It was a cold winter in Charlotte, North Carolina—the kind of cold that gets under your skin and stays there. I had just found out I was pregnant, but my baby daddy, Omar, didn't offer me a home or a future. He looked at me and said he didn't want the baby, and he didn't want me. He told me to get an abortion, and he paid for it as if he were just settling a debt. I went to the clinic. I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders, and the guilt was already eating at me. But as I walked out, I saw two women holding signs that read, "Don't abort your baby." They offered me prayers, and in that moment, I accepted them. They talked me out of it. They took me to a doctor who could undo what I had started. When the doctor called me back and asked if I wanted an ultrasound, my heart pounded. I said, "Yes." Seeing that tiny life on the screen... I got so emotional. She handed me the reversal pill, and the two women drove me home. That night, as I tried to settle into bed, my world tilted. I felt my heart trying to stop. I tried to move, but I could barely crawl. I made it halfway down the hallway, trembling as I dialed 911. "I can’t move," I cried into the phone. "My heart is stopping." The ambulance came, and I struggled just to open the door. At the hospital, after two hours of waiting, I started to feel better. I wasn't going to wait any longer. I called my sister, Athena, and she helped me get a Lyft back home so I could finally rest. The next day, my ex-boyfriend Marcus called after three months of silence. "Why haven't you been talking to me?" he asked. I didn't lie. "I apologize. I just found out I’m three weeks pregnant." "That’s okay," he said. "I’m not going to stop talking to you." But back at home, the reality was dark. When I told Omar I was still pregnant, his only response was, "So I wasted my money?" That was the moment I realized he didn't care about my health or the baby. He only cared about his pockets. I knew then I had to pack my bags and save enough money to leave him. Every day, Omar smoked in the house. I felt sick. My sister Athena told me, "If you don't leave soon, that environment could damage the baby’s brain." I tried to see if Omar still wanted to be a father, because I knew if I left, I’d never return. And Marcus? He said he’d come see me, but the months went by and he never showed. I knew I had to leave North Carolina. It wasn't safe for us. I ordered a bus ticket to Atlanta to live with Athena and my four-year-old niece, Zara. I called a Lyft, and even then, I asked Omar to help me with my luggage. He did. As we drove away, I texted him one last time: "Did you want a kiss before I left?" "No," he replied. I just wanted to make sure I didn't leave on bad terms. I was closing the door for good. The Lyft driver took me through a drive-through—a cheeseburger, fries, and a cup of water. At the bus stop, two kind strangers helped me with my bags. As the bus pulled away, I thought about my old career and the new opportunities waiting for me. It was only three weeks until Christmas. When I reached Atlanta, Athena was so excited to see me. I walked off that bus and right into her arms. "Hey sis. Hey Zara," I said, feeling a cramp in my back from the long ride. We got more cheeseburgers and fries, and then we went home. Athena’s house was beautiful. I loved her Christmas tree and the handmade decorations she’d made from DIY videos. She gave me a tour—the dining room, the kitchen, the office—and then showed me my bedroom, right across from the bathroom in case my morning sickness kicked in. I was finally unpacking my bags when the phone rang. Marcus. "Hey," I answered. "How are you?" "I'm doing great. I'm in Atlanta living with my sister." Then Marcus snapped. "I can come to Atlanta! We can go to the country, ride horses... why would you leave Charlotte and run from me?!!" I felt my heart race. I had waited three months for him in North Carolina. He had more than enough time to come get me. I wasn't going to risk my baby’s health in a house full of smoke just to play a waiting game with a man who wasn't there when I was terrified and alone. What do I say to him now? Do I even want to hear his excuses?