No Where To Go
856 Words
The cold night air bit into Angela’s skin as she stepped out of the house that was no longer her home. She didn’t even realize she was shaking until the door slammed behind her, the sound echoing like a final verdict. Her mother hadn’t even let her take her suitcase—only tossed a plastic bag of random clothes at her feet and told her to leave.
“Don’t come back with that shame,” her father had said.
His voice kept replaying.
Over and over.
Like a wound reopening every second.
Angela wrapped her arms around herself as she stumbled down the street, the plastic bag rustling pathetically in her hand. Every few steps, she slipped on the wet ground, the world spinning with the weight of what she was now carrying—two heartbeats, hers and the tiny life she hadn’t told anyone about. Not even Ethan.
Especially not Ethan.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she didn’t dare look. She knew it was him. Ethan Blake. The man who had once kissed her like she was the only woman on earth… the same man who had shattered her without even understanding how badly.
If he knew she was pregnant, he would come looking.
And she wasn’t ready for that. Not when she herself didn’t even know how to live with it.
Her tears blurred the street lights as she scanned the road hopelessly, searching for anywhere—anywhere—that wouldn’t crumble when she leaned against it.
But the city didn’t care.
Doors stayed shut.
Windows glowed warmly from inside homes that weren’t hers.
Cars sped past without stopping.
She managed to reach the small community shelter on the corner of Brookside Street—only to find the sign taped to the glass door:
“FULL. NO BEDS AVAILABLE.”
Angela pressed her forehead against the cold glass, her breath fogging the surface. The ache in her chest deepened until she thought she would collapse right there on the pavement. Her baby’s future felt like a faraway dream. She hadn’t even had time to process it. She only learned she was pregnant two hours before the fight with her parents.
And now here she was—
Alone.
Unwanted.
Freezing.
She wiped her tears with the sleeve of her sweater and forced herself to move again. If she didn’t find somewhere—anywhere—tonight, she feared she wouldn’t survive the night, much less bring a child into the world.
A sudden cramp knifed through her abdomen, sharp enough to make her gasp. She pressed a hand to her stomach as she leaned against the nearest wall.
“Not now,” she whispered to the little life within her.
“I’m trying… I’m trying my best.”
But her best felt painfully small.
She spotted an old church across the street, its lights dim but still open. With trembling legs, she crossed the road and pushed the heavy door open. Warmth hit her instantly, making her knees almost give out.
Only one person sat inside—the elderly caretaker, sweeping near the altar. He paused when he saw her, his kind eyes widening at the sight of her tears, the exhaustion hanging off her like drenched cloth.
“Child… are you alright?” he asked gently.
“No,” Angela whispered, her voice breaking. “I… I just need somewhere to sit for a while. Just a little while.”
The caretaker nodded and pointed to a long bench.
“You can rest here. No one will disturb you.”
Angela sank onto the wooden seat, burying her face in her hands. The church was quiet, safe, warm—everything her life was not. She listened to the faint hum of the heater, the soft creaking of the old building, and her own slow breathing as she willed herself not to fall apart.
Her mind wandered back to Ethan—his smile, the warmth of his hands, the promises he once made.
Promises that now felt like lies.
He didn’t know she was carrying his child.
And she intended to keep it that way.
He had hurt her once. She wouldn’t let him destroy her again.
But as another cramp twisted through her stomach, sharper this time, her fear rose like wildfire.
How was she supposed to raise this baby alone?
Where would they sleep tomorrow?
How long before the world swallowed her whole?
The caretaker approached slowly and placed a small blanket on the bench beside her.
“Rest,” he said softly. “You look like you’ve been fighting storms.”
Angela let out a quiet, broken laugh.
If only he knew.
She curled up on the bench, gripping the blanket and whispering into the darkness:
“We’re going to survive… okay? I promise you, little one. I’ll find a way…”
Her voice cracked again.
“…even if no one wants us.”
The tears she had been holding in finally broke free, and in the silence of the old church, Angela cried herself into an exhausted sleep—pregnant, heartbroken, homeless, and utterly alone.
But not defeated.
Never that.
- Writer
