The Age of Almost: Part 2. When Control Becomes Crisis | by Luna Rivers | Sep, 2025

When Control Becomes Crisis

This is Part 2 of my story. If you haven’t read Part 1, you can find it here

***Content Warning: This story contains detailed descriptions of teen dating abuse, emotional manipulation, coercive control, teen pregnancy, and sexual content involving minors. It discusses patterns of isolation, jealousy, and psychological abuse that some readers may find triggering or distressing. If you’re currently in an unsafe relationship, please prioritize your safety. The resources at the end of this story can provide confidential support.

📘 Chapter Five: The Escape Plan

Tess was worried about me. I could see it in her eyes, hear it in the way she asked questions without asking too much. But I kept smiling, kept saying I was in love, that Ben and I were perfect. I made it sound dreamy. Like we were just two hearts tangled up in forever.

She didn’t push. I think she wanted to believe me.

Ben and I had a plan. He’d been working with his dad and had some money saved. He was eighteen, so we figured we could check into a hotel, get jobs, and start fresh in another state. We’d be a little family. Just us. No rules. No parents. No one telling us what love should look like.

I was sick all the time. Morning sickness that didn’t care what time it was. I couldn’t eat, and that made it worse. My body felt like it was rejecting everything—food, sleep, even air. But Ben still wanted to mess around. Still wanted closeness. And I did too. I didn’t know how to say no. I didn’t want to lose him.

We picked a night. My dad was working late, and my mom would be asleep. Ben would come to my window, and I’d be ready.

I packed quietly—clothes, shoes, a few things that felt like home. I didn’t write a note. I didn’t want to explain. I just wanted to disappear.

Around midnight, he tapped on the glass. I opened the window and handed him my bags. He loaded up the car, and I climbed out. My heart was pounding, but I didn’t look back.

We drove for hours, several towns away, to some property his dad owned. It was quiet, empty, and strange. We didn’t know what we were doing. We just knew we were gone.

I was so sick. I curled up in the car, trying not to cry. Ben held me, kissed my forehead, told me it would be okay. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe we were doing something brave.

Back home, my dad just got home from work and my mom came into my room to wake me up. The bed was untouched. The window was open. I was gone.

She panicked. Yelled for my dad. “She’s not here,” she said. “Her window’s open. She’s gone.”

They called Ben’s parents. And that’s when everything shifted.

He was missing too.

The pieces fell into place fast. The police were called. Officers came to the house, went through my things, asked questions. An APB was issued. My parents and Ben’s parents joined forces, driving around, calling everyone they could think of. They didn’t know where we’d gone. They just knew we were together.

And then—by some miracle—we crossed paths.

We were driving one way, and they were coming the other. They saw us. Flagged us down. Ben looked at me, panicked. “Should we run?”

I thought of the tires on the car. I reminded him they were worn, cracked. We wouldn’t get far.

We pulled over.

Our parents rushed to us. Hugged us. Cried. They didn’t yell. They didn’t ask why. They just said, “We’ll get through this. Together.”

I thought running away would make me free. But freedom isn’t just distance—it’s safety, truth, and choice. I didn’t know that yet. I just knew I was tired of hiding, tired of hurting, tired of pretending love didn’t leave bruises.

📘 Chapter Six: The Aftermath

The next few weeks were a blur.

There were talks with both my parents—long, quiet ones where no one raised their voice, but everything felt heavy. My mom took me to the doctor. I sat on the crinkly paper, heart pounding, while the nurse measured and asked questions. Then the doctor came in, looked at the chart, and said, “You’re about four months along.”

I nodded. I didn’t cry. I just stared at the wall and tried to imagine what four months looked like inside me.

After that, everything changed.

Ben and I weren’t allowed to hang out alone anymore. Only if adults were present. My mom drove me to my appointments. She stayed close, like she was afraid I might vanish again. I didn’t blame her.

Everyone at school found out.

I don’t know how. Maybe someone saw me at the doctor’s office. Maybe someone overheard something. But once it was out, it spread fast. I stopped playing volleyball—my condition made it too risky. The coaches let me stay on as manager so I could still earn my letter. I wore the uniform shirt, kept stats, handed out water bottles. My friends acted supportive, but I saw the way they whispered when I walked by. I saw the way they looked at my stomach.

I didn’t go to school the second half of the year. I switched to online courses. My mom helped me set up a little desk in the corner of the living room. I stayed home, stayed quiet, stayed out of sight.

Tess tried to keep in touch. She’d call, text, ask if I wanted to hang out. But everything was different. I didn’t know how to talk about what was happening. I didn’t know how to be the same girl I was before.

Ben got a job at Pizza Hut. He’d stop by after work to say hi, especially on nights I wasn’t doing school. He still acted possessive—still wanted to know where I was, who I talked to, what I did all day. I told myself it was love. I told myself it was normal.

Valentine’s Day came. I was big and pregnant, tired and swollen, but I wanted to do something special. I baked him a heart-shaped brownie and made a card with glitter and stickers. He came over after work, still in his uniform, and smiled when I handed it to him.

He didn’t have anything for me.

Three days later, I went to the doctor. They said it could be anytime. The baby was ready. My body was ready.

It was February, and the weather was turning. Snow on the ground, ice on the roads. My mom decided we’d stay with family who lived closer to the hospital. Just in case. She packed our bags and said it was safer this way.

