Opening the trunk, I put his bag in there and hold his hand as we walk around the back of the car. I open the door, the squeaking noise echoing in the empty parking lot. “Get in, baby,” I say, and he climbs into the car and sits in his booster seat. I buckle him in, kissing his neck at the same time.

“Mom,” he squeals. I close the door, walking around to the driver’s side.

Another squeaking door when I open my own door, getting in and putting the key in and turning. It turns over three times. “No, no, no,” I say under my breath. “Please, please, please, please,” I send out another silent prayer. This time, the car starts, and I have to wonder how much longer the car is going to last. According to the guy in the garage, I should have scrapped this car last year, but with thousands in credit card debt and a minuscule salary, there is nothing else I can do.

The drive to the arena is smooth without much traffic. When Dylan’s coach called me two weeks ago to tell me that he enrolled him in a hockey camp, my heart immediately sank because I knew no matter how many days I ate ramen noodles, I wouldn’t be able to afford it. Then he told me the best news; it was all paid for through the Justin Stone Foundation. When I told Dylan about it, the smile and excitement on his face was everything. I knew I would eat all the ramen noodles in the world just to see him that happy.

Getting pregnant in my last year of high school was not something that we thought would happen. I was on the pill, we used condoms, and when I found out, it was the same day Andrew got the letter accepting him into the University of Edmonton for football. It was what he had worked for his whole life. Breaking the news to our parents was not an easy decision and deciding to keep the baby was even worse. My parents said it was me or the baby, and when I chose the baby, they kicked me out of the house. Thankfully, Judi, Andrew’s mom, took me in, and two days before Dylan was born, I married Andrew.