Two weeks later, Adrian stood outside Northfield Academy, staring up at the brick building that would be his fresh start. The school was smaller than Riverside High, less prestigious, tucked away in a quieter neighborhood across town. There would be no chance of running into Kai here. No whispers following him through the hallways. No daily reminders of his humiliation.
His fer father squeezed his shoulder. "You're going to be fine, sweetheart. New school, new beginning."
Adrian nodded, though his stomach churned with anxiety that had nothing to do with first-day nerves. The morning sickness was getting worse. He'd thrown up twice before they left the house, and the smell of his father's cologne in the car had nearly made him sick again. He was only eight weeks along, but his body was already changing in ways that terrified him.
"I know," Adrian said quietly. "Thank you for everything."
Inside, Northfield was nothing like Riverside. The hallways were narrower, the lockers older and more dented. There were no designer bags or expensive watches here—most students looked like they came from working-class families like his own. It should have been comforting, but Adrian just felt numb.
The guidance counselor, Mrs. Patterson, was a kind older fer who reviewed his transcripts with impressed murmurs. "Your grades are exceptional, Adrian. We're lucky to have you. I see you've transferred mid-semester—is everything alright?"
"Family reasons," Adrian lied smoothly. He was getting better at lying.
"Well, we'll do everything we can to make your transition smooth." She handed him his schedule and a map of the school. "If you need anything, my door is always open."
Adrian's first class was English literature, which should have excited him. Books had always been his escape. But as he sat in the back row, trying to focus on the teacher's discussion of symbolism in The Great Gatsby, all he could think about was the tiny life growing inside him. About how his own dreams were slipping away with each passing day.
By lunchtime, the nausea was unbearable. Adrian made it to the bathroom just in time, retching into the toilet while trying to muffle the sounds. When he emerged from the stall, a girl was washing her hands at the sink—a fer with kind eyes and dark curly hair.
"You okay?" she asked with genuine concern.
"Just a stomach bug," Adrian mumbled, splashing water on his face.
"I'm Riley," she offered. "You're new, right? I saw you in English."
"Adrian."
"Want to sit with me at lunch? Fair warning, my friends are kind of loud, but they're good people."
Adrian wanted to say no. Wanted to stay isolated, protected. But something in Riley's open expression made him nod. "Okay. Thanks."
Riley's friends were indeed loud—a mix of mers and fers who welcomed Adrian without prying questions. They talked about homework and weekend plans and some drama with the basketball team. Normal teenage concerns that felt foreign to Adrian now. He picked at his sandwich, managing only a few bites before his stomach revolted again.
"You sure you're okay?" Riley asked quietly as the others debated the merits of some new movie.
"Yeah. Just... it's been a rough few weeks."
She didn't push, and Adrian was grateful. He made it through the rest of the day in a daze, accepting homework assignments and trying to memorize classroom locations. When the final bell rang, relief flooded through him.
His fer father was waiting in the parking lot. "How was it?"
"Fine. Better than... before."
They didn't talk about Riverside anymore. Didn't say Kai's name. It was easier that way.
At ten weeks, Adrian had his first real prenatal appointment. His parents insisted on coming with him, sitting on either side of him in the small examination room as they waited for the doctor. Adrian's hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Dr. Chen was a middle-aged fer with a gentle manner and knowing eyes. She reviewed Adrian's medical history, asked questions about symptoms, and performed a physical exam with professional efficiency.
"Let's do an ultrasound," she said. "Get a look at how things are progressing."
Adrian lay back on the examination table, his shirt pushed up to expose his still-flat stomach. The gel was cold, making him flinch. Then Dr. Chen pressed the wand against his skin and turned the screen toward them.
At first, Adrian couldn't make sense of the grainy black and white image. Then Dr. Chen pointed. "There's your baby. See? There's the head, and—wait."
She moved the wand slightly, her brow furrowing in concentration.
"What?" Adrian's mer father asked sharply. "Is something wrong?"
"No, nothing wrong." Dr. Chen's expression shifted to surprise. "But there are two heartbeats. Adrian, you're carrying twins."
The room spun. Adrian stared at the screen where Dr. Chen was pointing out two distinct forms, two tiny fluttering heartbeats.
"Twins?" His voice came out as a whisper.
"Twins," Dr. Chen confirmed with a smile. "Congratulations. Based on measurements, I'd say you're about ten weeks and three days along. Due date would be early June."
Two babies. Not one, but two. Adrian's mind reeled. How was he supposed to take care of one baby, let alone two? The cost alone—diapers, formula, clothes, everything doubled. His parents' small income was already stretched thin.
"Adrian?" His fer father's voice was gentle. "Sweetheart, breathe."
Adrian realized he'd been holding his breath. He sucked in air, his eyes still locked on that screen. Two babies. Kai's babies. Children who would never know their father because their father had thought their other parent was a joke, a bet, something to laugh about with friends.
"Can you tell what they are?" his mer father asked.
Dr. Chen moved the wand carefully. "It's still early, but... I think one is a mer and one is a fer. We'll confirm at your next appointment."
A son and a daughter—no, two sons. One mer, one fer. Adrian placed his hand over his stomach, feeling the weight of responsibility settle even heavier on his shoulders.
After the appointment, they sat in the car for a long time without starting the engine.
"We'll manage," his mer father said finally. "Twins just means we need to plan more carefully."
"I can pick up extra shifts at the store," his fer father added. "And we have savings—"
"You were saving that for retirement," Adrian protested, guilt crushing him.
"And we'll save again later," his mer father said firmly. "Right now, you and these babies are the priority. Don't argue with us, Adrian. We're doing this."
Adrian nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. His parents shouldn't have to sacrifice their future because of his mistakes. But he didn't know what else to do.
That night, alone in his room, Adrian pulled out a notebook and started making lists. Things he would need. Costs he could anticipate. Ways he might be able to contribute financially. The numbers were overwhelming, impossible. Two of everything—two cribs, two car seats, double the diapers and formula and clothes.
He fell asleep with his hand on his stomach, whispering to the babies he couldn't yet feel move. "I'll take care of you. Both of you. I promise. You'll never feel like a burden or a mistake. You'll be loved."
Even if their father would never love them. Even if their father didn't know they existed.