KATE
The ticking of the clock looms over my head, one more minute passing. One more minute bringing me closer to the 10-year mark.
Ten years since I made the wrong choice. Ten years since I destroyed the life of an innocent baby just so that I could hold on to all my stupid teenage glory. Ten years since I broke myself, shattering beneath the weight of the overwhelming guilt I’d willingly placed there.
Ten years seems like a long time, but in the grand scheme of heartache, it feels like mere minutes.
I slide from beneath the sheets, careful not to wake Weston, who’s snoring intently, peacefully even. I look over at his scruffy self and wish I could be like him, free of all pain. I’d give anything to not have the weight of the world’s worries on my shoulders, but it isn’t in the cards for me.
I don’t deserve to feel anything less than what I do at this moment. It’s my payback caused by a series of unfortunate choices.
I slide my phone into the pocket of my sweatpants and slip on a hoodie over my white camisole. Callie lifts her head as I walk by, but doesn’t make a noise as I reach up, grab my car keys from the hook and slip out the garage door.
The car starts up with a purr, and when I glance at the clock, my heart sinks.
It’s the time.
On April 10th, 2007 at 5:49 am, I inserted a wire clothes hanger inside myself and destroyed the only child I’ll ever have, along with the heart of the girl I used to be.
I back out of the garage, putting miles between me and the man I love. I can’t be here; I can’t break down in front of him and, more importantly, I cannot tarnish the goodness of his heart by sprinkling it with the evil of what I’ve done.
Tears threaten to burst from me like a waterfall, but I push the sensation aside, hitting the gas and speeding up just a couple miles more. The rush of the air billowing around me through the open windows, along with the peaceful rustling of the trees, almost has a calming effect on my shot nerves. I slow down and turn on cruise control, following whatever road leads me away from the traumatic memories of my past.
I don’t know how long I’ve been driving, but when the sun begins to rise, I know where I need to go.
~*~
I walk into the cemetery, hundreds of head stones scattered as far as the eye can see. I guide myself to the one place I’ve visited nine times already. As sick and morbid as what I’m doing is, it’s a tradition that eases a part of the weight holding my sunken heart in place.
I walk up to the compact headstone and kneel, placing my hand delicately on top. It reads ‘My Little One’ and there’s no date to be found upon it. It’s old, probably from the 1800’s or something but it gives me a cathartic sense of peace, as if I was visiting my own little one’s grave.
I remember the pain I felt leading up to making that dreaded choice when I was sixteen-years-old. I didn’t go in blindly; I researched for hours, looking up every possible outcome. I knew that tearing and scarring was a possibility. I even knew that if done wrong, I could bleed out on the floor long before anyone would find me.
I remember sitting on the bathroom floor, the hanger in front of me, staring at me as if to say I’m your only choice. Pick me. The panic that quickly escalated when I slipped out of my panties and lay on my back, my legs spread wide open. My hands shook, and my eyes closed, and I took deep, steady breaths, reminding myself that it’d soon be all over.
I remembered the pain and bleeding that could only come from using a wire in one of the most delicate places I had. The scraping felt like what I’d imagined a million needle pricks stabbing into me would feel like. It was the heavy cramping that had me doubled over, cursing myself for getting into this mess in the first place. I could feel the blood oozing out of me, pooling into a puddle beneath me.
But worst of all, I remember the crying. I thought of the small being growing inside of me as I struggled to keep going. I knew that I was far enough along in my pregnancy that the baby was growing little hands and feet. That the tiny mouth, nose and ears were beginning to form and that I was essentially committing a murder.
I knew that women all over the world were aborting their babies, but I wasn’t just any woman. I was a 16-year-old girl who knew that she couldn’t become a mother, no ifs, ands or buts about it.
I had trouble cooking scrambled eggs and was struggling to pass English. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to provide or care for an infant. A living, breathing, little human who’d rely on me when I struggled to rely on myself.
I wasn’t enough for my baby and, even now, knowing that makes it harder. I wasn’t the mother that a child deserved. I wasn’t strong enough and I hadn’t deserved the blessing that I had when I had it. Because of my carelessness, I won’t ever have it again.
The heartache I feel to this day when I pass a child on the street and wonder what he or she would have looked like is indescribable. Would they have my eyes or mannerisms? Picturing my baby as a now-10-year-old rips my heart into a million shards, unable to ever be pieced back together. No amount of glue or happiness could ever make up for what I’ve done.
Tears slide down my cheeks, dropping into the soil around it. I hold my head in my hands, praying that someday the pain won’t be this unbearable; praying time will help to lessen the blow of guilt that hangs over my head like a noose threatening to strangle me.
