And now, in the bustling hospital lobby, Yzail, who had always hated being the center of attention, had already been kneeling for ten minutes. His tall, upright frame was a reflection of his resolve to marry.
The ring in his hand was exactly what I had imagined in all those dreams of proposals.
“Zolenn, please keep the child and marry me. Will you?” he begged.
Zolenn gently touched her stomach with her right hand and extended her left hand toward him.
The ring, the one I had long admired, was now on her finger.
They embraced and kissed passionately while the cheers and whistles from onlookers cut through my heart like a knife.
I ripped up my premarital checkup and pregnancy test reports and turned away.
Three years ago, Yzail said that an out-of-wedlock pregnancy would damage his career, and so he abandoned our first child.
When he returned to the military, I went through the surgery alone, stayed in the hospital alone, and grieved alone.
The child had left three years ago, and my love for him had died three years ago, too.
He never paused for a moment for my child, but for Zolenn and hers, he gave up on his lifelong dream.