MY BABY'S DAD IS THE BILLIONAIRE I SAVED

Get out of my house," he bellowed. The evening rain was already coming down hard, but he didn't care.

Dad, please! Where am I supposed to go? I have nowhere to go! Please forgive me, I didn't mean for any of this to happen, I pleaded, the tears I was holding finally spilling over.

"That's none of my business. Since you want to act like a grown woman, then you will figure it out.

"How could a night I barely remembered steal a future I had spent eighteen years of my life carefully building?" I questioned myself as I saw my world shattering right in front of me like broken pieces of expensive jewels.

"Oma, are you in there?" I heard my father's voice, hammered against the bathroom door.

I hid the test result in the bottom of the trash, covering it with tissues, but my face gave me away the moment I opened the door and my father, a man I feared most, didn't need any form of confession. He instantly saw the ghost in my eyes.

"Oma, you've been sick every morning for weeks now, are you alright?" he asked. I looked at him while fidgeting with my fingers, not knowing what to say. "Tell me my observation is wrong, go ahead, and tell me," my father roared.

The silence that followed was deadlier than any shouting. He dropped his newspaper, took off his reading glasses, and looked at me as if I was a stranger who had just tracked mud onto his carpet.

The second pink line didn't just signal a pregnancy; it signaled the total annihilation of the girl I used to be.

I stood in the bathroom of my father's house; the air was suddenly too thin to breathe as I clutched a plastic pregnancy test strip that felt like a death sentence.

I sat on the edge of the tub, the cold porcelain seeping through my jeans. But how did this happen to me? I couldn't help asking myself. I am Oma Johnson, the girl who color-coded her study notes and had a five-year plan that definitely didn't include a baby at eighteen. I was supposed to be the "success story" of the Johnson family. A brilliant girl and dedicated chorister, and the unwavering promise I'd made to myself that my body belongs to me, and I wasn't sharing it until I said "I do." My boyfriend, Franklin, had spent months trying to chip away at that wall, and every "not yet" I uttered seemed to bruise his ego more than he seemed to let on.

As I contemplated it, the whole night's incident became clear in my head as my mind rewound three weeks from the "Sign-Out" party. It was the final celebration before graduation, and was supposed to be our night of freedom after final exams. Franklin and my best friend, Tasha, had been insistent on making me attend the party with them.

"Just one night of fun will not kill you,