My friend Ashley is pregnant
, again. I don't know who the father is.
A few months ago she went through the same ordeal, with a different guy. She got drunk and high, and had unprotected sex with her then-boyfriend, James. Three weeks later, she had sobbingly asked me to pick up a pregnancy test for her, because she couldn't afford it. I did. I got her two. Sure enough, there was life blooming inside her.
She was, and still is, too young to take responsibility for the life of another. Her family disapproved of it, but grudgingly agreed to try and help. This hurt her. Her boyfriend left her, and denied it was his. This hurt her more.
She didn't want it, initially. She knew she wasn't up to it. We all knew she wasn't up to it.
She changed her mind about a month into it. She decided she could love it and give it all she could. We all knew she wasn't up to it.
Eventually, she had a miscarriage. That hurt her more than anything. She cried and cried, and I did my best to comfort. But she didn't learn the first time.