As I sit here on a modest Sunday morning, getting ready for church, I find myself alone with my thoughts. I wonder: How did I make it to this point in my life?
To understand it, I believe God Almighty placed a thought in my mind — it all goes back to my birth. I was born on March 5, 1990. My father’s name is Evan Thomas, and my mother’s name is Angelina Wright. Being their only child, they wanted to give me a name no one else had. They named me Evangelina Lyle.
Growing up, my dad called me Eva, my mother called me Angel, and some family members called me Lina (pronounced Leena). I answered them all.
I was a good child — went to school, played sports like track and basketball, and kept my grades up. But the summer after my freshman year of high school, life threw me an obstacle that took years to overcome: my parents separated and eventually divorced.
I still remember that rainy August day when they called me into the living room to break the news. My parents never argued in front of me. My father was a construction worker who labored six days a week, yet he always came home smiling and playing with me, even when I could see the exhaustion in his eyes. My mother was a middle school teacher across town. She’d come home, make supper, and we would eat together, clean up together, and spend time as a family before getting ready for the next day.
Communication was something we shared — which made their breakup devastating. I cried uncontrollably, but they both tried to soothe me. My dad told me he’d be moving out and that he still loved my mom. My mom said she loved us too, but they had grown apart.
I begged them to stay together, but they explained they had been to counsel and decided this was best for the family. Then my dad said words I will never forget:
“A bad stand is worse than a hard fall.”
I ran to my room and slammed the door. Outside, the rain kept falling. The smell of dew mixed with a burnt oakwood scent drifted through my window, making my stomach turn even more.
Two weeks passed quickly. On the surface, the house seemed normal — but without my dad coming home singing, talking, or sharing his day, the air felt heavy. I barely spoke to my mother. Deep down, I blamed her for the breakup, and our arguments became more frequent.
School became my only escape. By the third week of high school, I mostly stayed to myself. That’s when I met Myron Lyles, who was tall, confident, captain of the football team, with hazel eyes, dimples when he smiled, and a charm that drew people in.
We met when he accidentally bumped into me in the hallway, sending my books tumbling. He helped me pick them up, introduced himself, and I did the same. Myron wasn’t arrogant; he was easy to talk to. I didn’t know it then, but I was looking for something to fill the emptiness I felt at home — and Myron seemed to give me that.
He was two years older than me, and my parents had always warned me about rushing into relationships. But I ignored those warnings. I wanted to feel loved again, the way I had when my family was whole.
Our friendship quickly grew into something more. We started spending time together in ways no one else knew about. But as I would later learn, secret relationships can be dangerous — not just to your reputation, but to your future.
One night, Myron came over when my mother was asleep. He had been drinking, which made me uneasy. Things moved faster than I was ready for, and I found myself in a situation I didn’t know how to handle. I didn’t have the courage or the words to say no.
A few weeks later, in the middle of class, I suddenly felt sick and had to rush to the bathroom. The school nurse called my mother, but she couldn’t leave work, so my dad came to pick me up. He took me to an urgent care clinic.
The doctor examined me, ran some tests, and when he returned, his expression was serious.
“Evangelina,” he said, “you’re eleven weeks pregnant.”
The air seemed to vanish from the room. My dad’s face went pale. I tried to say it was a mistake, but the doctor gently explained, “This is not a mistake. You are going to be a mother. Now is the time to talk honestly with your parents about what’s going on.”
In that moment, my world shifted. I realized how one decision — just one — could change the entire course of your life.
My dad took me home in silence. I felt like I had let him down.
When my mom came home, they talked privately, then called me into the living room. My world was spinning. I didn’t know what to expect.
Surprisingly, although they were upset, they were also understanding. They assured me they would be there for me. They asked about Myron and his parents, but I didn’t know anything about his family — I only knew Myron.
The next day, my mother and I drove to his home in the suburbs. I remembered that he had given me his address, but I had never been there — he always snuck in through my window instead.
When we pulled into the driveway, my stomach twisted. My mother knocked on the door. A beautiful woman answered — Myron looked just like her. She introduced herself and invited us in, offering us something to drink.
My mother gently explained that I had something important to say. I took a deep breath:
“I’m Myron’s girlfriend, and we’re going to have a baby.”
Ms. Lyles’ expression hardened. Her words were sharp:
“Honey, you’re just one of the girls who calls my son their boyfriend. There are others who’ve said the same thing. Get in line.”
Her coldness cut through me. Then Myron walked into the room — holding another girl’s hand. His eyes grew wide.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
I told him I was eleven weeks pregnant with his child. He denied it. He denied we had ever been together and said he’d only believe it after a paternity test once the baby was born.
I couldn’t believe it. My world crumbled. I stormed out of the house crying, thinking, how could I have been so stupid?Something in me shifted. I didn’t want to feel the shame and whispers, so I asked my mother if I could go to another school — a fresh start.
I transferred, carried my pregnancy to term, and after my baby was born, the paternity test proved Myron was the father. I became the person solely responsible for raising my child.
Myron stayed in our child’s life, but we no longer spoke. I felt too betrayed.
Raising a baby as a teenager is not easy. Raising one as a single mother is even harder. But my mom and dad helped me every step of the way. That one event even brought my parents back together — they remarried and stayed married until my father’s death last October.
Today, my child, Miracle, is graduating from college. Being her mother has been the most challenging and rewarding experience of my life. And I have a message for every young girl:
Save yourself for someone who loves you as much as you love them. Creating a life might feel exciting in the moment, but it will change everything outside that moment.
I was blessed with family support — many others aren’t so lucky. I am that butterfly. And the butterfly is living proof that you can go through a great deal of darkness and still become something beautiful.
I graduated high school at the top of my class, earned my doctorate in psychology, and have used my experiences to guide my life. I have been open and honest with Miracle since the day she was born. She is now a college graduate with no children of her own — and I like to believe my example had something to do with that.
I thank God — Jehovah — for guiding me as I raised her. I could not have done it without Him.