I finish zipping my suitcase closed, then stand back and survey it. I’ve packed everything I need for up to two weeks away, but I honestly have no idea how long I’ll actually be gone. Maybe forever.

Taking another step back, I take in my childhood bedroom. I was planning to move out of my parents’ apartment in a few months, but the reality of my pregnancy has me thinking of my future in a new way. Instead of a bedroom filled with tennis trophies and photos from high school prom, I’ll have a nursery with a crib and an animal-filled mobile. The question is, will it be just me and the baby in that room?

Or will someone else be joining us as well?

It’s been three days since the ultrasound, and though I’ve called Jay multiple times, I still haven’t managed to get him on the phone. My anxiety is at an all-time high, and I’m not sure what I can do to bring it down.

Through my cracked door, I hear the front door close. Grabbing the suitcase from where it sits on my comforter, I drop it to the floor and kick it under the bed. I still haven’t told my parents that I’m flying to Monte Carlo.

Or about anything else.

I make my way to the kitchen, my heart pounding in my throat. Mom is busy pulling vegetables out of the fridge and Dad is pouring himself an after-work drink.

“I don’t know why Amy got the yellow bell peppers,” Mom says. “She knows Lauren doesn’t like them.”

“Fire her,” Dad says casually.

Mom clicks her tongue. “Stop. You know she’s the best help we’ve ever had.”

He puts a cork stopper in the bottle of wine he’s opened. “Then why are you always complaining about her?”

“I’m not always complaining about her, I just—”

I clear my throat loudly. They both stop what they’re doing and look at me. Their combined gazes become a laser cutting into my soul.

“Yes?” Mom asks.

I gulp. I came out here to confess, to tell them about everything that’s been going on in my life—Jay, Monte Carlo, the baby—but standing in front of them now makes me lose my nerve.

“I’m going on a trip,” I hear my shaky voice say.

Mom quickly glances at Dad, who hasn’t taken his eyes off of me.

“What about work?” Dad asks.

“I got the time off.”

“They let you off this soon?”

“Yeah, they’re really flexible, and with summer and everything—”

He grunts and takes a sip of his drink. “That doesn’t sound like a very good summer job. Does that place even get busy?”

“Yes.”

“That spot at the office is still yours, you know. Clarissa always needs help with the books.”

My mouth is so parched I can hardly speak. “Thanks, but I have other plans.”

It’s not like I haven’t told him this exact thing a hundred times before.

Mom speaks up. “Where are you going, Lauren? You didn’t say anything about a trip.”

“I’m going to Monte Carlo…tomorrow.”

It’s the kind of silence you can hear a pin drop in. After the longest few seconds ever, Dad lets out a slow and harsh breath.

“You’re taking a vacation right after you started a new job? What happened to saving money for the summer and getting your studio?”

“And you’re traveling in the fall to tour grad schools,” Mom adds. “Right, sweetie?”

My hands are shaking, just like they did in the doctor’s office. I clasp my fingers together and swallow the lump in my throat.

“This is a pretty important trip, and I won’t be gone long.”

“How long?”

“Maybe a week,” my voice shudders. I have to admit the truth. “I don’t know yet.”

Now, even Mom looks angry.

“What’s this about, Lauren?” she demands, widely gesturing at the room. “Have we not done enough for you?”

“No! That’s not it. I—”

“Then what?” she barks, cutting me off before I can even finish my sentence.

“What’s in Monte Carlo?” Dad asks, putting his drink down on the kitchen island and glaring at me with a knowing look. “A guy?”

He’s good.

“Yes,” I admit, “But not just any guy.”

He shakes his head. “They’re all special at your age, Lauren. It’s the same for all of us. Let me guess—you met him in Macau?”

I lift my chin and clench my jaw. “Yes.”

Mom’s sigh is over-dramatic.

“I have to see him,” I continue. “It’s important.”

Dad rapidly fires questions my way. “Who is he? What does he do? Where does he live?”

“His name is Jay. He’s a…professional gambler.”

I press my lips tightly together. I’m not going to answer his last question, since nothing says ‘undependable’ quite like being extravagantly homeless.

“Jesus, Lauren,” Dad mutters. “This is a new low.”

His words sting worse than a slap to the face. I’ve tried so hard the last few weeks to keep things decent between my parents and me. Now, when I absolutely have to take this trip, they decide to kick me when I’m down. Sure, they don’t know about what I’m going through right now, but remembering that doesn’t make the pain lessen.

Dad goes on. “So, you’re really going to do this. You’re going to throw your life away to follow some gambler across Europe.”

