I GOT PREGNANT AT 14—AND NOW PEOPLE THINK I’M JUST A LAZY MUM WHO SITS AROUND ALL DAY (2 of 2)

I told Marc, thinking we’d be in this together. But he panicked. Said things like “you should probably get rid of it” and “I’m too young for this.” Then he ghosted me. Changed his number. I never saw him again.

Telling my mum was the worst part. She didn’t scream or cry. She just stood there, quietly, like her soul had left her body for a moment. Then she said, “Alright. Well. We’ll get through this.” I’ve never loved her more than I did in that moment.

We didn’t have much. I shared a room with my little brother. Mum worked two jobs—cleaning offices and delivering groceries. She didn’t judge me. She just held me while I cried and said, “You’ll be a better mum than you think.”

I had Mia a week before my Year 10 classmates were taking their mocks. The hospital room was cold. My contractions felt like my insides were being crushed. But the second she was placed in my arms, all of that faded. I just stared at her, this tiny bundle of skin and fuzz and perfect little fingers. She blinked up at me, and I knew—my life was split in two. Before Mia. After Mia.

I never went back to school full-time. I tried, but it was impossible. The whispers, the stares, the way even teachers looked at me like I was a lost cause. So I enrolled in online classes. Did assignments at 1 a.m. with Mia asleep on my chest. I failed some. Retook them. Passed most.

At sixteen, I started writing for small websites. Product reviews, listicles, parenting forums. I didn’t make much, but it was something. Enough to buy nappies without asking Mum. Enough to feel like I was doing something for us.

Then when I was seventeen, Mum got sick. It was just a cough at first. Then pneumonia. Then a shadow on the scan. Lung cancer. She never smoked a day in her life.