Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
I finally dig my phone out from under a pile of pillows, and start to scroll to Bailey’s contact info when the reality of the situation knocks the wind out of me.
Of course I can’t tell Bailey that I am pregnant. She’d want to know who the father is, and I’d have to admit that it’s her dad. Rick, who’s so scarred by his divorce that he’s unsure about ever tying the knot again. Rick, who would never want to put a child through something like a divorce again. Rick, who doesn’t want any more kids.
Letting my phone drop to my side, I slowly sink down on my bed, staring blankly ahead of me without registering what I’m seeing. A new wave of tears prickle at my eyes, and this time, they’re pure grief. I can’t tell Rick about this baby, either. He made his thoughts on marriage and children very clear, and I don’t blame him after the difficulty of his marriage and divorce, the ensuing custody battle, and the constant worry that he did something to permanently scar Bailey. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy being a father; he’s an excellent dad to Bailey, and their bond is unmatched. He just doesn’t want to have another child after what he’s gone through. My man has been burned, and he’s made his preferences clear.
I press my fist to my mouth, swallowing tears while letting out a whimper. I love Rick with all of my heart, with all of my body, and all of my soul. I’ve waited so long to be with him, and my patience was finally rewarded after I showed up in the ER room unexpectedly. Not only that, but I feel that if we got married, our union would be a fruitful and successful one. But as much as I wish I could, I can’t predict the future. I can’t convince an adult man that he wants children when he’s made absolutely clear that he doesn’t. Rick’s made his own decisions his entire life. Who am I to change his mind, when it seems like he’s rock solid on this issue?
I can’t hold back tears any longer, and they flow unchecked down my face. My exhilaration has been completely replaced by dread, weighing so heavily on me that I lie defeatedly back in bed. The ceiling blurs through my tears.
I need to end things with Rick.
I can’t risk him asking me to give up the baby, or worse, to get rid of it before it’s born. The heartbreak that would ensue from those situations would be even more painful than breaking up with him. And yet, right now, as I sob in my bed, ending our relationship feels like the greatest tragedy of my life.
It’s not fair, I think, beating the mattress with my fists. It’s not fair that right after my dream came true, it is transformed into a nightmare. It’s not fair that I’ll have to raise a baby on my own, without the guidance, love, and wisdom of the man I love. It’s not fair that mine and Rick’s relationship has been nothing but smooth sailing and now needs to be purposely shipwrecked, and that I’ll be the one driving the boat into the iceberg. How can the unparalleled joy of pregnancy be paired with such unbearable grief?
Still, I know what I have to do. And I have to do it now.
I sit up, wiping my tears with the back of my hand. I place both hands on my stomach. “We’re going to be okay,” I whisper shakily. “It’ll be just you and me, but we’ll make it on our own.”
Before I can hesitate, before I can change my mind, I pick up my phone and call the father of my unborn child.
8
Rick
Another night after a long shift at the hospital. Another night in a lonely house. Another night of Chinese takeout since I can’t gather the energy to cook. Another night without her.
I sit at the kitchen table, nursing a beer, something that’s been in the back of the fridge for a while. I haven’t been grocery shopping in at least a week. My appetite has significantly decreased, and this paltry container of lo mein will probably last me at least two meals, and half-eaten granola bars at work make up the rest of my diet. I half-heartedly pick at a piece of carrot before I finally push the container away. Beer will be the rest of my dinner tonight.
I’ve passed a mirror several times in the past few weeks, and have been unpleasantly surprised by my reflection each time. A new crop of grey hairs has gathered at my temples, and silver streaks the stubble on my chin. Although I’ve been in the gym even more lately, trying to combat my confusion and gloom with physical exertion, my body doesn’t seem to be showing the results. I look older, softer. Generally shittier.