There were no words to describe the pain I felt in my heart at that moment. What I had been going through alone.
Always alone.
Bing.
I walked out of the office, needing some air. I crouched down near the curb, all of a sudden feeling like I was going to be sick. I clenched my only lifeline in my hand, contemplating calling Austin. My heart was pounding out of my chest, there was a ringing in my ears and the world in front of me began to spin. I dry heaved a few times, only then remembering I hadn’t had breakfast that morning. I slid my phone open and pressed recent calls. Austin’s name was the first on the list, staring at me, judging me. I was just about to press send when the door behind me binged again, making me jump and drop my phone onto the sidewalk.
I’d known I was pregnant for a week the day of the party. I wasn’t feeling well for a few days, but I honestly thought it was from everything that was going on with Austin. I blamed it on the stress, the nerves, and the emotional mayhem causing my body to shut down. I didn’t want to eat. I was always nauseous and just felt like shit in general. I went to the doctor hoping she could prescribe me some antibiotics or something to make me feel better.
When I told her my symptoms, she immediately asked me when my last period was. That’s when it hit me that I was late. Right then and there I knew the cause of my sudden illness.
She gave me a cup to pee in and a few minutes later, the test confirmed that I was pregnant. She told me how far along I was but honestly, I checked out. Everything faded as she did the ultrasound and handed me the photo when she was done. All that mattered was that I was pregnant. Any other person would be happy with this news, but I was torn. I spent the rest of the day at home by myself just lying around. Rubbing my belly, fantasizing about life with a baby. Looking at the ultrasound photo for hours. Austin was working or getting high or whatever the fuck he was doing at that point.
He came home later that night with Jon right by his side. They smoked and did some blow. I sat out on the balcony with my memory blanket wrapped around me, gazing at the buildings, at all the lights and sounds of the city that never slept.
Allowing the chaos to take control over what had become my life.
The day of the party I spent walking around the city, lost, confused, and overwhelmed. I wanted to tell Austin I was pregnant. I wanted to share the news with him, hoping that maybe it was what he needed, the push to come back to me. I was scared, terrified that even if I told him, nothing would change. He would be happy and want to celebrate by getting high or partying. But then I walked by the art gallery I took him to for his birthday, and his sketch of me was now sitting dead center in the window.
For all to see.
That was when I realized he needed to know, that I needed to tell him. If he still didn’t change, if it still didn’t help him find his way then I would raise the baby by myself. There wasn’t a chance in Hell that I would ever let my child step foot anywhere near this life.
The second I got home and parked my car in the garage, a sick, disturbing feeling manifested deep within my core. I walked to my door with my heart heavy and full, filled with nothing but worry, concern, and anxiety. Coming home to a party was nothing new, but when I saw that little girl my heart dropped. Molly playing with drugs, nobody watching over her, nobody protecting her, nobody taking care of her. My heart shattered along with the fantasy of the life I thought I could have.
It was Austin that drove the dagger into my heart even further when he confirmed that he knew she was there. That he was just too fucked up to care. Reality set in, and it was then that I grasped I would be raising our baby by myself. I didn’t even contemplate getting an abortion. It wasn’t even on my spectrum of thinking.
“Daisy Mitchell,” the nurse announced, saying my real name.
This wasn’t Briggs who was doing this. This wasn’t me hiding behind someone I created to survive.
This. Was. Me.
The girl that died in the car with her parents was now alive and killing someone else in her life.
The irony was not lost on me.
When Molly, the little girl, said her mom had died and that she was there with her dad. That her father brought her to this hellhole and that he would find her. That he always found her.
It hit me like a ton of fucking bricks. My parents had died too, and I didn’t have a choice in how my life turned out. I couldn’t do that to another innocent life.
Especially my baby.
What kind of mother would that make me?
I couldn’t be that selfish, even though I wanted this baby more than anything in this world. What if something happened to me? I’d leave it with their drug-addicted father or even fucking worse, my uncle.
My child would become Molly.
My child would become me…