"I appreciate your concern, but my personal life is my own business." I tried to step around them, but they moved to block my path.
"It becomes our business when you're paraded as a symbol of community virtue while living in sin," the woman continued. "You're young. You can still change course before you destroy yourself completely."
Nate appeared beside me, our coats draped over his arm. "Is there a problem here?"
"No problem," I said quickly. "We were just leaving."
He looked between me and the elders, clearly sensing the tension but not understanding its source. "Let's go."
I followed him out of the building and into the parking lot, grateful for the cool evening air against my flushed face.
But the nausea that had been building throughout the interview finally overwhelmed me.
I made it three steps from his car before doubling over and vomiting onto the pavement.
Nate was beside me instantly, one hand supporting my back while I emptied my stomach, the other pulling my loose hair back so I didn't soil it.
When the retching finally stopped, he produced a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to me.
"What's really going on?" Nate sounded concerned and I felt tears welling up. "And please don't tell me you're fine. We're past that."
I was sick of hiding things, sick of the constant pressure and anxiety.
I just wanted to unburden myself before I exploded, and running away to another city wasn't an option this time.
I wiped my mouth and straightened slowly, my legs shaking. "Can we get in the car? I don't want to do this in a parking lot."
He unlocked the doors and helped me into the passenger seat, then circled to the driver's side.
Once we were both settled, he turned to face me with an expression of such concern, it made my chest ache.
"Talk to me," he said.
I stared at my hands folded in my lap, trying to find words for the truth I'd been carrying alone for nearly a month.
It felt suffocating and terrifying in balanced proportions.
But Nate deserved to know, if for no other reason than he would have time to prepare himself for when everyone in this community found out and turned on us like a pack of ravenous wolves.
"I'm pregnant." I didn't look at him, couldn't bear to see his reaction.
All I could do was just keep talking, letting everything spill out in a rush of confession.
"I found out almost a month ago. I took the test at work in the staff bathroom because I couldn't stand not knowing anymore. And when it came back positive, I panicked. I didn't know how to tell you. Everything is already so complicated with the scandal and your father and the committee, and I thought if you knew about the baby, it would just make everything worse and?—"
"Ember—"
"I know I should have told you immediately. I know keeping it secret was wrong. But I was terrified." My voice broke.
"I kept thinking about what happened in San Diego, about having my life exposed and judged, and I couldn't face going through that again. Especially not while pregnant. The thought of photographers following me around, watching my stomach grow, it was unbearable."
"I would never abandon you," he said, grabbing my shoulders. "I could never."
"I know that now. But a month ago, when I first found out, I wasn't sure of anything."
I finally looked at him, seeing the mix of shock and concern on his face. "Your father keeps telling me I'm destroying your life. The committee wants me gone. The reporters call me your flame and joke about the age gap. And now I'm pregnant, which is going to make all of that a thousand times worse."
"Ember," he said, stopping me.