The tears continue to pour out of me when suddenly Weston enters my mind. I fall backwards, my ass landing in the dirt before I slump over and lay on my back. I cover my eyes with my hands and let the overwhelming feelings seep from me in a river of sadness.
Back then, I never thought I’d reach a point where I would care that I’ll never have a kid. And at first, I wasn’t totally happy about the news the doctor had given me, but at 16 it wasn’t the end of the world.
Shortly after I graduated high school, Weston stumbled into my life looking nothing like the man I’m engaged to now. He had a buzz cut and a clean-shaven face and I was irrevocably enamored with him. Even then, I knew what we had was special.
But I couldn’t reverse what I’d done.
After our one-year anniversary, the guilt consumed me. I knew we’d have a long future ahead of us, but even more so I knew it would only ever be the two of us. We’d talked about what we envisioned our life being like when we were older and, in his eyes- although he didn’t quite know it- it was more than I was able to give.
I do crave a family with Wes. I picture a little boy who has scruffy curly hair like his daddy’s that can’t be tamed despite all the time spent brushing it. I want to know what it feels like to have a baby growing inside me, kicking and squirming around in there, as happy as can be.
Knowing that, by being with me, Weston is being deprived of children and a family of his own just about destroys me. I love every minute of our crazy, argumentative lives but what happens when I’m no longer enough?
What happens when he looks at me when we’re preparing our wills at 70 years old and says ‘Who do we leave our house too? Our money? Cars? Pets?’
My heart can’t take any more pain. When will it end? Will a day ever come when I won’t be so raw and sensitive?
WESTON
I wake, feeling the loss of Kate beside me. After the day we had yesterday, I’m not surprised. I don’t blame her though, because I’m not in the mood to approach that conversation again either.
Kate is my life.
I couldn’t imagine spending my life with anyone other than her. She pisses me off daily, sometimes multiple times per day. She is impulsive, immature, possessive and stubborn. Those more trying traits balance out the desirable ones, meshing well with the loving nature of her heart, her constant need for sexual interaction, her need to be a perfectionist in her dancing and more importantly, the love she irrevocably carries for me.
I fucking lucked out in the wife department and I’m excited to see what the future has in store for us. However, it isn’t hard to tell we have some difficult discussions ahead of us before we can take any steps forward. There’s too many discussions I allow her to push aside. It’s not right for either of us to continue on like this.
The phone rings as I go to pour myself a cup of freshly brewed coffee. I glance down seeing Kates face pop up on my cell screen, before answering.
“Hey babe.”
“Uhh, Weston?”
I can feel my heart stop beating at the straightforward way she says my name and I remind myself to not assume the worst, even though my mind has already gone there.
“What’s wrong?”
“Umm. I may have gotten into a miniscule fender bender. I’m at Spencer Memorial.”
I breathe a sigh of relief, not noticing I’d been holding my breath the entire time she’d been talking. I set down the ceramic coffee mug I’d been clutching for dear life, just glad that it wasn’t something far worse than my imagination had concocted. A small bender I could deal with.
“Are you okay?” I know my voice is unsteady and even I can hear worry dripping from the words, but it is what it is.
“Yeah, I’m fine. A little shaken up, but I’ll be okay. I—,” I hear her sniffle. “—just need you right now.” I put the phone on speaker so I can throw on whatever clothes are clean and folded in my dresser drawer. In no more than 30 seconds, I’m dressed and heading out the door. “The doctor is running some blood tests to be sure nothing’s wrong but, really I’m fine.”
“Okay, babe. I’ll be there in 15 or so minutes. I love you, my little dancer.”
“I know, Wes.”
KATE
Weston comes rushing into the room as if the building is on fire and within a few, large strides has his arms tightly around me. I look into his eyes and see nothing but worry. Something I don’t blame him for.
I’m still frozen in shock over what happened. I was going faster than the speed limit and didn’t see the person coming up behind me. When I’d started to turn right, they’d gone straight, which resulted in my car ending up in a ditch, completely totaled. So maybe it was a lot worse than a fender bender, but I didn’t want Wes to worry more than I knew he already would.
The police have taken my statement and told me to stay put. It’s not like I could go anywhere anyways. The doctors are taking their sweet-ass time performing random tests on me, most likely checking to see if I have any alcohol in my system.
I don’t.
“Damn, Beautiful.” Weston says, rubbing his thumb over the scrapes on my cheek and lips. “You lied. It was worse than a fender bender, wasn’t it?”
“Weston. I’m fine.”
“We’re going to talk about this.” he says in finality as the doctor enters and takes notice of our arms tangled around each other. “Husband, I assume?”
