The words left my mouth before I even had time to second-guess them.
“I’ll step up. We can get married, and I’ll help you raise the baby. You won’t be alone.”
She stared at me with a softness I’d never seen before. “I can’t ask you to do that. I’m sorry, Mark. But I don’t think I’ll ever feel that way about you.”
“It’s okay,” I told her. “This isn’t about that. We’ll get married so no one will look down on you, and so you won’t be a single mother.”
She hesitated, whispering, “Are you sure? That’s a lot to ask of a friend.”
But I was sure. Even if it was crazy, even if part of me wished she felt more for me, I couldn’t let her face this alone.
So we went down to the courthouse that week. Two friends signed as witnesses. It was quiet, quick, and nothing like the wedding of childhood dreams. But it was ours, and I promised myself I would make it enough.
Supporting Molly through her pregnancy wasn’t easy. We were still students, juggling classes, part-time jobs, and the stress of a future that none of our peers had to think about. But we tried. We worked together. I found myself growing excited at the thought of becoming a father.
Molly, though, struggled more than she admitted.
She missed her freedom—the parties, the sorority events, the carefree life she saw her friends enjoying online. Motherhood is a sacrifice, and she felt every inch of it.
