“My mom was so mad,” she said. “She just couldn't believe I was pregnant. She kicked me out. It was a really hard time for me. I moved in with my boyfriend.”
Her pregnancy was an accident. And at age sixteen, God knows, your whole life is an accident waiting to happen. Especially if you've been engaging in the same extra-ciricular activities your peers have—and I don't mean basket-weaving.
As soon as it happened, her boyfriend swore he'd stick around forever. He bought her a ring, even got a tattoo. But sixteen-year-old boys don't know how to make promises, and forever lasts longer than a tattoo.
Before her second trimester, he bolted for Tennessee.
“He just didn't come home one day,” she said. “My body kept changing, I felt abandoned, I couldn't focus on school, so I just quit going.”
A few years went by. The sixteen-year-old turned into a twenty-year-old. And life priorities became startlingly clear with age. She wanted more for her son than minimum wage.
“My cousin,” she said. “She's an X-ray tech. She makes decent money. She raises two kids by herself, and doesn't struggle to pay the bills. I thought to myself one day, 'hey,…