A 20-year-old girl accidentally got pregnant with a construction worker, the day he took her home to meet his parents, her parents objected because ….
On a rainy afternoon in June in Seattle, a woman stood silently in front of the gate of Ballard High School, holding an old umbrella, her eyes watching a student walking out. Seven years of raising a child alone, seventeen years of silently hiding her pain, now Hannah’s heart was aching because of a truth she had never dared to face…

That year Hannah was just 20 years old, an accounting student at Portland State University. Her father died early, her mother sold food on the street corner to raise her two children. Hannah was a good student, well-behaved. In the summer of her second year, she worked part-time at a restaurant/diner near a construction site in Pearl District and met Mason—a new worker from Yakima Valley. Tall, smiling gently and a bit clumsy, Mason made her feel close. Love came naturally like the first rain of the season—fast, unexpected and penetrating.

After dating for more than three months, Hannah discovered she was pregnant. She was shocked, took a leave of absence from school, and worked more. Mason promised to take her back to Yakima to meet his parents and ask for their hand in marriage. She believed him without a doubt.

On the day of the meeting, everything was not as she had dreamed. Mason’s parents were indifferent, their faces darkened when they heard the story of “living together and getting pregnant”. His mother threw a sentence like a knife:

“Girls nowadays are so bad. If you’re already involved, how can you be sure it’s Mason’s daughter?”

They returned to Portland in silence. From then on, Mason avoided them, making excuses: “Parents haven’t agreed yet, wait a little longer…” – a sentence that was repeated over and over like a broken tape. Three months passed, Hannah’s belly grew bigger, Mason gradually lost contact. Then one rainy afternoon, a co-worker called, her voice trembling:

“Hannah… Mason got married in the countryside…”

Hannah sat on a park bench near the dormitory, no tears, no resentment, just a silence that seemed to drain away all sound.

She dropped out of school, moved to Gresham, got a job as a bookkeeper at a small lumber mill, and kept the baby. “I don’t need anyone’s pity, I’ll be a single mother,” she told herself every night when her legs were swollen from pregnancy.

The baby was born on a rainy night, in a rented room with a cold, damp tin roof. She named him Noah—a new beginning after the flood of her life.

Life was not easy. At twenty-one, Hannah worked and raised her son; sometimes she had to leave Noah with her team leader when she worked overtime. Many nights, she cried because she was tired, because she felt sorry for herself, because she missed her old mother in Tacoma and didn’t dare go home, afraid of gossip.

Noah grew up healthy and well-behaved. He had the same eyes as Mason—every time she looked at them, Hannah’s heart ached. She never told him who his father was; on all the school records, the “father’s name” field was blank. For her, Noah only needed his mother.

Noah entered 10th grade, Hannah saved up to buy a small plot of land in Astoria to open a grocery store in front of her house. Life was peaceful, but the old scars remained.

One afternoon in June…after the final exam of 11th grade, Hannah overheard Noah say to his friend:

— I don’t know who my father is either. Mom said he died a long time ago… but recently someone in the countryside said I look like someone named Mason…

Hannah was stunned. That name—Mason—was like a blow that made her dizzy. She had hidden it from her son for seventeen years. She didn’t expect that the time would come.

That night, she sat on the back porch all night, watching the fireflies twinkling in the grass garden, her heart in turmoil.

The next morning, standing at the counter at the Astoria market, a middle-aged woman walked up—a face both strange and familiar. She stood there looking at her for a long time before saying:

— Are you… Hannah?

Hannah paused. That voice, that look… her heart was pounding.

— Yes… are you…?

— I am… Mason’s mother.

Hannah was stunned. The woman looked much older than 17 years ago—no longer cold. She gently put down the gift bag:

— I had to go to Oregon, and heard from an acquaintance that you were in Astoria, so I came to see… I want to see Noah.

A long silence. Hannah clenched the edge of the counter:

— To see him for what? To apologize? It’s too late. Seventeen years, do you know how I’ve lived?