"CAUGHT BETWEEN YESTERDAY AND YOU "

The world didn't end with a bang or a gunshot. It ended with two pink lines. Amaka sat frozen on the cold bathroom floor, her back pressed against the mold-stained wall, staring at the tiny stick that had just changed her entire life. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, and her vision blurred with tears that she didn’t even realize were falling. Two lines. Not one. Two. The result was unmistakable, even if her heart begged it to be wrong. A soft whimper escaped her lips as she picked the stick up again with trembling hands, hoping—praying—that maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her. That maybe the second line was just a shadow. But no. It was real. She was seventeen, unmarried, still in secondary school, and pregnant. Her whole body felt numb. Her fingers were ice. Her mind raced in a thousand directions but settled on one name—one person. Kelvin. The father of her unborn child. He was four years older. Tall, handsome, and dangerously charming. From the first moment she met him, something about him pulled her in like a tide she couldn’t fight. He was her escape from the strict rules of home and the pressure of school. Her first love. Her first everything. She trusted him with her heart. And now, she had trusted him with her body. Amaka swallowed hard, forcing herself to stand. Her legs wobbled, and she had to grip the sink for balance. She stared into the cracked mirror above it, barely recognizing the girl who stared back. Her eyes, usually full of life, looked hollow. Her skin pale. Her lips trembled. “I’m pregnant,” she whispered to her reflection. And just like that, the tears came crashing down. She sank to her knees again and sobbed, her shoulders shaking with each cry. Her dreams of university, of making her parents proud, of one day traveling the world—they all seemed so far away now. She was carrying a child. A baby. A whole human being. How could she do this? How would her parents react? Would they throw her out? Would they hate her forever? Her mother’s voice echoed in her head: “You must never bring shame to this family, Amaka. We’ve worked too hard for you.” Shame. That was what she had brought. --- Later That Evening She held her phone tightly, her fingers hovering over Kelvin’s name in her contact list. Her heart pounded in her chest. What if he denied it? What if he walked away? No. He wouldn’t do that. Kelvin loved her. Didn’t he? She took a deep breath and pressed call. It rang three times before he answered. “Hey, babe,” he said casually, not knowing the storm on the other end of the line. Amaka closed her eyes, her throat tightening. “Kelvin… I need to see you. It’s serious.” His tone shifted slightly. “What’s wrong?” “Just… please. Meet me at the usual place. The uncompleted building. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” She didn’t wait for his answer. She ended the call, grabbed a scarf, and slipped out of the house like a thief. The streets were dark, quiet, and cold. The walk felt longer than usual, her mind swirling with fear, shame, and a desperate hope that Kelvin would say the right thing—that he’d hold her and say they’d figure it out. That hope died the moment she saw his expression. Kelvin leaned against the wall of the unfinished building, his arms crossed, brows furrowed. “What’s so urgent that you had to drag me out at this time?” Amaka’s heart raced as she stepped closer, clutching the small nylon bag that held the test. She handed it to him with trembling hands. He pulled out the stick, stared at it for a moment, then blinked. His jaw tensed. “What’s this supposed to mean?” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I’m pregnant.” The silence between them stretched for what felt like forever. Then he laughed. It wasn’t the kind of laugh that came from joy or nervous relief. It was bitter. Dry. Cold. “You’re joking, right?” Amaka felt like she had been slapped. “Kelvin, this isn’t a joke. It’s yours. You know it is.” His eyes hardened. “How do I know that? Amaka, I don’t even have a job. I’m struggling to take care of myself, and you’re bringing this to me?” Her voice broke. “We were together. I’ve only been with you. Please, Kelvin… don’t do this to me.” He looked away, anger flickering across his face. “I can’t be a father. Not now. Maybe not ever. You’re on your own.” Tears flooded her eyes. “You promised me. You said you loved me.” “Love doesn’t feed a baby, Amaka. Get rid of it. Or deal with it yourself.” And with that, he turned and walked away. Leaving her in the dark. In the silence...she walked back home looking helpless. Amaka had barely eaten since that night. Since Kelvin walked away. Since he said the words that shattered her like glass— “You’re on your own.” She felt like a walking shadow, drifting through the house as if she didn’t exist. Her parents didn’t notice. They were always busy, always yelling about bills, school fees, the cost of fuel. Amaka stayed silent. She hadn’t told them. She didn’t know how to. But secrets never stay hidden forever. --- It was a Saturday morning. Her mother was cleaning Amaka’s room while she was in the backyard doing laundry. She moved fast, humming a gospel song under her breath as she swept beneath the bed, dusted the shelves, and emptied the small plastic waste bin beside the wardrobe. She wasn’t looking for anything. Just cleaning. But the moment her eyes fell on the small white strip buried beneath some tissue, her breath caught. She knew what it was. She’d seen enough social media gossip to recognize a pregnancy test when she saw one. With trembling hands, she picked it up. Two pink lines. Her world spun. --- “Amaka!” The scream shook the walls. Amaka ran inside, her heart thudding. “Mama? What is it?” Her mother was standing in the middle of her room, the test strip in her hand, her face pale with fury. “What is this?” Amaka’s breath stopped. “Mama, I can explain—” “Explain?” her mother shouted. “Explain what? That you’re pregnant? That you’ve been lying to us while sleeping around like some prostitute?” Tears welled in Amaka’s eyes. “I didn’t lie— I was scared…” Her mother slapped her. The sound was deafening. “Who is the father?” she hissed. Amaka hesitated. “Who?!” “…Kelvin.” Her mother clutched her chest, like the name alone was poison. Just then, her father stepped into the room, drawn by the noise. “What’s going on?” “She’s pregnant,” her mother said bitterly. “Your precious daughter has brought shame into this house.” His eyes went dark. “I trusted you, Amaka,” he said coldly. “You’ve ruined everything.” “I didn’t mean to—” “Silence!” he roared. “You’ll go to your aunt’s place tomorrow. Pack your things. You will not disgrace this family under my roof.” --- That night, Amaka cried silently into her pillow, her heart heavy. Her mother hadn’t looked at her again. Her father had locked himself in his room. She was pregnant. Alone. Disowned. And Kelvin had turned his back on her. Her phone buzzed beside her. A name lit up her screen. Victor. Her fingers trembled as she opened the chat. He had replied to her message from earlier that day. > Victor: Are you okay? You’ve been quiet since you told me. Victor: I mean it, Amaka. You can come here. You don’t have to go through this alone. Victor: Just say the word. Amaka’s chest ached. Her thumbs moved slowly across the keyboard. > Amaka: They found out. My mom saw the test strip. Amaka: I’m leaving tomorrow. They’re sending me away. Amaka: I don’t want to go. I don’t want to hide like a mistake. Amaka: Can I come to you? A pause. Then the reply came. > Victor: Yes. Come to me, Amaka. Victor: I’ll be here. Victor: Always. For the first time in days, she smiled through her tears. She wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet