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Oh God, please let it be negative. I repeated my prayer over and over as my mom and I neared the doctor's office. We usually had no trouble talking, but today we rode in silence. We both knew this trip to the doctor could change our lives forever. As I stared out the car window, I continued my plea: God, please don't punish me for one mistake.

Mom stayed in the waiting room as the nurse called me inside. After the doctor asked me a few questions, a nurse did a pregnancy test. Then I went back into the waiting room and slumped down beside my mom. We thumbed through tattered magazines, but I couldn't concentrate. God, you've got to help me.

I guess we waited about 15 minutes, but it seemed like forever. Finally, a nurse stepped through the door and called my name. This time, Mom got up, too, and followed me.

"Positive," the doctor said. "In eight months, you'll be a mother."

A mother! I'd always wanted to be married someday and be a mother, but not now. I wished the doctor had said, "In eight months, you'll be dead."

In the car, Mom didn't say a word. I cried all the way home, then dashed into my room and flopped onto my bed. "My life is ruined!" I moaned.

My thoughts turned first to suicide and then abortion, but I knew they weren't true options for me.

"Why didn't you stop it from happening, God?" I cried.

Bob and I were in ninth grade at a Christian school. I was captain of the cheerleading squad, and Bob played center on the basketball team. As I'd yell out cheers, my eyes followed his well-conditioned body dribbling the ball in perfect rhythm across the gym floor.

Soon Bob noticed me too. "Hey," he'd call out after a game. When we'd meet in the hall at school, he'd flash me a big grin. "How's it going?"

Eventually, our greetings turned into conversations. We'd walk to class together, and if he hadn't seen me for a day, he'd call me at home. "Just missed you," he'd say. I loved his wit, his thoughtfulness, his laughter.

In the following weeks, Bob and I spent a lot of time together. Soon our friendship blossomed into romance. We'd spend every weekend together, at the movies, some church concert or just hanging out.

One weekend, I babysat my pastor's two children overnight at their home, and Bob joined me. After the kids were in bed, we cuddled on the couch and talked as usual. But then Bob's hand slid across my body and began to fumble with my clothes.

"Don't—this is wrong." I pushed him away.

"Yeah, I know," he murmured close to my ear, "but God will forgive us."

I took a deep breath to quiet my pounding heart.

"Relax," Bob soothed. "You'll like it."

Maybe I was being too prudish about this. I stopped resisting him, and decided just once couldn't hurt. A wild explosion of emotions both thrilled and frightened me.

The next morning, I felt dirty, guilty and scared. I couldn't look at Bob. He must have felt the strain too, because he avoided me. Nothing was the same after that. Now, weeks later, I knew nothing would ever be the same again.

The day after my visit to the doctor, I phoned Bob. "Guess what? I'm pregnant."

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