“That’s not what I’m doing!” Now, there’s no holding back. My hands clench into fists at my sides, and my vision blurs.

“You almost had me believing you. You really did. All this talk about getting a studio and working hard to save money. But it was all just a fucking sham, wasn’t it?”

“No. It wasn’t.”

“How do I know that?”

I blink away tears. I’m pregnant. The words hover in the back of my mouth, but I’m not going to say them. I’m not going to reveal such an intimate secret when I know I’ll just get shouted at more.

“This is important, Dad. Please just believe me. I’m leaving tomorrow morning, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Out of the corner of my eye, my mother shakes her head.

Dad looks at me with what I can only describe as pity. “Why don’t you trust us?”

“I do trust you.”

“Then tell us why you’re going to Monte Carlo. What’s there that’s so important?”

“I have to see Jay.”

“What for?”

“Because, I…I…”

“That’s it, Lauren. I’ve had it. Give me your phone.”

My mouth falls open. “What?”

Before I can make a move, my dad is picking up my phone from the kitchen counter. I didn’t even know it was there. I must have set it down when I came out for some juice earlier.

He swipes the screen on my phone.

“What are you doing?” I cry.

“Finding out the truth.”

He types away at the screen, but the phone has had a numbered password on it since the day I got it.

“What’s your password?”

“I’m not telling you!”

“What’s your password?” he repeats.

I look to my mother for help, but she only shakes her head and frowns at me.

“Dad!”

He’ll never manage to unlock my phone, but still, I can’t control the anger coursing through me. I lunge for the phone, and he holds it out of the way. I go for it again and suddenly the phone is flying through the air…

And out the kitchen window.

My dad threw my phone out the window. I can’t believe it.

I rush the window and gaze down at the street below. We’re a few stories above the ground, and I can see my shattered cellphone on the concrete below.

“I can’t believe you did that,” I yell, turning to look at him.

Dad is red-faced, and not looking like he’s close to apologizing at all. He opens his mouth to respond, but Mom steps between us, her palm on his chest.

“Everyone just calm down. Let’s not do anything else we’ll regret.”

Behind her, Dad’s shoulders shake with anger. I want to scream and cry, to tear the curtains down.

That phone had Jay’s number on it—a number I never bothered to memorize. How am I going to get in touch with him now?

“Lauren,” Dad murmurs. “Look—”

“No,” I snap. Hot tears spill from my eyes, but I don’t bother to wipe them away.

“I acted rashly.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Just—”

“I don’t care!”

I stalk towards the doorway, and Mom reaches her hand out to me. “We’ll get you a new phone, honey.”

“I don’t want a new phone.” At the door, I spin around to face them. “I don’t want anything from you. All I needed was for you to accept me, to just trust me…but you can’t even do that, can you?”

I’m crying now, my words coming out in choked sobs. With every breath, I become angrier.

“I needed you to be supportive,” I gasp. “I actually needed you, but now I know I can never count on you again.”

I half-run to my room, ignoring my father who repeatedly calls my name.

At my bed, I drop to my knees and yank my suitcase free. Thank God, I had the foresight to pack it early. I have to get out of this apartment. If I don’t, I’ll burst into flames.

There’s too much pain, too much anger. It feels like I’m losing everyone in my life. Is this what it feels like to die of a broken heart?

With my chest aching, I frantically wipe tears from my cheeks and wheel the suitcase into the hall. My parents wait at the end of it, standing between me and the front door.

“We need to talk about this,” Dad says calmly. “Lauren, I’m sorry.”

I can’t even look at him. “Forget about it. I’m leaving. I’d rather sleep in the airport than spend another night here.”

Dad makes a move as if he’s going to block my way, but he seems to think better of it. I push my way past them and storm across the foyer.

“Lauren,” my mother tries one more time.

But I’ve taken my purse from the hook. I’ve opened the door. I’m gone.

In the elevator, I mop at my face with my T-shirt. My eye makeup is probably running and my face is definitely all red and splotchy, but I have to get it together. If I go into the street looking like a crazy person, I won’t be able to catch a cab.

I half expect them to follow me downstairs, but they don’t. I retrieve the remnants of my phone from the street—where it’s already been run over multiple times—and hail a taxi. With one last look back the building I grew up in, I slump into the backseat and tell the driver to take me to LaGuardia.

I attempt to turn my phone on, but it’s no use. It’s broken beyond repair, the screen containing a hundred cracks and the back indented. Even the SIM card is destroyed, the tiny essential, piece hardware split in half.

With the bridge between my parents and me finally burned, and the numbers of my friends and Jay lost, there’s no denying the truth: I’m utterly alone.