“No, brother.” I giggle, beginning to feel relaxed against Wes’ chest, when I see the doctors obvious expression of disdain. “Just kidding.” I can feel the vibration of Wes’ laugh and I turn to him, winking. “This is my fiancé, Weston.”
“Nice to meet you, man.” Weston sticks his hand out, shaking the doctor’s as if they are the best of friends.
The doctor turns back to me and I feel like squirming beneath the pressure of his rock-like gaze. The silence feels as if it’s sucking all the air from the room and, just as I’m ready to stand and leave, to get out of this damned hospital and away from a doctor who’s beginning to freak me out, he finally opens his mouth to speak.
“We found something on your blood test that we wanted to bring to your attention.” I can feel myself tense at the phrasing of his words, but I don’t say anything; instead I wait for him to elaborate. When he notices I’m not going to interject, he continues. “Miss Benson, you’re pregnant.”
I hear those four words, I swear I do, but my brain can’t wrap themselves around them. It feels like a sick joke someone’s playing on me and, at any moment, a camera crew is going to pop out and say ‘Gotcha!’ When nothing happens, the tears forming in the corners of my eyes make an unrefined debut.
“No.” is the only word my mouth can seem to say and it’s like it has a mind of its own, because that’s all that comes out. “No. No. No. No.” Weston’s arms squeeze me tightly and I bury myself in his chest, soaking his shirt with salty tears and boogers.
I need this nightmare to end and that’s exactly what it is- a nightmare. I’m afraid the rug is going to be pulled out from under me and I’m going to be left in the same state of mind I’m in whenever I return to the past.
I know I’m not pregnant. I was told when I was sixteen I would never be able to conceive a child. Why am I going through this all over again?
If today wasn’t today, maybe I’d be able to handle the possibility of this better. Or not.
“No. No. No.” I sputter.
Weston takes my face into his hands and lifts it until our eyes are locked firmly on each other, resting his forehead calmly against mine. I look steadily into his deep green pools of love and find my shelter. “This is a good thing, sweetheart. A baby is a good thing.”
His hand comes to rest on my stomach and I’m trying not to blubber like a two-year-old, but it’s impossible. “I-I-I…No.” I push his hand away and drop my eyes to my shaking hands. It’s my way of bracing myself for the worst as I gather what little thoughts are floating around in my head like the snow in a snow globe. “I can’t have a baby.”
“I’ll give you two a few minutes to process the news.” The doctor steps from the room, leaving my heart to break even further because I know that Weston is going to require an explanation.
“Talk to me, Katie Kat. Please.” His words are more than just a plea, they’re a need. I can see in his body language that he’s upset over my words. What kind of fiancée would I be if I didn’t nurture him during the trying, difficult times, even if I was having one myself?
I run my fingers through his prickly beard. When I look up into his dark emerald eyes, I see tears. Weston’s mirroring everything I feel and more because he knows there’s something I’m not telling him. A tear slips down my cheek and he goes to brush it away, but I shake my head, determined to get this out before I can second guess myself.
“I can’t have a baby, Weston.” His eyes implore me to go on, so I do, even though I’m predicting it’s going to break us both for me to do so. “I was pregnant before, at 16. I was so fucking stupid. I wasn’t the person I needed to be to become a mother and I was petrified of what my parents would think. I mean, you know how traditional and conservative they are.”
WESTON
Kate was pregnant before.
I feel as if the wind has literally been knocked from my sails and I can see Kate struggling to get her thoughts out, afraid that I’ll judge her, but I never would.
Sitting before me is the strongest damn woman I’ve ever met and, when she cries, it takes a lot in me to keep from joining her. I’m not an emotional man, but it destroys me to see her so heartbroken over her choices when I know beyond a shadow of a doubt if there was any other feasible option, she’d have taken it.
“I almost died that day, Wes. The doctors told me that, if Jazzy had not found me when she did, I’d have bled out.” I don’t know how to respond to that, so I do what I do best, I hold her. I let her know that she’s loved, and I don’t condemn a single thing she did because, in that position, she did what her 16-year-old teenage self thought was best at the time.
“Goddammit, Baby. You were just a kid. Fucking Christ. I’m just so sorry that you were ever put into a position that made your choice the only viable one.” I kiss her on the lips, feeling her arms pull me closer. “You deserve the world and I’m sorry I haven’t realized how unhappy you’ve been.”
All I feel is guilt over my lack of perception. Over the past eight years, I’ve never seen this pain in her. My Kate always seems so carbonated—bubbly and sweet. She has always appeared so positive and optimistic, cracking jokes and pissing me off for the sheer fun of it. How have I been so fucking blind?
