Jamie felt the color drain from her face and swallowed hard. She stared at the paper, a blank canvas she’d been instructed to fill but on which she’d left no mark. Her hand trembled as she finally penned a solitary four-letter word.

“All finished dear?” Nurse Whatshername asked. The words pinged Jamie’s ears, sounding like more of a statement than question. This bottle-blonde, mom-bobbed, too much jewelry-wearing woman played nice, but it seemed to Jamie exactly that: play. Is she even a real nurse? Jamie thought. Spidey senses zapped the back of her neck. “Oh, dear. Hmmm.” The woman’s eyes held fast to the paper for a beat, then her words and eyes pierced straight through Jamie. “See, that’s just not enough; you can see that right? Here, honey. Look at the list on the left. Go ahead and read it to me.” 

Jamie’s eyes and mouth obeyed. 

“Medical insurance, stable home environment, private school, piano lessons, nanny.” Hold up–a nanny? For real? Jamie suppressed an eye roll. The left-side list was long as a novel and included everything but the kitchen sink, though Jamie was sure it included that, as well, probably one of those extra-big fancy farmhouse sinks from the renovation shows her mom loved to watch. Her voice grew softer with each item uttered—the bevy of benefits to be bestowed upon such a lucky baby. Her baby. 

“Ok, Miss McKenzie, now read what you wrote.” 

Jamie met the woman’s gaze, straightened her spine, and recited her one-word, single-syllable list. “Love.” The word floated between them, hung momentarily like hope, before being scooped up and hurled back at Jamie’s face. 

“If you really LOVE your baby,” Nurse MomBob said, “you’ll put it up for adoption.” 

It was an equation that didn’t add up in Jamie’s mind. To love someone was to stay, not to leave, wasn’t it? Not-Nurse then softened her stance and pointed to the television on the wall. No, not pointed, more like presented, as if she were a game-show model. As if to say, “Look at all these fabulous prizes…”

Music filled the air as a montage of couples filled the screen. All young, all beautiful, offering up the good life. Puppies and ponies and pianos. They stood before McMansions, arms outstretched. “All that’s missing is a baby,” couple after couple cooed from the television, their polished teeth glistening. 

Like wolves, Jamie thought.

Not my baby, Jamie thought, but a crowd of naysaying thoughts gathered in her head.

I can’t give my baby anything, not even a Daddy. Joey and I will never be one of those couples. 

Joey hadn’t even made the trip across town with her. He’d texted her a Google map and headed off to basketball practice. He was the same Joey who had said, “One day I’ll marry you.” Joey who’d whined, “I can’t feel anything with that thing on.” Joey who’d promised, “I’ll stop in time.” He’d morphed into the Joey who said, “Are you sure it’s even mine?” The Joey who sneered and pushed away the positive test stick, the dried peed-upon stick Jamie had carried in her backpack for a solid week, hoping the result would change. It hadn’t, but he sure had. 

The video ended. The used car salesman of a nurse closed in. 

“Just sign here, honey, and we will take care of everything.” Jamie stared at that perfectly manicured finger pointing toward a direction she didn’t want to travel.

“I gotta talk to my mom,” she stammered. She shoved the pamphlets and permissions in her backpack—the one with “Jamie loves Joey” magic-markered in bubble letters along the straps, the one that still held that nasty pee stick—and made her way to the crosstown bus. She’d misread the schedule though, missed one bus, and taken the wrong connection. She arrived home late, scatterbrained and sweaty, to a table of angry eyes and tepid turkey meatloaf.

“‘Bout time,” her younger brother snarled. Her father made a show of looking at his watch, at her, back at his watch, and added a slow fatherly head shake as an encore. Her mother softened with a sigh but kept some snark on hand, “I was worried about you. That fancy cellular phone you begged us for? You know it works perfectly fine for calling home and letting your mother know you’re running late.” 

Jamie searched for an explanation, stammered out a weak apology, then slumped into her seat—backpack and all. She shivered against the arrival of a cold sweat. Her stomach churned. 

“Sugar, you don’t look right,” her grandmother said, “kinda—” but Jamie missed the last word, “peekid,” a funny Grandma-ism that would’ve normally brought a smile. She was out of earshot, racing toward the bathroom.

She felt her mother before she heard her, familiar hands in her hair, gathering it into a ponytail, rescuing stray strands from the rim of the porcelain bowl. Pulling off the backpack. A cool washcloth appeared like magic, dabbed against her forehead and cheeks. Little mom dabs. 

“Let me get the thermometer. There’s a nasty flu going around.”

Jamie reached for her mother. “It isn’t the flu,” she began. Sobs came on like a sudden storm, and she stammered and shook through the truth. Her mother sat down on the tile floor next to her. “I’m so sorry, Mom. And I know money is tight. Grandma is living here now. I was trying to get that scholarship to Northern but now I’ve messed everything up.” Jamie tore through the backpack, searching for the pamphlets. The pee stick bounced out, landed between them. More sobs. “Joey’s mad. I went to this Pregnancy Crisis place. They had this list. Big houses and fancy sinks. Ponies and stuff. This nurse told me if I really loved my baby I would give her up. She gave me this form. ”

Jamie’s mother picked up the pee stick, discarded it in the wastepaper basket, and handed a box of Kleenex to her still-sobbing daughter.

“Were you waiting for that stick to change to negative?” Jamie’s mom smiled.

Jamie smiled back and nodded her head. Her mother folded her in her arms, the longest hug her daughter had allowed in ages. She wished she could hold her forever. 

“Oh Jamie, did that lady even ask you what you wanted?” Jamie shook her head silently. “Well, this lady sitting next to you, who loves you, wants to hear what you want. Mansions and ponies don’t entitle people to other people’s children.” 

Lillian McKenzie, seven pounds, two ounces, came screaming into the world six months later. She left the hospital in the arms of a young nervous mother, the one whose voice she already knew, the one whose mirror of a face shone down on her like sunshine. 

Jamie finished high school online. She worked part-time and shared childcare duties with her mother and grandmother. Her bratty brother even changed a few diapers. Her dad still shook his head at times, but more often in amazement than condescension. He was a grandfather earlier than he’d imagined, but a proud grandpa nonetheless. Jamie’s family proved themselves the most vital of support systems. There was no extra money for private school or ponies, but there was an abundance of love, and that mixed with determination and support, was more than enough. It was everything. Joey came around eventually, but then only occasionally. He was a part-time papa at best, but even that proved to be enough. It was never perfect, but Lillian McKenzie began her life with the most fabulous prize of all. She began her life not with loss, but with love.