JAY-JAY POV
I went outside the house.
Took one last look.
The porch light flickered like it was saying goodbye too.
I whispered it— "Goodbye." Soft.
Final.
Then I got onto the bus.
No one chased me. No one knew.
And maybe that was for the best.
The bus pulled into Massachusetts just after sunrise.
The sky was pale blue, the air crisp, and everything felt… new.
I stepped off with my duffel bag, my folder of documents, and a heartbeat that wouldn't slow down.
Harvard.
I was here.
I'd gotten in.
Full scholarship in law.
Even I was surprised.
Me.
The girl who used to cry in bathroom stalls and hide behind sarcasm.
Now walking toward one of the most prestigious campuses in the world.
Harvard was in Cambridge, about three to four hours from New York City.
Far enough to breathe.
Close enough to ache.
I checked into student housing—shared, small, but safe.
I unpacked slowly, placing the ultrasound photo on the desk like a promise.
I knew I needed a job.
Not just campus work.
Something outside.
Something real.
So I started looking.
I applied to cafés like Tatte and Flour Bakery.
Asked around at bookstores and grocery stores.
Even signed up for delivery apps—Uber Eats, DoorDash, anything that paid.
I didn't care what the job was, as long as it kept us afloat.
Eventually, I landed a part-time job at a local bookstore near Harvard Square.
It paid just enough to cover groceries and my share of the apartment bills.
Evening shifts.
Quiet.
Perfect.
I shelved books.
Sorted returns.
Studied between customers.
And when the ache in my back got too sharp or the loneliness crept in, I'd rest my hand on my belly and whisper—
"We're going to be okay."
Because this time, I wasn't just surviving.
I was building something.
A future.
A home.
A life worth staying for.
I didn't have Mama Reycee's cooking or Percy's teasing or Papa's quiet strength.
But I had resolved.
I had a baby growing inside me who deserved everything I never had.
And I was going to give it to him or her.
Even if it meant doing it alone.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
KEIFER POV
It's finally time.
I can go meet my Jay.
I had my inheritance.
Enough to walk away from the boardroom wars. Enough to start over.
It wasn't easy. Clyde tried to take the CEO chair from me the second I blinked.
Kaizer did everything short of sabotage he could think of
But I kept thinking of Jay. And our child.
The one I never got to hold. The one I never got to fight for—until now.
It would be hard to earn her forgiveness.
I knew that.
I'd left her when she needed me most.
But I was ready for the consequences.
Ready to take the hit if it meant seeing her again.
"Kuya, I already booked tickets to go to NYC," Keigan said calmly but I could see the excitement in his eyes
"Let's go! What are we waiting for?" Kerian added, already slinging a backpack over his shoulder.
"You two are not coming," I said, firm.
"Why not?" Keigan frowned.
Because your sister-in-law might welcome me with a punch to the face.
"Because I need to make sure she forgives me first," I said, covering it up.
They exchanged a look.
Then sighed in unison.
"Fine," they muttered.
I grabbed my bag.
Passport.
Letter.
A small stuffed bear I bought on impulse.
And then I boarded the flight to New York City.
Heart pounding.
Hands sweating.
Mind racing.
Because somewhere in that city—
Was the girl I broke–
The girl I still loved.
And the child I hadn't met yet.
At NYC
I stood outside Percy's house, heart pounding like a drum in my chest.
The porch looked the same.
The chipped paint.
The crooked wind chime.
But everything felt different.
I knocked.
Waited.
The door opened slowly.
Percy stared at me.
Jaw tight.
Eyes unreadable.
"You're late," he said.
I swallowed. "I came as soon as I could."
He didn't move.
Didn't invite me in.
Just stepped aside.
I walked in, expecting to hear Jay's voice.
Her laugh.
Her sarcasm.
But the house was quiet.
Too quiet.
"She's gone," Percy said again, voice flat. "And not even we know what state she's in."
I blinked. "What do you mean?"
"She didn't tell anyone. Not me. Not Mama Reycee. Not Papa. She vanished."
My throat tightened. "No address? No clue?"
Percy shook his head. "She's good at hiding, Keif. Always has been. When she wants to disappear, she disappears."
I sat down, the weight of it all crashing over me.
Jay-Jay.
Pregnant.
Alone.
And completely off the grid.
"She left a letter," Percy said. "Said she needed to protect us. That she didn't want to be a burden. That she had to raise the baby on her own."
I ran a hand through my hair, heart pounding. "She thinks she's a burden?"
Percy nodded. "She thinks she's doing the right thing. But she's hurting herself. And us."
I stood up.
Pacing.
Thinking.
"She could be anywhere," I whispered. "Massachusetts. New York. Vermont. Hell, even California."
Percy looked at me. "You really want to find her?"
"I have to," I said. "Even if she slams the door in my face. Even if she never forgives me."
Percy sighed. "Then start looking. But don't just chase her. Understand her."
