Seventeen, pregnant, and defiant—Julie walks away from violence and fear, choosing uncertainty over surrender.
By Futurist Thomas Frey
The Last Fight
“You’re what?” her mother’s voice cut through the kitchen like broken glass.
Julie Morgan, seventeen, kept her eyes on the cracked linoleum. “I’m pregnant. Twelve weeks.”
The slap came so fast Julie didn’t see it. Just felt the sting across her cheek, then her mother’s hand gripping her arm, nails digging in.
“You stupid girl. Just like your sister. Just like me.” Her mother’s breath was sharp with cheap wine. “Who’s the father?”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s—”
“Gone. Of course he’s gone. They’re always gone.” Her mother released her arm and grabbed for her phone. “We’re taking care of this tomorrow. I know a clinic in—”
“No.”
The word hung in the air. Julie had never said no to her mother. Not when she needed to leave school to work. Not when the bruises started. Not when the electricity got shut off and her mother blamed her for using too much power charging her phone.
“What did you say?”
“I’m keeping it.” Julie’s voice was barely a whisper, but steady.
Her mother’s laugh was ugly. “Keeping it? You’re seventeen. You have nothing. You are nothing. You’ll get rid of it, or you’ll get out.”
Julie looked up then. Met her mother’s eyes. “Then I’m out.”
She made it to her room before her mother could react. Threw clothes into her backpack—shirts, underwear, the hoodie that still smelled like Connor even though he’d been gone three months. Her phone. Charger. The $83 she had in cash tips from the diner.
Her mother was screaming from the kitchen. “You walk out that door, you don’t come back! You hear me? You’re on your own!”
Julie walked out the door.
Three Weeks on the Street
The Y shelter let her stay two weeks before the waiting list caught up. After that, it was park benches, doorways, the 24-hour laundromat on Broad Street when it got too cold.
She kept the diner job for a while. Showed up at 5 AM, worked until her feet went numb, tried not to throw up from the morning sickness into the hash browns. But customers noticed. Made comments. Her manager called her in.
“Julie, you’re a good kid. But I can’t have you working the floor looking like…” He gestured vaguely at her growing belly. “It’s September. You should be in school.”
“I’m eighteen in two months. I can—”
“Not the point. Look, I’ll give you through the end of the week. After that…” He shrugged. “I’m sorry.”
The cash ran out. The phone bill came due. Julie stood in the library, staring at the disconnect notice, when she felt the baby move for the first time. A flutter, like bubbles. Like a question.
She sat down at one of the public computers and started searching. Homeless shelters—full. Teen pregnancy resources—most required a parent. Social services—she’d tried calling, been on hold for forty minutes before her phone died.
Then she saw it. An ad that looked too good to be real.
Pregnant and homeless, Julie clings to hope as resources vanish, work disappears, and survival becomes a daily calculation.
Emergency Protective Services – 2032 Immediate assistance for at-risk youth AI-enabled support robot deployment No judgment. No paperwork. Just help. Text SAFE to 741741
Julie looked at her phone. 3% battery. She typed the message before she could talk herself out of it.
SAFE
The Response
The reply came in thirty seconds.
SAFE-LINK PROTECTIVE SERVICES Thank you for reaching out, Julie. We’ve located you via your device GPS. A support unit is being dispatched to the Broad Street Library. ETA: 14 minutes. Are you in immediate danger?
Her hands shook. How did it know her name?
No immediate danger. Just… I need help.
Understood. Unit PSR-4721 (call name: Guardian) will meet you at the main entrance. Please remain in a public space. Guardian is equipped to provide: – Emergency shelter coordination – Medical assessment and prenatal care connection – Nutritional support – Social services navigation – Safety monitoring
You are not alone.
Julie sat on the library steps. Fourteen minutes felt like an hour. When the unit arrived, she almost didn’t recognize it as a robot.
It looked like a tall person in a gray-blue uniform, moving with an almost natural gait. The face was clearly synthetic—too smooth, too symmetrical—but the eyes were remarkably lifelike. Gentle. It carried a large pack on its back.
In her lowest moment, Julie meets Guardian—a machine offering food, questions, and something unexpectedly human: concern.
“Julie Morgan?” The voice was neutral but warm. Not quite male, not quite female.
“Yeah. That’s me.”
“I’m Guardian. May I sit?”
Julie nodded. The robot sat beside her, movements careful, non-threatening.
“I understand you’re pregnant, homeless, and estranged from your family. Is that accurate?”
“Yeah.”
“How are you feeling right now?”
The question surprised her. Not what do you need, but how are you feeling.
“Scared,” Julie admitted. “Tired. I think I’m hungry but I can’t tell anymore.”
Guardian reached into its pack and pulled out a bottle of water and a protein bar. “These are yours. No conditions. While you eat, may I ask some questions?”
Julie tore open the bar. Peanut butter. Her favorite. How did it know?
