He was only 16 when he brought her home… a girl, already heavily pregnant and a year older than him.
Elizabeth attended the same college, just a year ahead. For days, Thomas had noticed the unfamiliar girl crying silently in the corner, her face buried in her hands. He couldn’t miss the slight curve of her stomach, the same worn-out clothes she’d been wearing for weeks, or the hollow look in her eyes, empty of any hope.
As it turned out, nearly everyone knew her story. The grandson of a well-known figure in their town had been seeing her—until he vanished without a trace, claiming urgent business in a neighbouring county. His parents refused to acknowledge her existence, bluntly telling her they wanted nothing to do with her. And her own family, fearing “shame” like something out of the Dark Ages, had thrown her out and retreated to their countryside cottage. Some pitied Lizzie; others snickered behind her back.
*”She’s got no one to blame but herself. Should’ve used her head!”*
Thomas couldn’t just stand by. After weighing his options, he approached her.
“It won’t be easy, but enough crying. Come home with me—we’ll get married. I won’t lie or sugarcoat things, though. No coddling, not for you, not for the baby. But I’ll be there. I promise we’ll be alright.”
Elizabeth wiped her tears and studied him. Just an ordinary boy, nothing fancy. Not the husband she’d dreamed of. But with no other choice, she followed him.
His parents were stunned. His mother begged him to reconsider, but Thomas stood firm.
“Mum, relax. It’ll be fine. I’ve got two grants coming in—the regular one and the hardship stipend. I’ll pick up work on the side. We’ll manage.”
“But what about your studies?”
“So? We’ll get by. Dad’s worked at the factory his whole life, you’re at the shop. People survive without degrees. It’s not the end of the world!”
Lizzie moved into his room. He gave her his bed, cramming himself into an uncomfortable pull-out chair. For five days, she was quiet as a ghost, trailing after him to college and back. Then, suddenly, she snapped.
“I’ve had enough! Why do your parents keep glaring at me? They don’t like me! And why do you never spend time with me? Always studying or running off somewhere!”
Thomas blinked in surprise.
“What did you expect? No, I doubt they like you, but they took you in. Your own family didn’t even want to look at you. And where are the parents of the bloke who got you pregnant? Studying? Yeah, I need to pass my exams if I want to keep my grant. ‘Running off’? That’s called working. And no, I’m not watching soppy telly with you.”
Elizabeth burst into tears.
“Why are you being so cruel?”
“How? I warned you—I don’t lie. Speaking of, when are we filing the marriage paperwork?”
“I can’t go like *this*! Buy me a nice dress—high-waisted, so no one sees the bump!”
“Are you serious? The registry office knows you’re pregnant! I’m saving for a pram and a cot—what dress?”
His mother reached for the valerian drops but slowly learned to accept it. Her eyes lingered more and more on baby clothes in shop windows. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Let them marry, let them live—she and his father would help however they could. But the girl was grating—never satisfied, always sulking about Thomas, the tiny flat, everything. Maybe after the baby came, she’d change.
Elizabeth had no intention of changing. When Thomas came home grimy and exhausted from the car wash, lugging a scruffy cat into their room, she flushed with rage.
“You idiot! Why would we need that mangy thing? Throw it out—now!”
Thomas didn’t budge.
“No. She’s expecting. She stays. Go heat up my dinner instead.”
*”Fine!”* Lizzie shrieked. *”Choose—her or me!”*
His face twisted in disbelief. “Why? This is my home—I don’t have to choose. She’s mine now. If you don’t like it, you can leave. Even Mum never pulled this rubbish. Maybe *you* should stop glaring at everyone.”
She sobbed, seethed, even grew jealous of the scraggly cat. Where had he even spotted a belly on her? But soon, the proof was undeniable—the cat *was* pregnant.
Thomas was tired. But whenever regret crept in, he shoved it aside. They’d make it. Lizzie would calm down after the birth—maybe even sooner, once the kittens arrived. Nothing soothed the soul like tiny, fluffy creatures.
But things unfolded differently. The grandfather—that “well-known figure”—returned from his long business trip and caught wind of everything. He tracked down his grandson, gave him an earful, and threatened to cut him off if his great-grandchild was raised by strangers. And that “privileged lad” *really* didn’t want to lose his cushy life.
Elizabeth left college with him that same day, not even glancing back at Thomas. At least she had her ID—she’d been planning a clinic visit after classes. Her old things? Who cared—she’d get new ones! No way was she setting foot in that shabby college again.
Thomas was crushed. Not so much as a goodbye. Not a word. He tossed out her belongings and sat alone in the dark for hours, clutching the cat to his chest.
The cat understood. She pressed against him, purring softly, offering silent comfort.
When her time came, Thomas delivered the kittens himself, barring his nervous mother and baffled father from the room. He murmured encouragement, kept watch, phone ready to call the vet if needed.
Four kittens arrived safely. He changed the bedding, set out fresh water and food, and, satisfied they were all well, trudged off to sleep. In the chaos, he’d even forgotten—that day was his birthday.
He’d just turned 17.