I nodded. Because this wasn't about me anymore.
It was about her.
And the child I hadn't met yet.
And I'd search every damn state if I had to.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
JAY-JAY POV
9 months later
It happened on a Thursday.
The bookstore was quiet—just the hum of the heater and the soft shuffle of pages.
I was restocking the poetry shelf, trying to ignore how swollen my ankles were, how the baby had been kicking like a drummer in a punk band.
Then— A sharp pain.
Low.
Deep.
Followed by a warm rush down my legs.
I froze.
Looked down.
My water had broken.
"Sweetheart?" a voice called gently.
I turned.
It was the older woman who came in every Thursday.
Lavender cardigan.
Corner chair.
Always reading, never buying.
Just smiling.
Mrs. Delaney.
I only knew her name because she once left her library card behind.
"I think…" I stammered, gripping the shelf. "I think it's time."
She didn't flinch.
Didn't panic.
She walked over, calm as ever, and took my hand.
"Alright, darling. Let's get you to the back room. You're going to be just fine."
She helped me sit.
Found my hospital bag.
Called a cab.
Held my hand like she'd done this a hundred times.
"You're not alone," she said softly. "Not tonight."
I cried then.
Not from pain.
From kindness.
From the way she rubbed my back and whispered, "You're strong. You've already done the hardest part—choosing to stay."
The cab came.
She rode with me.
Told the driver to slow down over bumps.
Told me stories about her own labor, her daughter, how pain always passes.
And then the pain came.
Relentless.
Sharp.
Unforgiving.
I gripped the bedrail, teeth clenched, breath ragged.
"You're close," the nurse said. "Just a few more pushes, Jay. You're doing beautifully."
I didn't feel beautiful.
I felt like I was breaking.
And in the breaking— I thought of him.
Keifer.
His laugh.
His stupid charm.
The way he used to hold my hand like it was fragile and sacred.
I hated him.
I missed him.
I wanted him here.
I didn't.
I thought of the baby.
The one he didn't know.
The one I carried through bookstore shifts and quiet nights and whispered promises.
I'd imagined this moment a thousand ways— Keifer beside me.
Tears in his eyes. Saying, "You did it, Jay. We did it."
But he wasn't here.
And I was doing it anyway.
For me.
For this child.
For the version of myself that refused to disappear.
Another contraction.
I screamed.
Pushed.
Cried.
And then— A cry. High. Clear. Alive.
I looked down, tears streaming. "You're here," I whispered. "You're really here."
And in that moment— I didn't think about who wasn't beside me.
I thought about who was.
This tiny heartbeat.
This new beginning.
And I knew— I'd love him enough for both of us.
Even if Keifer never came.
Even if forgiveness never did.
Because this baby was mine.
And I was his.
The room was quiet now.
The storm had passed.
The pain had ebbed into exhaustion.
And in my arms— He was here.
Tiny.
Warm.
Breathing against my chest like he'd always belonged there.
The nurse asked gently, "Do you have a name for him?"
I looked down at the boy curled against me.
His fingers wrapped around mine.
His breathing soft, steady.
Like he already trusted me with everything.
I nodded.
Swallowed hard.
"Mark Kenneth Mariano Waston."
Mark—for Keifer. His real name. The one he never let most people use. The one I whispered once, when I still believed he'd stay.
Kenneth—for strength. For fire. For the kind of man I hoped my son would become.
Mariano—my name. My blood. My fire. My father's quiet pride. The name I carried when I walked away from everything.
Waston—because no matter what Keifer did or didn't do, this boy was his too. And I wouldn't erase that.
The nurse smiled, wrote it down. I kissed his forehead.
"You're going to be more than your name," I whispered. "You're going to be everything."
And in that moment— I didn't feel like the girl who'd been left behind.
I felt like a mother.
A whole world.
A beginning.
I traced the curve of his cheek.
Keifer's nose.
My eyes.
But mostly—he looked like Keifer.
A softness that didn't belong to either of us.
Something new.
Something whole.
"Keth," I whispered again.
And he stirred.
Like he knew.
I imagined Keifer saying it.
Imagined him holding our son and whispering, "Hey, little man. I'm your dad."
But he wasn't here.
And maybe he never would be.
So I held Keth tighter.
Kissed his forehead.
And promised—
"I'll love you enough for both of us." "It's just you and me," I whispered. "I'll protect you. Even if it means giving my life for you."
My voice cracked.
But the promise didn't.
Because this wasn't just a vow.
It was instinct.
It was blood.
It was the kind of love that doesn't ask questions.
I thought of Keifer.
Of what he'd lost.
Of what he didn't know.
And I thought of Keth— Mark Kenneth Mariano Watson.
My son.
My beginning.
I held him tighter.
Let the silence wrap around us.
Let the weight of everything I'd survived settle into something sacred.
He stirred.
Made a soft sound.
Like he understood.
And I knew— No matter what came next, No matter who showed up or didn't, I would never let go.