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Shane
I feel sick. I have not had too many bouts of morning sickness recently as I am trying to comply with the doctor’s recommendations of small, frequent snacks and meals. I drink plenty of water. But this letter, his vile words, make me sick.
I run inside, dropping the letter to the floor, vomiting everything I had ingested earlier today. I begin to cry as the nausea keeps hitting me until I have emptied everything from my stomach and flush. I turn on the faucet to rinse my mouth out with water, using this opportunity to splash water on my face.
I finish up in the restroom, walking out to see my mother at the door, with the letter in her hand.
“I didn’t want to read it, but when I picked it up, I couldn’t help but see the words staring back at me, and I couldn’t help myself. I’m livid, Becca. These words are not just heartless, they’re hateful and cruel. They’re lacking the love I thought that boy had for you. You deserve better than this.”
She pulls me in a hug while I once again find myself crying in her arms. I am still processing what I read in that letter. The Shane I knew would never say such things, let alone put them in writing.
Not only was his letter cold, but it was typed out as if lacking all the sentiment possible. No handwritten note like he used to do. Such formality to his communication, even calling me by my full name. To think he took the time to not only think of those words, but he also took the time to type and print it. He is truly not whom I thought he was. And my baby and I are better off without that type of person in our lives.
I say this to my mother once she lets go of me. We put the letter away in the same shoebox where I stored all the other letters Shane once gave me. I choose not to open it again. I keep it as a reminder of what was said to me, as a reminder of why I will be strong for both of us in order to raise our child.
I will not lead with anger, but with love when it comes to this child I am growing inside me. I will tell them about the person I fell in love with. I will have to come up with some story as to why he is no longer with us, but I have time to figure out my words. I will not tell them this letter exists because it will not serve a purpose except to foster hate instead of love.
This child deserves all the love possible.
ChapterTwenty-Seven
SHANE
Present Day
I sit there, trying to grasp what Becca just finished telling me. I am rigid and the tension in my muscles is palpable. I have never been so confused, sad, hurt, deceived, and truly joyous all in one sitting. My anger is understandable, but the fact that I have a daughter, with Becca, brings my heart profound happiness and immense sadness all in one.
The fact Becca endured an entire pregnancy and beyond without knowing the truth regarding that letter and why I left is truly at the center of all the feelings coursing through my veins. I feel immense heartbreak for not only me but all of us. I sit at the kitchen table, breathing as calmly as I possibly can muster at this time, trying to form words, as a lump has been lodged in my throat since Becs started divulging all the information she had seen as truth for so long. My gaze is down, and I’m staring at the worn parts of the wood in the table.
I look up and I immediately look to my right, where Olive is seated. She’s looking at me, not with wonder, but with undeniable disappointment. From how I’m perceiving this, the story Becca just told might be the first time Liv has heard it in its entirety. Maybe Becca shielded her thinking that was best for our daughter. And in some ways, I am incredibly grateful. But I need to remove this look of utter disbelief my daughter is harboring in her expression.
When I go to speak, I reach my hands out to hold both of theirs. They’re both hesitant with my touch. I can only imagine the amount of pain Becca kept inside thinking I was capable of such hateful feelings toward her and our child. And to grasp that type of deceit at such the young age of eighteen is what nearly breaks me. She deserved to feel loved when she found out about the pregnancy, not lost, and that letter harbored the latter.
First I decide to look at Olive, knowing she has no idea who I am, and I have a huge hill to climb to prove myself to her.
“I want to begin by saying that nothing your mom just said is something I was ever aware of. You were never someone I knew existed until you walked through that door this morning. And in no way would I ever have said those things to your mother. Ever. I know you don’t know much about me, but I fell in love with your mom at the age of fourteen, and I have never looked back. I have never held regret or anger toward her, and now I can only imagine the feelings she felt toward me.”
I then turn my attention to the woman I have never stopped loving.
“Becs, I swear on everything we built together, that I never got the original letter you sent me telling me you were pregnant. I swear when I left Nebraska, the only mistake was that I left you behind. And I have regretted that since the moment I tried to live life without you. But now I have so much more to regret and to unpack with what you’re telling me. I wasn’t in Seattle at the time you would have written that letter. I went there first and stayed with my aunt. But shortly after, I went to California to stay with my cousin, who had an apartment there. My mother, however, was with her sister for a time before settling in Southern California. Depending on when the letter was sent, I can know for sure who may have been the one to open the letter you sent to me.”
Becca seems confused and resistant to what I’m explaining to her.
“You’re telling me, all this time, you never knew Olive existed? You never knew you had a child?”
She has tears welling in her eyes, and I can feel the pain of her realization hit me in the chest. All these years she held onto so many lies, and she didn’t even know it at the time. She had no idea I did not get her correspondence.
After hearing the letter I sent to her, I wouldn’t want contact with me either. Had she known I was unaware, she probably would have put effort into finding me once social media became popular. I know I resisted the urge to look for her out of fear of seeing her thriving and living life without me in it. As hard as it must have been for her, she had to rewrite the love story we had built because in her mind, I had lit it on fire, and I provided the matches too.
“Do you happen to remember the address it was sent from? I just want to see if it was my aunt’s place in Seattle or somewhere else.”
I look at Becca, hoping she can help me fill in the gaps that are truly feeling more like the size of craters between us right now.
She takes a moment to think about something, and she abruptly stands.
“I kept the boxes of letters we sent to one another from high school. It’s upstairs with this letter mixed in, and I think I still have the envelope it came in. Let me go find it.”
She runs out of the kitchen, and I can hear her footsteps going up the stairs and through a room upstairs, which sounds like it is right above us.
