I know I have made some mistakes... big mistakes. Some bigger and
more devastating than others. Some mistakes have hurt those around me, and
without realising, I have driven people away.
People like my husband, Fred, the man I fell in love with so many years ago... the man I love even now. I have lied to him, deceived him, and misused the trust we vowed to each other when we wed. I don't blame him for being so distant now... I don't deserve his closeness. Not after what I have done to him.
People like Bosco... the best friend I have in this world. I treasure him so much, and I shun him, and ignore his advice, which sometimes surprises me in how much it makes sense. He is wiser than he realises, and I have never told him. I should... I should let him know how much his thoughts mean to me. I don't listen to his problems as tentatively as I could, and it hurts him... I see it in his eyes.
Even now I think about what I have done... and I want to break down and cry. I was so selfish, and Bosco was right. He told me how selfish it was, and I -as usual- didn't listen to him. But I lied, and that's what saddens me most of all.
For years I have prided myself on my honesty, and even now it disgusts me how I could lie so openly... use a terrifying opportunity to serve my own needs. How could I have been so stupid?
I remember seeing Fred sitting on the end of that bed, crying. He had been so excited when I had told him I was pregnant, that another little bundle of joy could be entering our lives. But his eagerness had frightened me, made me realise how we weren't able to cope with another mouth to feed, another body to clothe. I knew it, but Fred didn't want to... I keep trying to tell myself that what I did was in everyone's best interest.
It pains me to think how I went behind everyone's backs to save myself from more problems... problems that could have taught me some valuable lessons in life. What are problems if not opportunities to succeed or fail... and in failing we learn, we learn that not everything is a walk in the park.
I need to learn. But it is too late to learn from what I did.
Or is it?
I know now that I was perhaps too hasty. I could have loved that child with all my heart... given it all my love, everything I could spare. I deprived myself of more happiness. Not only that, but Emily and Charlie will never know, and Fred thinks I had a miscarriage.
How could I have done that? Why hadn't I just told him I didn't want the baby? I had basically told Bosco. He had known, I think, what I was going to do. He has a sense that I can't begin to comprehend. He seems to realise things that I miss all the time. How does he do that?
I remember staring at that bare ceiling in that clinic, and thinking how I was right, how it was my choice and no one else's, and no one could take that decision away from me. No one had the right. But now I realise one thing... as I think back on the termination of that baby's life.
I didn't have the right.
Who was I to deny it a chance to go through life, to succeed and fail in it's own ways, to make it's own mistakes and learn from them. What have I done? Why did I do it? How could I?
Me, a woman of morals and values, a woman who goes out there nearly every day and sees all the crap women like me go through to keep their children, through custody battles, or kidnapping, or run-aways.
And I can so easily throw away all of that. I killed that baby without thinking it through thoroughly. I know now that I was as stupid as I have ever been.
I received so many sympathetic phone calls about my 'miscarriage', my friends telling me that they were sorry, and if there was anything they could do, I should just call them... that it was as easy as that... they wished. I wish.
And Bosco... god, with a tough exterior like that, how can he be so caring, so understanding... and make me feel so guilty all at the same time. I saw it all in his eyes. He had felt so responsible, telling me that I should have been driving, instead of chasing that rapist down into that subway. He said to me not long after, whilst I was on desk-duty, that he should have taken the hit.
I had to use all my strength to keep from sobbing and coming clean about it all right there and then. My aching ribs had reminded me of my act every day for near on three weeks. My god, the agony had driven me stir- crazy. I hadn't been able to sleep for days... still can't sometimes.
I'm back on patrol with him now, and every now and then I see those deep understanding eyes drift my way, and his brow furrows in that subtle way. He knows... I swear by my life that he knows. He doesn't let on... but I swear. His body language suggests it. He's more cautious around me now... more discreet in what he says, how he says it, what he implies. Anything to do with babies is given a miss. I appreciate the thought, but he needn't bother.
He shouldn't bother because the baby didn't die. It was killed. By it's own mother... by me. By the mother of two children, a 'loving' wife... a partner, a best friend... a cop.
And still, even with all these thoughts and realisations, I find I keep asking myself the same damn question... despite the fact I already know the answer.
