The bus lurched over another speed bump, slamming Kaylee’s head into the low roof.

She barely flinched.

Someone in the back hissed, “Hey, easy on the bumps!” A few others muttered their frustration, but Kaylee didn’t care. The world could rage around her—it didn’t matter. Not today.

“Beautiful baby you’ve got there.”

Kaylee turned. The old woman beside her wore a red wool sweater, a long corduroy skirt, and had silver hair pinned neatly into a bun. Her smile was soft, kind—oblivious to the storm brewing inside Kaylee.

In another life, Kaylee would have beamed, held her son proudly, and said, “His name is Kenneth”. She would have bounced him in her arms, waiting for the inevitable praise about how beautiful he was, how much he looked like her.

But she couldn’t. Not today. Not with the weight crushing her chest.

The old woman cooed at Kenneth anyway, making silly noises, trying to earn a giggle. Kaylee turned to the window instead. The scenery had shifted—familiar streets, old shops, rows of houses she had walked past a thousand times.

Home.

She had sworn never to return.

The day she saw the two pink lines, her world cracked. She was nineteen, terrified, and alone. She knew her boyfriend would never accept it, no matter how sweet his words had been before. And her mother?

Her mother would rage. She had always said Kaylee was a huge disappointment, this would only confirm her accusations.

So she ran.

She left the only home she had ever known, clutching a bag packed with trembling hands, slipping money from her mother’s purse because God help her, she had nothing.

Aunt Meg had taken her in without a word. No lectures, no scolding. Just quiet acceptance, the way her late father would have done. She had taken care of she and her baby once he was born and Kaylee was grateful. Truly.

But there were times when she thought about ending it. She played with the idea, turning it over in her mind till it had become all too familiar.

 It would be easier. It would be cleaner.

But she couldn’t.

The life inside her had done nothing wrong. It's only crime was being conceived in the wrong body.

Then a month turned to three. Three to six. And then, she felt him move.

One night, standing in the kitchen, she had muttered, “Maybe I’ll put it up for adoption.”

Aunt Meg, calm as ever, didn’t even look up from chopping carrots. “Why would you do that?”

Kaylee scoffed. “Because I have a life. I have school.”

Aunt Meg had only smiled, a knowing little curve of her lips. “Is that what you think?”

It was what she believed. Right up until the moment she lay screaming in a hospital bed, body shaking, fingers clawing at the sheets. The pain was unbearable, stretching endless. She cursed herself, cursed the baby, cursed everything.

But then—he was there. Small and completely helpless.

And when she held him, when he opened his big brown eyes and looked at her like she was the only thing in the world—everything else fell away.

Tears fell from her eyes as she whispered his name into the stale hospital air.

“…Kenneth.”

He wrapped her index finger in his tiny hand. A laugh, soft and pure, bubbled from his lips.

He was perfect.

Then, one day, Aunt Meg placed a cup of tea in front of her and simply said, “Your mother wants to see you.”

The words sent ice through her veins.

She had dreamed of this moment. Sometimes as a nightmare, her mother’s voice a blade slicing through her. Other times as a fantasy, where arms opened wide and forgiveness bloomed. Nevertheless, she packed a few things for the journey. Now, she was here. A bus rattling toward home. Her son in her arms.

Her heart pounded.

Would her mother accept him?

Would she accept her?

Kaylee tightened her grip on Kenneth, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

No matter what waited on the other side—love, hate, or something in between—she would not run again.

She would not.

Because she was a mother now. And mothers didn’t run.

They fought.

They stayed.

And so, she would too.