December 26th is the day I killed my baby.
My parents had gone to visit relatives down in Charlotte for the holidays. They wanted me to go with them but I begged and pleaded and cried until I got out of it.
I couldn’t sleep at all the night before, just kind of dozed on the couch.
My boyfriend picked me up early that morning and drove me to the clinic. It was so cold that day, I could see my breath. All I could think about was how my baby would never take a breath.
We walked in, checked in and waited.
They called my name.
“Do you want me to go in with you?” He asked.
I shook my head ‘no’.
“I’ll be here when it’s done.”
The whole thing took about 20 minutes and didn’t even hurt. I just felt numb.
When I walked to the lobby he was there with some flowers, like it was a funeral. In some ways, I guess it was.
Days passed, weeks, the numbness stayed.
I was not fine and everyone, my friends and family, knew it. But they didn’t really know.
He was the only one who knew but he didn’t really know either.
I was alone.

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