She rubbed her belly slowly, chewing her lip. She wouldn’t be able to hide it much longer or just wave it off as the Covid 20 so many have gained. No, that story wouldn’t be bought by anyone in another month. They would know. Everyone would know. And then the questions would start.

“How did this happen? Who is the father? Why didn’t you practice safe sex? How could you do this to your family? Don’t you have any self-respect? “ they would all ask.

And she didn’t know how to answer any of that. Not fully anyway.

How? She went to a concert. Who? She had no idea. Why? Because she didn’t remember it. That night was a blur. She remembered drinking a beer. Her first. She remembered chatting and flirting with someone. She remembered feeling weak, being helped towards the restrooms. Then nothing.

No, nothing wasn’t quite true. She had glimmers, brief flashes. Strangers over her, grunting. Each one was different. And then, blackness. Then it was morning. She was cold, almost freezing, in a porta-potty. Her purse and money were gone. Her clothes reeked of smoke, beer, and piss. Her thighs were bruised, her pussy stained with dried cum. Even her ass hurt. She threw up, stumbled out, and hitched a ride home. And cried. She didn’t tell anyone, just tried to forget, until she missed her period. Until her belly started to grow. A surprise gift, her life was ruined.