The muffled noise from the college hallway barely reaches me, hidden away in this small stall of the women's restroom. I sit on the toilet, knees pressed against my chest, my body curled up as I try to contain the whirlwind exploding inside me.In my hands, the pregnancy test. The object that carries the weight of the last few weeks, of every decision that has slipped through my fingers.It's been a difficult month — maybe the most difficult of my life.Ever since my father started getting sick, everything changed. That strong, stubborn man who was always my safe harbor, my foundation, could barely get out of bed now. The nights turned into long vigils, between ineffective medications, scheduled appointments, and a growing emptiness that consumed me.I tried to be strong, as much as I could. But the work at the bar, the classes at college, and caring for him began to weigh too heavily.That morning, the bomb dropped: I was fired from the bar. They needed someone who could be there all
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