On the Otherside of Town

A Doctor's Visit, Rumors & the Guidance Counselor

Chapter 8:

Aurora's POV

A Month Later

I hadn’t spoken to Micah since that awful day at the park. His words still echoed in my head, cutting deeper every time I replayed them. *"How do I know it’s mine? You probably don’t even know who the dad is. Pinning it on me ‘cause I’ve got a future, huh?"* The way he sneered, like I was nothing more than the trash people already thought I was, made my blood boil. I’d bolted out of there so fast, afraid of what I might do if I stayed. I’d never wanted to hit someone so bad in my life.

That was weeks ago, and here I was, doing this on my own. I’d gone to a free clinic first, hoping it’d be enough, but deep down, I knew better. If I was going to give this baby any sort of chance, I needed something better. The kind of care they had on the *other* side of town—the rich side. So, I started saving. I skipped lunch at work, put off buying the things I needed, and scraped together just enough for three doctor visits. That’s it. Three visits and then every penny of my escape fund would be gone.

Dad was out again, driving across the coast, and I didn’t even mind being alone. At least I didn’t have to hide my nausea or sneak out. I took the bus to the office, staring out the window as we crossed the invisible line dividing my side of town from theirs. The rich side looked like another planet—everything cleaner, shinier, like life wasn’t allowed to fall apart here.

When I finally walked into the doctor’s office, I immediately felt out of place. The waiting room had these sleek leather chairs, a big aquarium built into the wall with colorful fish, and a faint smell of lavender. The receptionist barely glanced at me, her perfect manicure clicking on the keyboard as she asked, “Name?”

“Aurora Danvers,” I said, my voice small.

She finally looked up, her eyes flicking over my clothes—worn jeans and an oversized hoodie. I didn’t miss the way her perfectly shaped brow arched, but she didn’t say anything, just handed me a clipboard. “Fill this out and bring it back when you’re done.”

I sat down and stared at the forms, the questions blurring together. *Emergency contact? None. Partner’s information? Definitely none.* I filled out what I could and handed it back, then waited, feeling like everyone in the room was staring at me, even if they weren’t.

Finally, a nurse called my name. “Aurora? Follow me.”

The exam room was just as fancy as the waiting area. Everything was spotless, and the equipment looked like it belonged in some sci-fi movie. I sat on the paper-covered table, my hands gripping the edge as I waited for the doctor. My stomach twisted in a mix of nerves and nausea.

After what felt like forever, the door opened, and a woman in her late 40s walked in. She had sharp eyes but a kind smile, her lab coat pristine. “Aurora Danvers?” she asked, looking at the chart. “I’m Dr. Whitman. Nice to meet you.”

“Hi,” I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled again, sitting on a stool and rolling over. “So, you’re here for your first prenatal visit, correct? How far along are you?”

“I… I don’t know,” I admitted, feeling stupid.

“That’s okay. We’ll figure it out,” she said, her tone gentle. “First, I’ll ask you a few questions about your health history, then we’ll do a quick exam, and if everything’s fine, we’ll do an ultrasound today. How does that sound?”

“Okay,” I said, nodding.

She asked me a million questions—about my health, my family, my lifestyle. Each answer felt like a confession. No, I don’t have a partner. Yes, I smoke sometimes. No, I’m not taking any vitamins. By the time she finished, I wanted to crawl under the table and disappear.

“All right, let’s take a look,” Dr. Whitman said, snapping on gloves. The exam was awkward and uncomfortable, but she was professional and quick. When it was over, she cleaned up and wheeled over the ultrasound machine.

“This is the fun part,” she said, squeezing gel onto my stomach. “Let’s see your little one.”

I stared at the screen as she moved the wand over my skin, her eyes scanning the monitor. “There it is,” she said, smiling and pointing. “That’s your baby.”

The room seemed to freeze. My heart thudded in my chest as I stared at the tiny blob on the screen. It didn’t look like much, but knowing it was real, that it was *inside me*… it was overwhelming.

“You’re about nine weeks along,” Dr. Whitman said. “Everything looks good so far. Do you have any questions?”

A million questions ran through my mind, but none of them made it to my mouth. “No,” I said softly.

“Okay,” she said, printing out a picture. “Take this with you. It’s your first picture of the baby.”

I took the photo with shaky hands, staring at it like it held all the answers. When I finally left the office, the weight of it all hit me. This wasn’t just about me anymore. It was about *us.* And I didn’t know if I was ready.

Going back to school felt like stepping into a war zone. I pulled on the baggiest hoodie I could find, one that hung past my hips and swallowed me whole, paired with loose sweatpants that dragged at the hem. No one could see it, not yet—not the small bump that had started to show if you really looked. But I knew it was there, and that was enough to make my stomach churn with anxiety.

As I walked through the halls, the whispers started. They were always there, like a constant hum just under the noise of slamming lockers and chatter. But now, they felt sharper, more directed.

“Trailer trash,” someone muttered as I passed. “Bet she doesn’t even know who the dad is.”

“Is it true she’s knocked up?” another voice whispered loudly enough for me to hear.

I clenched my fists, keeping my head down and walking faster. Ignoring them was all I could do, even when their laughter followed me down the hallway like a shadow.

In class, it was worse. Micah was sitting with his friends, the golden boy surrounded by his loyal followers. He hadn’t looked at me in weeks, hadn’t texted, hadn’t so much as acknowledged my existence since that day in the park. But today, as the whispers started up again in the back of the room, he leaned over and said something to his friend that made them both laugh. I knew it was about me.

I tried to focus on the teacher, but my cheeks burned, and my hands trembled as I gripped my pencil. The humiliation was unbearable, and every word, every laugh felt like another crack in the walls I’d built around myself.

By lunchtime, I’d had enough. I slipped into the girls’ bathroom, locking myself in a stall and leaning against the door. The tears came before I could stop them, hot and bitter, as I pressed my hands to my face and tried to muffle the sound.

When the guidance counselor called me in later that day, I knew it wasn’t random. Mrs. Holloway was nice enough, with her soft voice and kind eyes, but I could tell she already knew.

“Aurora,” she said gently, gesturing for me to sit down. “I wanted to check in with you. There have been… rumors going around, and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

My heart sank, and I shook my head, trying to avoid her gaze. “I’m fine,” I said quickly, my voice barely above a whisper.

She leaned forward, her hands folded on her desk. “Aurora, if there’s anything going on—anything you want to talk about—I’m here to help. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

That word—"alone"—was all it took to break me. The tears came fast, spilling down my cheeks as my whole body shook with the force of my sobs.

“It’s his,” I choked out, burying my face in my hands. “It’s Micah’s. He knows, and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, and I don’t know what to do. I’m alone, and I’m scared, and I don’t know how to fix this.”

Mrs. Holloway moved around the desk, kneeling in front of me as she handed me a tissue. “Aurora, I’m so sorry you’re going through this,” she said softly. “But you’re not alone. We’ll figure this out together, okay? One step at a time.”

Her kindness only made me cry harder. For the first time in what felt like forever, someone wasn’t judging me or blaming me. Someone actually cared. And in that moment, it felt like the tiniest crack of light breaking through the darkness.