“Oh, my love, I’m not unhappy.” She smiles, wiping away the moisture that’s taken up residence beneath my eyes. “I love our life more than anything. It’s perfect. Yeah, maybe my demons are bigger than I would like them to be, but never once have I pretended around you.” She kisses me softly on the lips and all I can do is hold her close, rubbing small circles on her waist and feeling her heartbeat against mine. “When it’s gotten to be too much to handle, I’ve gotten away. I didn’t want to be a detriment to your happiness.”
“You are my fucking happiness, Kate.” I chuckle. “You and our new baby.” Her eyes grow big and I want to laugh at how scared she looks, but I don’t. Instead, I tone it down, keeping my need to shout it from the fucking rooftops to myself.
“I’m not pregnant, Wes. I just told you. It’s not possible.”
“Yes, you are, baby.”
“No. I’m. Not.” I see the fiery spark re-enter her eyes as she enunciates each word, glaring at me and daring me to question her.
“You are.”
“Shut up.” She tries pushing my hand away, but I don’t let her. I place my fingers on top of her flat stomach and smile real big. Kate looks like she wants to smack the smile directly off my face, but I really don’t give a damn.
I’m going to be a dad.
We sit there together for a while, holding each other down like anchors, our souls depending upon it. We hear a knock on the door before it swings open, the doctor walking back in.
“We’re ready to discharge you. If you’d like to follow me, our nurse can give you the paperwork you need before you go.”
“Are you sure? About me, I mean?”
My eyes flick between the doctor and Kate and I see him smile. “I’m quite positive, Miss Benson.”
“I was told that the scarring to the inside of my uterine walls was too damaged and that I wouldn’t be able to ever conceive.” She looks at me, finding strength as I motion for her to go on. She needs to ask what she needs to ask. Her heart needs to find peace and if this gives her that peace, I’ll sit here all damn day waiting for the answers.
“I’m not quite up to speed with your past medical history; however, I can assure you that all our tests came up positive for pregnancy.” He clears his throat glancing down at his clipboard. “We did also notice your white blood cell count was lower than normal, but it’s to be expected after a traumatic event. Other than that, you’re completely healthy.”
I lift Kate’s tiny body into my arms, hers wrapping firmly around my neck, holding me tighter by the second. I can feel her sigh of relief and when her smile appears across her delicate and dainty face, my heart swells with admiration. I’ve missed seeing her happiness and I’m going to make it my mission to ensure that it stays there.
This will be an adventure.
~*~
We’ve barely made it through the door before I find myself desperate to consume my tiny, fiery dancer. I pin her against the wall, kissing from her lips down her neck.
I can feel her breathing heavily and I know she needs this just as much as I. I lift her into my arms, her toned legs enveloping my waist. My hands come to rest on the sexy, firm ass of hers as I walk her into our bedroom.
“Baby, if we don’t get these clothes off now, I’m gonna fucking lose it.” I grumble as she begins to peel off my shirt and unbuckles my pants. They slide down my waist, landing in a pile at my feet as I step out of them completely, leaving me in just my boxers, my shaft bulging against the fabric.
I pull her bloodied white tank top from her body, growling at the sight of her cuts and bruises. My anger is quickly remedied when I see her in her skimpy little bra, her nipples hard as a damn rock against the red lace. I pull her against me in one swift motion, lips on lips, hands on each other’s bodies, tongues roaming free.
We aren’t close enough, though.
I slide out of my boxers and begin kissing my way down Kate’s chest, never tiring of the taste of her and the sheer silkiness of her pale, milky skin. She’s fucking mesmerizing. Her moaning further spurns me on and I reach around her, unbuttoning her bra in a matter of seconds, her beautifully round breasts breaking free.
I bring one nipple into my mouth as she arches against me, further allowing me access. I palm her other breast with my hand while I continue to suck and massage her sensitive bud.
“Oh, Weston.”
I switch to the other side, lightly nibbling until her other one becomes just as painfully swollen. They’re so hard that they look as if they could cut glass and I love it. It’s sexy as fuck and only turns me on that much more.
I kiss down her stomach, paying extra attention to the place where our child is growing within her. It’s kind of amazing that a piece of both of us is living in her womb and I’m the one that put it there.
My boys can swim.
I feel so much overwhelming pride for being in this new position. I can feel Kate’s eyes on me and when I look up at her, I see silent tears streaming down her cheeks.
“It’s happening, isn’t it?” She whispers, and I can only nod as I pull myself up and kiss her on the lips, pouring every emotion I’m feeling into it before resuming and showing her just what she means to me in every fucking way possible.