He kissed me goodbye at the bus stop, his hand lingering on my still-flat stomach. “Take care of our baby,” he said.

I watched the bus disappear down the road, dust swirling in its wake.

That was the last time I saw him.

By the time my pregnancy started showing, Ethan had been gone for two months. I’d sent letters to the address he’d given me—his aunt swore it was correct—but received no replies. The town began to notice, and the whispers followed me everywhere.

“Hannah’s putting on weight,” someone would say at the market.

“No husband yet, though,” another would add. “Probably knocked up by some city boy who used her and ran.”