“I threatened him,” she whispered. “I told him that if he took responsibility for you and the baby, I would kill myself.”
I froze. Literally frozen. I hadn’t expected that. I expected rejection, contempt, manipulation. But that sentence was on another level. I didn’t know whether to believe her, whether she was exaggerating, whether she was trying to justify the unforgivable. But the way she said it… her face… that kind of shame can’t be faked.
“He panicked. He’s always been a sensitive guy, you know that. And when he saw me so distraught, when he thought I was capable of doing something like that…” She let out a sob and covered her mouth. “He begged me not to.” I assured him that the only way to keep me alive was for him to break up with you. To leave for good.
I felt nauseous. A bitter taste settled in my throat.
Seventeen years ago, I thought he was just a coward. Irresponsible. A grown man. I never imagined that behind his abandonment lay such brutal manipulation.
“And then?” I insisted, clinging to the last shred of strength I had left.
“Then…” he said, his voice breaking, “he fell into a terrible depression. He dropped out of school, he abandoned his friends. I tried to fix what he’d destroyed, but it was too late. He didn’t want to see me. He barely spoke. And a year later…” He swallowed, trying to stifle his sobs. “A year later… he died. A motorcycle accident. He was alone.”
My breath caught in my throat. A thick silence enveloped us.
He was dead. The father of my child. The boy who left me crying on a park bench, telling me he couldn’t handle it. The same one who never came back, not a call, not a message. He… had been gone for sixteen years.
His mother covered her face with her hands.Continue reading…