Why does my heart feel so bad?
People like my husband, Fred, the man I fell in love with so many years ago... the man I love even now. I have lied to him, deceived him, and misused the trust we vowed to each other when we wed. I don't blame him for being so distant now... I don't deserve his closeness. Not after what I have done to him.
People like Bosco... the best friend I have in this world. I treasure him so much, and I shun him, and ignore his advice, which sometimes surprises me in how much it makes sense. He is wiser than he realises, and I have never told him. I should... I should let him know how much his thoughts mean to me. I don't listen to his problems as tentatively as I could, and it hurts him... I see it in his eyes.
Even now I think about what I have done... and I want to break down and cry. I was so selfish, and Bosco was right. He told me how selfish it was, and I -as usual- didn't listen to him. But I lied, and that's what saddens me most of all.
For years I have prided myself on my honesty, and even now it disgusts me how I could lie so openly... use a terrifying opportunity to serve my own needs. How could I have been so stupid?
I remember seeing Fred sitting on the end of that bed, crying. He had been so excited when I had told him I was pregnant, that another little bundle of joy could be entering our lives. But his eagerness had frightened me, made me realise how we weren't able to cope with another mouth to feed, another body to clothe. I knew it, but Fred didn't want to... I keep trying to tell myself that what I did was in everyone's best interest.
It pains me to think how I went behind everyone's backs to save myself from more problems... problems that could have taught me some valuable lessons in life. What are problems if not opportunities to succeed or fail... and in failing we learn, we learn that not everything is a walk in the park.
I need to learn. But it is too late to learn from what I did.
Or is it?
I know now that I was perhaps too hasty. I could have loved that child with all my heart... given it all my love, everything I could spare. I deprived myself of more happiness. Not only that, but Emily and Charlie will never know, and Fred thinks I had a miscarriage.
How could I have done that? Why hadn't I just told him I didn't want the baby? I had basically told Bosco. He had known, I think, what I was going to do. He has a sense that I can't begin to comprehend. He seems to realise things that I miss all the time. How does he do that?
I remember staring at that bare ceiling in that clinic, and thinking how I was right, how it was my choice and no one else's, and no one could take that decision away from me. No one had the right. But now I realise one thing... as I think back on the termination of that baby's life.
I didn't have the right.
Who was I to deny it a chance to go through life, to succeed and fail in it's own ways, to make it's own mistakes and learn from them. What have I done? Why did I do it? How could I?
Me, a woman of morals and values, a woman who goes out there nearly every day and sees all the crap women like me go through to keep their children, through custody battles, or kidnapping, or run-aways.
And I can so easily throw away all of that. I killed that baby without thinking it through thoroughly. I know now that I was as stupid as I have ever been.
I received so many sympathetic phone calls about my 'miscarriage', my friends telling me that they were sorry, and if there was anything they could do, I should just call them... that it was as easy as that... they wished. I wish.
And Bosco... god, with a tough exterior like that, how can he be so caring, so understanding... and make me feel so guilty all at the same time. I saw it all in his eyes. He had felt so responsible, telling me that I should have been driving, instead of chasing that rapist down into that subway. He said to me not long after, whilst I was on desk-duty, that he should have taken the hit.
I had to use all my strength to keep from sobbing and coming clean about it all right there and then. My aching ribs had reminded me of my act every day for near on three weeks. My god, the agony had driven me stir- crazy. I hadn't been able to sleep for days... still can't sometimes.
I'm back on patrol with him now, and every now and then I see those deep understanding eyes drift my way, and his brow furrows in that subtle way. He knows... I swear by my life that he knows. He doesn't let on... but I swear. His body language suggests it. He's more cautious around me now... more discreet in what he says, how he says it, what he implies. Anything to do with babies is given a miss. I appreciate the thought, but he needn't bother.
He shouldn't bother because the baby didn't die. It was killed. By it's own mother... by me. By the mother of two children, a 'loving' wife... a partner, a best friend... a cop.
And still, even with all these thoughts and realisations, I find I keep asking myself the same damn question... despite the fact I already know the answer.
Why does my heart feel so bad?