ginny pulls the thick curtains closed, shutting out the city’s distant glow. A shadow appears in the doorway—Zion’s familiar silhouette framed by the dim hallway light.
His footsteps are gentle as he crosses the room, eyes searching hers with a mix of concern and something deeper—quiet understanding.
“Hey,” he says softly, voice low, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile bubble they’re both standing in.
Ginny swallows, the lump in her throat making words hard to find. Instead, she offers a small, tired smile, the kind that says more than words ever could.
Zion steps closer, hesitating for a heartbeat before settling onto the edge of her bed. The mattress dips slightly under his weight, a quiet reminder that he’s here — present and steady.
“Rough night?” he asks, voice gentle but steady.
She nods, eyes drifting away for a moment. “More than I expected.”
He reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear with careful fingers. The touch is soft, grounding.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs. “Just… I’m here.”
Ginny lets out a shaky breath, feeling the walls she’s built around herself soften just a little.
“I’m scared,” she admits quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “Of everything.”
Zion’s hand finds hers, fingers curling around hers like a lifeline. “You’re not alone.”
They sit in silence, the unspoken words floating between them like fragile threads — hope, fear, love, and the complicated ache of growing up too fast.
For a moment, the weight of the world lifts, and all that remains is the steady rhythm of two hearts finding comfort in each other’s presence.
After a long pause, Zion slowly pulls his hand from hers, though his eyes never leave her. He stands up quietly, careful not to break the fragile calm.
“I’m going to make some tea,” he says softly, voice low. “Do you want some?”
Ginny nods, managing a small smile. “Yeah, thanks.”
He moves toward the doorway, pausing to glance back. “Take your time. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
The soft click of the door closing behind him leaves Ginny alone in the dim room, the stillness wrapping around her like a heavy cloak. She sinks deeper into the pillows, eyes tracing the soft shadows dancing across the walls.
~
Ginny sinks deeper into her bed, phone in hand, the screen’s glow painting her face in pale blue light. Her fingers scroll almost mechanically through TikTok — a river of faces, sounds, and stories rushing past, too fast to grasp, yet impossible to look away from.
She pauses on clips that flicker past: a teenager’s dance challenge, a viral comedy skit, a soft-spoken poem about heartbreak. Her eyes drift, but her heart feels heavy, weighed down by the secret she carries.
Suddenly, a trending news reel flashes across the screen — headlines about her mom’s trial, the mayor’s divorce, and swirling rumors flooding the town. The reporters’ voices blend into a cacophony, words like “scandal,” “betrayal,” “breaking” spinning around her like a storm.
Ginny’s breath catches, fingers trembling slightly as she scrolls faster, desperate to outrun the chaos. But then, a video catches her eye — Norah, in fairy makeup, smiling gently into the camera. The softness in Norah’s eyes is almost haunting.
She taps the heart button, a quiet gesture of connection, before swiping onward.
Another video pops up — an inspirational monologue layered over a montage of sunsets and ocean waves. The speaker’s voice is calm, steady, echoing words about hope, resilience, and finding light in the darkest places.
Ginny watches, spellbound. The words seep into her skin like a balm, knitting together frayed edges inside her. Minutes stretch into hours as she scrolls through clips — some joyful, some heartbreaking, all pulsing with the messy, beautiful hum of life.
A short clip plays of a mother cradling her newborn, whispering promises of love and protection. Ginny’s breath hitches, a tear slipping silently down her cheek.
She blinks away the sting and reaches for her notebook on the bedside table, fingers tracing the familiar worn cover. Her thumb hovers over the screen, hesitating over Wolfe’s name in her contacts.
The phone buzzes softly — a message from him: “Sorry, stuck at dinner with my parents. I’ll call you later.”
The silence that follows feels heavier than the words. Ginny sets the phone down, eyes closing as the quiet weight of the night presses in. Her thoughts swirl, tangled between fear and hope, loneliness and resolve.
~
About an hour and a half later, Ginny’s phone buzzes quietly against her pillow.
She doesn’t move at first. Just stares up at the ceiling, where shadows ripple softly from the curtains swaying in the breeze. Her heart pounds in her throat, fragile and fast. The screen lights up again.
Wolfe is calling.
She exhales shakily, brushes her thumb over her cheek, and answers.
“Hey,” she says, her voice hoarse from crying. She sounds small. Maybe a little distant.
“Hey,” Wolfe says. His voice is casual, tired, like he doesn’t know the world has tilted off its axis. “Sorry about earlier. My parents were dragging dinner out forever.”
Ginny swallows. “It’s okay.”
There’s a pause — not long, but just enough to feel the weight behind it.
“You good?” he asks. His voice softens. “You sounded kinda… off.”
She hesitates, then turns onto her side, pulling the comforter up to her chin. “Yeah. I just—there’s something I need to tell you.”
Another pause.
“Okay…” he says slowly, drawing the word out. “Should I be worried?”
Ginny lets out a small breathless laugh. It’s hollow. “I don’t know.”
“Alright, now I’m worried,” he says, attempting to make it light. “Did I do something?”
“No,” she says quickly, shaking her head even though he can’t see her. “It’s not—it’s not like that.”
Wolfe goes quiet again. He’s listening now. Really listening.
“I just…” Her voice trembles. “I don’t want you to freak out.”
“Ginny,” he says, more seriously now. “You’re scaring me a little.”
She closes her eyes. Her hand presses flat over her stomach.
“I’m pregnant.”
The silence stretches out.
Long.
Too long.
“Wait—” he breathes. “You’re… wait. What?”
“I’m pregnant,” she repeats, quieter this time. “It’s yours.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end. Then silence again. A long, aching one.
“That’s… wild,” Wolfe finally says.
Ginny’s eyes burn. Her chest tightens. “Yeah.”
“Like… are you sure?”
“I took three tests,” she whispers. “I saw a doctor.”
More silence.
Then suddenly—click.
The call ends.
Ginny stares at the screen in disbelief. Her hand trembles. Her chest caves in.
The silence after is deafening.
She doesn’t cry at first. She just lies there frozen, holding the phone against her chest, her heart breaking slow and quiet like a whisper no one hears.