I was seven months pregnant, broke, and barely holding it together when I saw a poor old man at the grocery store, counting crumpled bills while trying to afford dog food over his own meal. I spent my last $20 to help him and his dog. What I found on my doorstep the next morning left me shaken.
My name is Riley. I’m 28, seven months pregnant, and completely on my own. When I told the baby’s father about the pregnancy, he packed his bags that same night.
“I’m not ready for this,” he said, like I had asked him to climb Mount Everest instead of just being a dad. Since then, it’s been me, Bean (that’s what I call the baby), and my beat-up Corolla that sounds like it’s dying every time I turn the key.
A pregnant woman | Source: Unsplash
Money is tight. Really tight. I work part-time at Miller’s Pharmacy downtown, but my paychecks disappear faster than snow in July. Rent, utilities, doctor visits, gas… there’s always something.
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