I never planned on getting pregnant, but I did.
After the pregnancy test showed positive, I walked out to my husband, crying, and holding that strip for him to see. For one moment, he seemed touched. Then his face clouded up, and he told me if I didn’t get an abortion, he’d divorce me. I left that night and stayed with a friend. I stayed away for a week. The emotional and mental warfare going on inside me was past understanding.
On June 25, 1992, three weeks before my father died, I killed my baby. The following year, I left my husband. A few years after, he remarried and had two kids.
My baby. My poor baby. I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.