Fucking Riggs.
Fucking baby daddy.
Oh God.
I picked up my pants and sat on the toilet bowl holding the second test in my hand and reached for the first one.
The two pink lines were still there.
“This can’t be happening,” I whispered.
Adrianna sat on the edge of the bathtub, taking my hand in hers and squeezed it.
“It will be okay,” she reassured.
She was out of her fucking mind. It was NOT going to be okay. Nothing was okay about this. It was easy for her to say, she had her life figured out. She had everything she wanted, the man, the family, the life she dreamed about.
I had two fucking pink lines.
“I need to get out of here,” I said, springing to my feet.
“Where are you going?” She asked, concern etched in her features.
“I need to be by myself,” I declared, glancing down at the test before shoving it at her. “Do something with this, please.”
“Lauren, you’re upset you shouldn’t drive,” she cautioned.
“A, I need this,” I stated, pleading with her, my eyes full of unshed tears.
She brought me into her arms and hugged me tight.
“I know it doesn’t seem like it but I swear to you it will be okay,” she whispered, talking from experience. She had an unplanned pregnancy when she and Anthony were younger but the circumstances were different. Anthony and A were in love, they were together, prepared to take on a family because it was something they wanted in the future. It didn’t matter it came earlier than either of them expected, it was welcomed. They lost the baby, a baby that wasn’t planned but one that was loved and mourned.
I pulled away from her.
“I’ll be okay,” I lied, before hurrying out of the bathroom and letting my legs take me as quick as they could out of that house, away from the happy family and the promise of something I would not have.
I got in my car and started it up, and as the engine came to life, the dam broke, and the tears cascaded down my face.
Aside from having a plan for my career I also had my family life mapped out.
I was going to get married, have one of those big fancy weddings and my brother would walk me down the aisle, giving me away to the man of my dreams. After, we would honeymoon in the South of France, we’d come home and go house hunting. We’d buy a fixer-upper and for the first two years of our marriage we’d rip apart every room in the house and remodel it together. Our house would be a Pinterest board, a result of my handy husband and the crafty person I am.
Once the house was perfect, and the dog was trained—a cute little Yorkshire terrier named Trouble, we’d work on our family.
He’d be there when I took the test, he’d be at that very first doctor’s appointment and each one after that. He’d record our Pea’s heartbeat on his phone and at night we’d listen to the recording in bed. We’d joke about the sex of our little Pea and argue over names. He’d be the doting husband, looking after his pregnant wife, making sure I drank water and ate vegetables. We wouldn’t find out the sex of our baby because there were few surprises in life and that should be the best one.
He’d hold my hand as I pushed and when our little Pea took her first breath, we’d look at one another understanding we gave one another life’s most precious gift.
We’d have three kids. Two girls, one after another and a year after that our little slugger would be born.
It was a good plan.
A beautiful plan.
One not meant for me to live.
The tears didn’t stop, they kept falling, and so I sat in my car and cried. I cried because my plan went up in smoke just like all the rest of my plans did. I cried because I had a baby inside of me, an innocent baby that deserved a good life. I cried because I couldn’t provide that life for my Pea.
My Pea.
Not Mine and Riggs.
Not ours.
Mine.
God, I didn’t even know if I should tell him. What would I say? Hey you may not have given me an STD, but you put a baby in my belly? How’s that for a parting gift?
Riggs wouldn’t want a baby.
He didn’t even want me.
Reality was harsh, and it was a bitch.
They say it takes two but how come in the end, when the shit hits the fan, there’s only one person standing.
This was all on me.
And that sucked.
People have fought for women to have this right, to be granted the power of choice.
But all I wanted was for someone to decide for me, for a higher power to intervene and tell me what to do. Someone to tell me I’d be a good mom, that I might struggle for a while but I could do it. I needed someone to tell me that all a baby needed was love because I had a lot of that to give and could give it in spades.
Or I needed to be told I was doing the right thing by letting go because love only got you so far in this world.