The doctor spoke plainly. “You’re four weeks pregnant. The fetus isn’t stable yet. No intercourse for the first three months, and take care of yourself.”
“If you’re not planning to keep it, decide soon. The later it gets, the more it harms your body.”
Clutching the report, I broke down inside the car, crying until I couldn’t breathe.
Back when I loved Diego the most, I had once foolishly believed a child could tether his heart to mine.
So I had Madeline.
He came home more often, softened toward me, and held me the way he used to when we were just two students in love.
It felt like he had come back to me like he was once again that passionate boy who had chased me with reckless sincerity.
Until the day our daughter was born.
While I was lying in the delivery room, trembling with fear, he vanished without a trace.
Later, I found out that very day, he had finally won over the university belle he’d been chasing for years.
They spent the night tangled in springtime pleasures at the highest hotel in Anderson.
I hated him.
But over the years, that hatred had worn away every last shred of hope I once held for Diego.