Ben was mad.

He didn’t want me to go. Didn’t want me to be farther away. Didn’t want to miss anything. I tried to explain, but he didn’t want to hear it. I told myself he was just scared. I told myself I was too.

I thought love meant staying close, even when it hurt. I thought being chosen meant being safe. But safety isn’t just proximity—it’s peace. And I was starting to learn that peace doesn’t come from someone else. It comes from being allowed to breathe.

📘 Chapter Seven: The Birth

That night, I went to bed early. I was exhausted, heavy, and ready. A few hours later, I woke up with a jolt—contractions. Real ones. They hurt. Bad.

I woke up my mom, clutching my stomach, trying not to cry. She got my aunt and uncle up, and within minutes, we were loading into the car. My uncle drove. It felt like the longest ride of my life. Every bump in the road made me wince. I kept watching the clock, counting the minutes between the pain.

We finally made it to the ER. They took me into a small room and hooked up a monitor to my belly—one of those machines that shows contractions. I stared at the screen, waiting for it to spike. Nothing.

After a while, I asked the nurse why it wasn’t showing anything. She glanced at the monitor and said, “It’ll go up and down when you’re having contractions. You’ll know it because of the pain. Looks like you’re not in labor—you may need to go back home.”

I panicked. “But the pain’s getting worse,” I said. “I’m hurting with every one.”

She looked confused. Came over. Checked the monitor. Then frowned.

“Oh,” she said. “It’s not placed right.”

She adjusted it slightly—and suddenly the machine lit up. The lines spiked and dipped. She stared at the screen, then looked at me.

“Oh no,” she said. “You’re not going home without a baby.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

They moved me to a labor and delivery room—one of those all-in-one setups where you labor, deliver, and recover in the same space. It was quiet, warm, and surprisingly nice. My mom stayed with me, holding my hand, rubbing my back, whispering that I could do this.

Between contractions, I called Ben to let him know what was happening. He got mad that I hadn’t called sooner. I tried to explain that I couldn’t—that the pain had come fast and everything was moving. He didn’t want to hear it. I had to hang up when another contraction hit.

The pain was unbearable. I asked for an epidural. They gave me one, and it hurt going in. But it only worked on one side of my body. I could still feel everything on the other side. They had to give me another one. That one worked. The pain eased, and I could finally breathe.

My mom was my rock. She stayed by my side, calm and steady. I was so thankful she was there.

My dad got there from work and waited outside with my aunt and uncle. I wanted him close, but I also wanted space. Everything felt fragile.

Then the numbness started creeping up my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I told the nurse, and they sat me up quickly to stop it from rising. It was terrifying. I felt like I was drowning in my own body.

And then—it was time to push.

I pushed with everything I had. But I was so numb, I couldn’t feel anything. I didn’t know what I was pushing. It wasn’t working.

They tried a suction cup to help. It popped off with a loud snap. Everyone jumped. Then they brought out the forceps. I was scared, but I trusted them.

And finally—he came.

It’s a boy.

I didn’t know how to hold him at first. Didn’t know how to breathe through the fear and the love and the ache. But he was here. And I was still standing. Somehow, I had made it through the storm and into the light.

📘 Chapter Eight: Becoming a Mother

Everything felt like fast motion.

The nurses were checking him all over—tiny limbs, heartbeat, reflexes—making sure everything was okay. I watched from the bed, aching to hold him. I was in awe. I’d just given birth, and now this little person existed. My little person.

And then they brought him to me.

He was beautiful. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I counted every finger, every toe. His skin was soft, his eyes still adjusting to the light. I held him close, breathing in the moment.

Welcome to the world, my little Anthony.

My mom and dad were so happy. I saw it in their faces—the way my mom leaned in close, whispering sweet things to him, and the way my dad held him like he was holding the whole world. They were in love with him. Completely. And I was too.

The next several hours blurred. The pain medicine they gave me made everything feel like a time warp. I’d blink, and time would jump. I must’ve been falling asleep or just out of it. I finally told the nurse, and she said, “Sounds like the meds are too strong.” They adjusted the dose, and slowly, the fog began to lift.

Ben showed up not long after the birth.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t ask how I was. He stood quiet and stern around others, but when he spoke to me, his words were sharp. “Why didn’t you call sooner?” he snapped.

I tried to explain—contractions, monitors, panic—but he didn’t want to hear it. I had to hang up on him earlier when the pain hit. Now, even with Anthony in my arms, he was still mad.

This was supposed to be a beautiful moment. A memory we’d treasure. But he was ruining it.

I looked down at Anthony. He didn’t know any of this. He just knew warmth, heartbeat, breath. I held him tighter.

I thought having a baby would make everything better. That love would settle into something safe. But even in the glow of new life, I could feel the shadows pressing in. I didn’t know how to protect myself yet. But I knew I’d protect him. No matter what.

This is Part 2 of a three-part series. In Part 3, Krissy’s journey continues as she learns to navigate motherhood, healing, and the long path toward recognizing what happened to her. The final installment will include the adult perspective that ties together the patterns explored in this story.
If Part 1 or Part 2 resonated with you, Part 3 offers hope and resources for moving forward. Follow me to be notified when it’s published.