Kiara and I sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the waiting room, our hands clasped beneath the glossy magazine on my lap. The clinic was hushed, clean, and felt a million miles away from the chaos of our old life.
"It feels real now," Kiara whispered, adjusting her new prescription sunglasses. "Like a real, adult problem we have to solve. Not a nightmare we have to escape."
"We're not solving it, Ki," I squeezed her hand. "We're raising it."
The nurse called my name first. Kiara, true to her word, came right in with me. Dr. Hayes was everything we needed: older, kind-eyed, and professional. She didn't pry or judge; she just dealt with the facts.
The moment came when the cold gel hit my stomach and the ultrasound wand began to move. I looked at the monitor, holding my breath.
"Alright, Kiana," Dr. Hayes said softly, pointing to the screen. "There is your little one. Strong heartbeat. You're about 15 weeks along. Everything looks healthy."
I stared at the blurry, bean-shaped image, and a strange wave washed over me. It wasn't my attacker's doing; it was my baby. My breath caught on a sob, a mix of grief and sudden, fierce love. Kiara gripped my hand so hard my knuckles turned white.
After I was cleaned up, we switched spots. Kiara lay down, and Layla's soft, familiar voice filled the room. This time, I watched the screen with a new understanding.
"And here is yours, Kiara. Also a strong, healthy heartbeat," Dr. Hayes confirmed. "You are slightly further along, at 16 weeks. You two are only about a week apart."
Kiara's eyes were wide, fixed on the monitor. Tears silently tracked down her temples. We had gone in knowing we were pregnant, but seeing that tiny life—hearing that steady, rhythmic thump-thump-thump—changed everything.
When we walked out of the clinic, clutching pamphlets on prenatal vitamins and due date calculators, we felt lighter. Dr. Hayes had outlined a plan and given us solid, practical advice. She had treated us not as victims, but as two responsible, intelligent young women preparing to become mothers.
The darkness of our past had tried to force this life upon us, but we were choosing to raise them in the light.
****
After the appointment, the rhythm of our lives settled into a comforting, predictable routine. Our days revolved around the glow of the computer screens at The Crown and the occasional, hushed conversation about due dates.
Layla was incredible. She immediately noticed the subtle changes—the refusal of coffee, the slight flush in our cheeks—and when we quietly told her about the pregnancies, she simply smiled. "You girls are going to be wonderful mothers. We'll work around your morning sickness, and we'll keep you off your feet when you need it." Having her support, someone who wasn't family but who was now so important in our lives, felt like another blessing. It confirmed Dad wasn't just dating a great woman; he was giving us a great female mentor.
Work was rewarding. We handled the scheduling, managed the client flow, and learned the ins and outs of a successful business. It wasn't just a job; it was an education in responsibility and professionalism.
*
Evenings were spent in our condo, surrounded by stacks of textbooks and Clark Atlanta University brochures. We were both accepted into the Social Work program, a choice we hadn't even consciously coordinated, but it made perfect sense. We had survived; now we wanted to learn how to help others do the same.
We'd sit on the sofa, sometimes comparing our growing bellies, only a week separating us. We had decided to room together for the first semester, planning to use the extra bedroom in the condo as a nursery.
"Do you think we'll be those weird pregnant freshmen?" Kiara asked one night, tracing patterns on her anatomy book.
I shook my head, already mapping out my study schedule. "We'll be the focused freshmen. The ones with the life experience. Besides, we'll be walking in with our tuition already paid, thanks to that fraud's money. We have a goal, Ki. We're going to get these degrees, and we're going to give these kids everything we didn't have."
It was hard, yes. We were nauseous some mornings and exhausted every night. But we were safe. We were together. And every kick we felt—a gentle flutter now, soon to be a strong nudge—was a fierce reminder that we were not just surviving the past; we were building a beautiful, unstoppable future.
***
Kiara and I stood in front of the enormous main building, looking up at the banner that read: CLARK ATLANTA UNIVERSITY. We were here. We were free. And we were definitely showing.
We had spent the last few weeks nesting in our apartment—making it feel less like a rental and more like the permanent home we deserved. It was spacious, quiet, and had a dedicated room already turning into a shared nursery. Today, though, we traded packing boxes for backpacks.
Walking across campus felt strange. We were 17 , officially freshmen, yet already carrying the weight of the world—and our children—with us. We didn't look like the other incoming students: carefree, slight, and focused only on the syllabus. Our bellies were a visible consequence of our past, but also a symbol of the future we were fighting for.
Our first class was "Introduction to Social Work." We sat side-by-side in the lecture hall, and the professor, a powerful Black woman with a doctorate and a kind smile, started talking about the core purpose of the field: advocacy for the vulnerable.
Kiara leaned over and whispered, "This is us. We're the advocates now."
I nodded, gripping the pen in my hand. Everything the professor said resonated deeply. We weren't just learning from a textbook; we were learning from experience. Every struggle we had overcome—the molestation, the rape, the murder of our parents, the fight for justice—had prepared us for this calling. We understood vulnerability on a cellular level.
During the break, a few students glanced at us, curiosity plain on their faces, but no one approached. We weren't hiding, though. We didn't need to. We had our security, our father's unwavering support, and our goal: to graduate and use our pain to heal others.
As we walked out, the Atlanta sun warm on our faces, Kiara placed her hand on her abdomen, then on mine. "We got this, Kiana," she said. "College, babies, Social Work. We're doing it all, exactly how we decided."
*******************
They already moved in the town house and they did more things they are 17 yall I changed the age
Do enjoy
Later Darlings