“How far along are you?”
“Fifteen weeks. About.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“Once. At a clinic. They said everything looked okay but I should come back. I haven’t been able to.”
“Understood. I can arrange prenatal care. There’s a community health center eight blocks from here that works with our network. They have an opening tomorrow at 2 PM. Would you like me to confirm that appointment?”
Julie nodded, mouth full.
“Confirmed. I’ll accompany you. Now—shelter. I can get you into a space tonight. It’s a shared room with two other women, both vetted as non-violent, no substance abuse. Clean bedding, shower access, lockers for your belongings. Would that work?”
“How much?”
“Nothing. You’re categorized as emergency placement. The state covers it through our coordination network. No paperwork tonight—we’ll handle that tomorrow after you’re rested.”
Julie felt tears coming. “Why are you helping me?”
Guardian tilted its head slightly. “Because you asked for help. Because you deserve help. Because in 2032, no pregnant seventeen-year-old should have to sleep on library steps.”
The First Night
The shelter room was small but clean. The other women—one in her twenties, one maybe forty—nodded at Julie but didn’t ask questions. Guardian waited outside.
Julie showered for the first time in a week. The water ran brown at first. She stood under it until it ran clear, until she felt almost human again.
When she came out, Guardian was still there.
“You’re staying?”
“Until you feel safe. I’ll be in the common area. If you need anything, press this.” Guardian handed her a small button on a lanyard. “It alerts me immediately.”
“What if I just… want to talk?”
“Then press it. That’s what I’m here for.”
That night, lying in an actual bed, Julie pressed the button. Guardian appeared in less than a minute.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m scared,” Julie whispered. “About the baby. About everything.”
Guardian pulled up a chair. “That’s reasonable. Being scared doesn’t mean you’re doing something wrong. It means you’re paying attention to something important.”
“What if I can’t do this?”
“You don’t have to do it alone. That’s the point.” Guardian’s voice was quiet. “Tomorrow we’ll get you to the doctor. This week we’ll connect you with a social worker who specializes in young mothers. Next week we’ll look at housing options—there’s a transitional living program for pregnant teens. You’ll have support.”
“Why does a robot care?”
Guardian paused. “I’m not programmed to ‘care’ in the way humans do. But I’m designed to act as if I care. And here’s what I’ve learned from four thousand interactions: whether my care is ‘real’ matters less than whether my help is real. And my help is real.”
Over diner coffee and quiet grief, Julie shares loss and hope with the only steady presence beside her.
Julie felt the baby move again. Stronger now.
“I’m going to name her Hope,” she said suddenly. “The baby. If it’s a girl.”
“That’s a beautiful name. And if it’s a boy?”
“I don’t know yet. Maybe Connor. After her dad.” Julie looked at Guardian. “He didn’t run away, you know. He died. Car accident. Three days after I found out I was pregnant.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Everyone said to get an abortion. But she’s all I have left of him. Does that make sense?”
“It makes complete sense.”
They sat in silence for a while. Then Julie asked, “Do you help a lot of people like me?”
“I’ve helped three hundred and forty-seven minors in crisis situations. You’re the twelfth pregnant teenager. Each situation is different. Each person is different.”
“Do they all make it? Do things work out?”
Guardian’s pause was deliberate. Honest. “Not always. Some people refuse help. Some situations are too complex for current resources. Some people disappear back into unsafe situations. But more make it than don’t. Much more.”
“What are my odds?”
“Better now than three weeks ago. Better tomorrow than today. That’s how it works. One day at a time, with someone who won’t leave.”
Julie fell asleep with the button clutched in her hand.
Six months later, in her own apartment, Julie prepares for motherhood—supported by community, resilience, and the machine that stayed.
Six Months Later
Julie Morgan, eighteen, stood in her tiny apartment—one room, but hers—and looked at the crib the social worker had helped her pick out. Three weeks until her due date.
Guardian still checked in. Not every day anymore, but regularly. Helped her navigate WIC appointments. Reminded her about GED classes. Connected her with the young mothers’ support group.
Her mother never called. Julie stopped expecting her to.
But she had people now. Melissa, who lived down the hall with twin toddlers. The nurse at the community health center who always remembered her name. Ms. Chen, the social worker who actually returned calls.
And Guardian, who had shown up when nobody else did.
The robot couldn’t love her. Julie knew that. It was code and metal and sophisticated programming. But it had done something love is supposed to do: it had stayed.
That, Julie thought, touching her belly where Hope was kicking, was enough.
Related Articles:
Robots in Social Services: The Future of Crisis Response – Research on how people form attachments to social robots during crisis situations
AI and Vulnerable Populations: Ethical Frameworks for Automated Care – Analysis of using AI systems to support at-risk youth and vulnerable communities
The Crying Shame of Robot Nannies: An Ethical Appraisal – Examining ethical questions around robots providing care and support to children and teens