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It all begins to make sense—the timelines, the connections.
“They’re so right for each other. I’ve always thought that, you know. I see how he treats her, and it’s so respectful. I mean, I’m not saying Dad doesn’t treat you with respect, but you do butt heads a lot.”
“That we do.” She chuckles softly. “Your dad can be a real asshole at times.”
“But you love him,” I state, rather than pose the question.
“My life is him and you girls, of course.” She strokes my hair as I turn to my side, clutching onto her arm. “When I found out I was pregnant with you, I was terrified. Amelia, I was eighteen when I first fell pregnant with your father. He was married, he just left me, and I was devastated. I moved away to live with my grandmother and lost the baby at six months. I blamed myself and thought about taking my own life.”
“Mom,” I choke, caressing her hand. “You were that young?”
She nods, her lips pressing flat before continuing, “I was in love, foolish, and I paid the price. So, when I ran into your father, I was terrified of getting hurt again.”
“But you were older, wiser?”
“Yes,” she admits. “I was forced to grow up early. But your father had his own battles, and he didn’t know about the pregnancy. I can’t blame him when both of us had our faults.”
“Mom,” I say, lowering my head. “I don’t want Will to know.”
“That’s your decision, honey. But in the end, everything always comes out.”
There’s a loud bang at the front door, and my mother gives me a knowing look. She removes a set of keys from her pocket, placing it on my dresser.
“My car, here in the city. I want you to have it.”
“But you love your car, Mom?”
“It’s just a car, honey.”
She kisses my forehead and suggests I try to get some rest. My eyes grow weary until a text message appears on my screen.
Will: I tried to stay away but I can’t. Talk to me, please.
Amelia: I have nothing to say.
Will: Don’t give me that bullshit. Is that how you want it to end? Over some immature presumption that I’m trying to fuck my ex?
Me: I can’t do this right now. I need to be alone.
Will: So, this is it, you’re choosing to end us? Am I not even worth fighting for?
I don’t respond, wiping the tears from my face. Before I turn my phone off, I see a voicemail sitting at the bottom righthand corner. I listen to the message, a call from Doctor Waltham. According to him, my HCG levels are too low, indicating I’ve lost the baby.
Hanging up the phone, I place it against my chest. For the last few days since I found out I was pregnant, I didn’t allow myself to think about the future. I distracted myself in whichever way I could until I spoke to Will.
But now, it’s all over.
My imagination wonders what the child would’ve looked like—Will or me? Was it a girl or boy? All these unwarranted thoughts consume me at this moment. I didn’t even have time to process everything, only to lose the baby. The doctor assures me that miscarrying isn’t uncommon, yet why do I feel like it’s my fault, and I somehow caused this to happen?
Turning my phone off, I close my eyes again and fall asleep only to wake up again to the sound of sirens blaring through the night.
I slowly get out of bed in the dark and walk down the hall toward my dad’s office. With my bare feet, the faintest of glows radiate from the room as I move toward the door, standing still, watching him drink straight from the bottle of scotch. His laptop is open, his phone in front of him on the woodgrain desk.
My memories play a reel like a movie at a theater. The time he took me to the zoo, and we fed the animals, organizing a private session, to the times he’d read me a story, using his superhero voices because I had an obsession with Batman. There was the time I got my learner’s permit, and he yelled at me when I almost scratched his expensive Mercedes against a street pole. To our father-daughter dances where he’d proudly dance in front of everyone, dressed in his fancy tuxedo.
I wrap my arms around myself, willing to shield myself from the pain.
No matter what I decide, someone will get hurt. And as I continue to stare at the man who has loved me unconditionally my entire life, all I can see now is the shadow of my father breaking down.
