Part-01
I‘m not afraid of the darkness. Spiders don‘t bother me, nor do snakes or heights or any of the regular things. I‘m afraid of the child growing inside me, breathing my blood, displacing my organs, until he eventually rips his bulbous head free from my body and leaves me in ruin. I‘m afraid that I will resent all the pain and obligation and loss of opportunity in life, and that all that hatred will make it impossible for me to love him. I‘m still more terrified that that
I WILL love him – so much that it hurts.
So much that I sacrifice everything for him, neglecting myself and my friends and my art… … until the day when his own ambitions pull him away from me, and I‘ll be left mourning the dissolution of my dreams and the emptiness of my life. And then I will sit down my aching limbs and wait for the weariness of old age to erode my cherished memories and free me from this heart-breaking desire to be someone. Then I will bless the day when I finally forget to ask myself what might have been, if only I had been selfish and lived my life for me.
I wasn‘t afraid at the beginning though. I thought I wanted it that we wanted it. My husband Kirk and I had just moved into our first house, and I was ready. Sure we still fought about stupid things, but we loved each other, and that should have been enough to make him love the child too.Okay. Do you want to make the appointment to take care of it, or should I?‖
That‘s all he said. We‘d been married a year, and he didn‘t even ask if I wanted to keep it. We started to argue, and then the fight took on a life of its own in that insidious way which leaves us screaming at each other about nothing and everything. I thought he was being immature he thought I was the one who needed to grow up and quit painting. I said he didn‘t take enough initiative at work, and he said I didn‘t respect him.
Before I knew what was happening, his pickup was spraying gravel in my face as I sobbed incoherently in the driveway.
I didn‘t see him again for four months, which was more than enough time for me to doubt every decision I‘ve ever made in my entire life. Then suddenly one night he was crawling into bed at 2 AM, stinking like death, blubbering apologies and promises. I was so relieved that I didn‘t even mind that he was drunk. We were intimate as a husband and wife should be, and when I fell asleep on his chest afterward, I thought everything was going to be okay.
I‘m so happy you came back, I whispered, nestled against him.
I changed my mind, he said.
I want the baby now.
"He's yours," I promised as I drifted off to sleep.
There was so much blood when I woke up that I thought I‘d been stabbed. I rushed to the bathroom, screaming for Kirk to help me, but he was nowhere to be found. A miscarriage doesn‘t just plop out and leave you as good as new. The baby drained from me over the whole next day, taking my soul with it. Big bloody clots, leaving me shrieking in anguish on the bathroom floor. I chanced to see myself in the mirror, and the sight of thenetwork of bloody trails running down my thighs was enough to make me smash my fist straight through the glass. The pain was good. It reminded me that I had a body outside of the one that had just died.
I couldn‘t flush it. I couldn‘t toss it. I couldn‘t even touch it. I just left it there on the floor and crawled back to my empty bed. I tossed and turned for hours until the clenching pain subsided, but it was nothing compared to the pain of knowing Kirk did this to me. I don‘t know how, or why, but when he came back last night, he killed my baby. And if my feelings in that moment were any indication, then he might have killed me too.
I wasn‘t expecting to see Kirk again. I took myself to the doctor as soon as I was able to drive, and that was when I got my first big shock. The ultrasound confirmed a perfectly healthy, growing baby boy inside me. There wasn‘t even any indication of blood loss all my vitals were strong, and I didn't have anemia. The doctor couldn‘t explain what happened, but finally convinced me that I had a hysterical hallucination and that everything was fine.
The bloody pool in my bathroom which greeted my return told a different story. I don‘t know what came out of me, but I couldn‘t force myself to scoop it up and bring it in for analysis. I just mopped everything off the floor and thanked every God that would listen that my child was still alive. The second big shock was from Kirk. When I heard the knocking on my door, I figured he was back again with another apology. Well it wasn‘t going to work the child and I were both better off without him. When I opened the door though, it was his father who entered with his hat in hand. I sat quietly on the sofa with him while he explained his sympathies....!
Stay Tuned For Next Two parts❣️