A Son with a Stranger's Eyes

"I can't believe I was so stupid!" I paced back and forth in Chloe's apartment, tugging at my hair in frustration. "Who does that? Who has unprotected sex with a complete stranger?"

Chloe sat on her couch, watching me wear a path in her carpet. "Hey, it was a mistake. We all make them."

"Not like this!" My voice cracked. "What if I have an STD? What if I'm..."

I couldn't even say the word. Pregnant. The possibility hung in the air between us.

"First things first," Chloe said, grabbing her phone. "Let's schedule you for testing."

Two weeks later, we sat in a sterile waiting room at the clinic. My leg bounced nervously as I stared at the bland artwork on the walls.

"Hazel Vance?" A nurse called my name.

Chloe squeezed my hand. "Want me to come with you?"

I nodded, too anxious to speak.

The doctor was kind but direct as she reviewed my test results. "Your STD panel came back negative," she said, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me.

"Thank God," I breathed.

"However," she continued, glancing down at her chart, "your pregnancy test is positive."

The room tilted. I heard Chloe gasp beside me.

"There must be a mistake," I whispered.

"I'm afraid not," the doctor said gently. "Based on the date you provided of your encounter, you're approximately six weeks pregnant."

I don't remember much of what happened next. Chloe drove me home in silence. My mind raced with impossible scenarios, each more terrifying than the last.

"What am I going to do?" I finally asked as we sat on my couch. "My parents will disown me."

"You don't know that," Chloe said, though her voice lacked conviction.

"They just got over the humiliation of my ex cheating with my cousin. Now I have to tell them I'm pregnant from a one-night stand with a man whose name I don't even know?" I buried my face in my hands.

"Whatever you decide to do," Chloe said firmly, "I'm here for you."

I spent the next week in a daze, barely functioning. My options swirled endlessly in my head. When I finally gathered the courage to tell my parents, I felt like I was walking to my execution.

"Mom, Dad, I need to talk to you," I said that Sunday evening, my voice trembling.

They sat across from me at the dinner table, concern etched on their faces.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" my mother asked.

I took a deep breath. "I'm pregnant."

The silence that followed was deafening. My mother's fork clattered against her plate. My father's face drained of color.

"Who?" he finally asked, his voice tight.

"Someone I met at the masquerade ball," I admitted, tears streaming down my face. "I don't know his name. I don't know anything about him."

My mother stood abruptly and left the room. I heard her bedroom door slam shut. Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to my father. "I'll pack my things."

"Pack your things?" My father's brow furrowed. "Why would you do that?"

I looked up, confused. "Because you're kicking me out. Because I've disappointed you again."

To my shock, my father moved to my side of the table and pulled me into a tight embrace.

"Hazel, you're my daughter. Yes, I'm surprised, and yes, this isn't what I wanted for you. But kick you out? Never."

I sobbed against his shoulder, relief and gratitude overwhelming me.

"What are you going to do?" he asked gently when my tears subsided.

I pulled back, wiping my eyes. "I don't know. I've been thinking about all my options, but..."

"But what?"

"But every time I think about... not having it... something inside me rebels." I placed a hand over my still-flat stomach. "I know it's crazy, but I think I want to keep this baby."

My father nodded slowly. "Then you'll stay here. You'll finish your degree. We'll figure it out together."

"But Mom..."

"Your mother will come around," he assured me. "She loves you. She just needs time."

He was right. After three days of strained silence, my mother approached me in my bedroom. Her eyes were red from crying.

"I've been praying," she said, sitting beside me on the bed. "And I've realized something. This baby is my grandchild. Whatever circumstances brought it into existence, it's innocent and deserving of love."

Fresh tears sprang to my eyes as she pulled me into her arms.

"Thank you, Mom," I whispered.

"We'll make it work," she promised.

The next few months were a blur of doctor's appointments, morning sickness, and university classes. My body changed, stretching to accommodate the growing life inside me. Chloe stayed by my side, accompanying me to every checkup, holding my hair back when morning sickness struck, and defending me fiercely against campus gossip.

"Will you be my baby's godmother?" I asked her one afternoon as we folded tiny onesies.

"Just try to stop me," she grinned, then grew serious. "Are you sure you don't want to try finding him? The father?"

I shook my head. "He was a stranger at a masquerade ball. All I know is that he has unusual eyes. How would I even start?"

News of my pregnancy eventually reached my ex and my cousin. Jessica wasted no time spreading rumors.

"I heard she doesn't even know who the father is," she'd told mutual friends loudly at a café where she knew I was studying. "Like mother, like son or daughter, I guess."

Ethan had simply stared at my growing belly, a smug smile on his face. "Couldn't keep your legs closed, could you, Hazel?"

Chloe had nearly punched him before I pulled her away.

"They're not worth it," I'd told her, though the words stung.

At my twenty-week appointment, the technician smiled as she moved the ultrasound wand over my rounded belly.

"Would you like to know the sex?" she asked.

I nodded eagerly, Chloe squeezing my hand in excitement.

"It's a boy!" the technician announced.

"A boy," I repeated wonderingly. "I'm having a son."

"What will you name him?" Chloe asked as we drove home.

I thought for a moment. "Leo," I decided. "It means 'lion.' I want him to be brave."

My pregnancy progressed normally until my thirty-seventh week, when my water broke unexpectedly during dinner. My father drove frantically to the hospital while my mother sat in the backseat with me, timing my contractions.

Fourteen hours later, exhausted beyond belief, I heard my son's first cry. It was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard.

"He's perfect," the nurse said, placing him on my chest.

I gazed down at his tiny red face in awe. He had a tuft of dark hair and my olive complexion. Then he opened his eyes, and my breath caught.

Violet-blue. The exact same unusual shade as his father's.

"Oh my God," Chloe whispered beside me, clearly recognizing the distinctive color from my descriptions.

"He has his eyes," I murmured, tracing a finger along my son's cheek. In that moment, the reality of what I'd done—and what I'd gained—hit me fully. This tiny person was half me and half a stranger I would likely never see again.

"Hello, Leo," I whispered, tears streaming down my face. "I'm your mom."

As I held my newborn son, his father's eyes staring back at me, I knew my life would never be the same. But looking at his perfect little face, I couldn't bring myself to regret a single moment that had brought him to me.