The minute the apartment door shut behind me, my legs gave out. The last bit of strength I had been holding on to rushed out of me like a billowing cloud of dust as my back slid against the cold metal behind me. Every emotion and every tear I’d held in check after walking into our apartment the day before and finding her holding that ultrasound picture sprang forward, erupting out of me like a dormant volcano brought back to life.
I sobbed, filled with grief for the life we might never have. I screamed to the heavens for everything they were putting us through, and I doubled over in anguish, secretly wondering if this was all somehow my fault.
I’d always demanded we use condoms. But did I check them every single time? What if one had a rip or a tear? Was I too rough with her on our wedding night?
Does it even matter now?
“Jude,” a soft voice spoke.
I glanced over to see Lailah hesitantly reaching out toward me. She looked scared, timid, as her hand touched mine.
“It’s okay,” she soothed.
“How is this fucking okay, Lailah?” I snapped.
I realized my error as she withdrew from me in an instant.
“You don’t want to have this baby, do you?” she said softly. Her hands wrapped protectively around her waist as she curled into a sitting position on the couch.
“You can’t honestly tell me that you’re considering it? You and I were in the same room, weren’t we?” I asked, finally standing from my pathetic spot on the floor.
“Don’t you see, Jude? Don’t you get it? We made a child, a baby, despite our best efforts to do the opposite. It’s a gift, Jude. It’s a gift,” her voice whispered softly.
“It’s a death sentence!” I shouted, my hands raking wildly through my hair.
“You don’t know that!” she countered, her eyes filling with moisture.
“And you do? What happens when your body starts rejecting the transplant, Lailah? Then, not only do we lose that precious gift of ours, but I lose you,” I choked out, my voice hoarse from yelling. “I can’t—no, I will not allow it.”
The finality of my words cut through the air.
“I think we should talk about this later,” she said, taking the sleeve from her hoodie to wipe her swollen eyes.
I could tell by her demeanor that she was done for now, and frankly, so was I. Nothing would be accomplished like this—screaming at the top of our lungs to see which one of us could last the longest.
It was childish and petty.
“I’ll head to the office and give you some time alone. I’ll be back early this afternoon. Maybe we can talk then?” When we’ve had time to cool off. I didn’t say it, but the thought was implied.
“Okay.” She nodded.
Reaching down, I kissed her temple, my eyes squeezing shut, as my fingers brushed through her hair. A month ago, we had been nearly drunk on our happiness as our entire lives were spread out before us like the first day of spring. Now? Now, I felt nothing—nothing and everything all at the same time—and I had no idea where any of it would take us.
WE’D NEVER FOUGHT like that before.
In all the days and hours we’d been together, I’d never felt such anger and frustration toward him. Even after he’d left, leaving me nothing more than a cowardly note and leading me to falsely believe he couldn’t handle my ill-fated future, I hadn’t felt a tenth of what I did now—hurt, betrayal, disappointment.
So many emotions were so close to the surface, and I couldn’t begin to sort them all out.
Without him here, I thought that maybe I could clear my head, take a walk, or spend some time alone just sorting through everything that was swarming around in my thoughts.
But now, I just felt lost.
During our week in the warm paradise of the Seychelles Islands, we had fallen in love with sunset walks on the beach. It sounded cliché, but when you were in a place like that, you couldn’t help but indulge in the dreamy, exotic side of life. As we’d walked, Jude would always point out shells along the water’s edge, picking up any he might find interesting. On our last day, as the sun had set behind us, he’d spotted a perfect conch shell among the surf.
“How do you think it made it all the way here, completely untouched?” I asked.
He bent down to pick it up. His hands were now covered in sand as they ran over every edge and groove. “I guess it just drifted, all by itself, until it found its way here,” he suggested, a smile radiating through his features as he looked up at me.
“Well, maybe its journey isn’t done yet.”
We’d left the beautiful conch exactly where we’d found it, hoping it would continue its journey without interruption from us.
I didn’t know why, but I found myself thinking about it now. Where might it be? Was it all alone in that big, vast ocean, floating endlessly, until it just happened to hit land again someday? Or did someone else find it, perhaps smuggling it back home as a souvenir, finally ending the traveling days of the conch?
I guessed I felt a strange kinship to the dusty old shell. In many ways, as I continued to wear a path back and forth between our kitchen and living room, I felt like I was adrift, floating between two different decisions that could change my life forever.
The easiest decision was abortion. I knew it was what Jude wanted and what he would fight for. He would always fight to keep me alive even if it meant—