Later that night, Max called again. It was nearing midnight and though I was tired, and my eyes were tight, I couldn’t sleep.
“What?” I answered.
“I was only being honest with you earlier, Shannon.”
“Sure, Max.”
“Why do you want this? You know having a baby is going to throw everything off for you.”
“You don’t know that,” I mumbled.
“No, I do know that, and I know right now that you’re living in a fantasy world. Shannon, you work two fucking jobs just to provide for yourself. What makes you think adding an extra mouth to feed will help? I’m still in school myself. We’re young as hell and have so much going on.”
My eyes burned. I closed them, pressing the phone harder to my ear.
“I want kids one day, and I know you do too, but this just isn’t the right time, Shannon, and you know it.”
“There is never a right time when it comes to my life, Max! Okay? I have never had time on my side, but somehow I always make a way.”
“Shannon,” he groaned.
“No,” I snapped, sitting up on my elbow. “You know what? Fuck you, Max! Fuck. You! Just grow the hell up already and stop only thinking about yourself for once!”
I hung up again, tossing my phone across the room and crying so hard that my stomach and ribs began to physically hurt.
I thought about every single thing—from the trip to Hilton, to the moment he answered the phone. I thought about my past—my mother and my father. Tessa. Aunt Jessie. Grandma Lane.
But mostly, I thought about how Max was right. And I couldn’t stand how right he was and how little I felt in this big, angry world. I had no idea what Max wanted out of me or what my purpose was in his life, but I knew one thing: keeping this child was only going to tear us apart and bring more struggles.
I had to choose between the man I loved, my life, and the unborn child growing inside me. This was a person I could create. Someone I could get to know from day one and love unconditionally, until the ends of the earth. Love like that was so hard for me to come by.
But I was struggling. I was weak. Hell, I still drove a shitty car that could hardly make it from point A to B. I could barely afford my rent.
I knew what I had to do…I just hated that I had to do it.
Two days later, I laid on a bed that was cold and not at all comfortable, my legs spread apart and thick tears rolling down the side of my face.
When the operation was over, I drove home, crampy, muddled, and depressed and I hate saying this, but I instantly regretted my decision.
Even when Max showed up the next week to try and comfort me, I couldn’t look him in the eyes without crying because the truth was right there—he didn’t want the baby.
That fucking crash, it ended us way before we completely gave up on each other. To this day, I hate myself for not fighting for us, but I really hate myself for giving up a child that I know would have changed my life for the better.
Some women long to have their own baby, beg and pray to become pregnant, and I just tossed that dream away—got rid of it like it was nothing.
Perhaps this is why I’m dying. Because I tore a life out of me out of despair and fear and loneliness. Out of selfishness. This is probably why God is punishing me, making me suffer a slow and painful death. He is not pleased with me or my decisions. He gave me a chance, and I botched it.
Maybe if I’d heard the heartbeat…maybe if I’d seen it there inside me, my decision would have been different. But it’s too late to think that way now. The baby is gone, and I am a shell of that woman now.
Max apologized plenty of times for everything that happened after the crash, but his apology meant nothing to me back then. I acted like I forgave him, of course, simply because that’s who I was. I still loved him. I still cared about him, but deep in my heart, I knew we weren’t meant to be.
We could hardly get through one of the hardest parts of our relationship, so how were we going to get through something much more intense? How were we going to care for a child?
It was terrible, but obviously it was meant to be this way.
It was meant for me to leave Max behind for good. Meeting John was proof that I was supposed to move on from Max.
Max wasn’t mine then. He never was. I just wanted him to be. I think about it now and I constantly forgave Max, not because I was still in love with him, but because he begged me so much. Even though he went missing for nearly three weeks, I forgave him.