I didn’t plan to get pregnant. It happened on the only night in months we weren’t sleeping on the ground – a break from the cold, an Airbnb over Thanksgiving. No sidewalk. No strangers hovering. No fear of someone creeping up in the dark. Just warmth, quiet, and a chance to breathe. That night, we felt safe enough to hold each other like people who still had a future. That night, I conceived a child I now desperately want to protect.
Now it’s July. I’m 33 weeks along. And I’m still sleeping outside.
When I redid my ECHO Coordinated Entry Assessment – the gateway to possibly qualifying for rapid rehousing – I told the truth. I’m pregnant. I’ve been harassed, stalked, propositioned just for sitting alone. I sleep on concrete because the last time I had a tent, a man tried to drag me into his car…