“With a girl.”
It was not a question.
I nodded slowly. “Yes.”
I actually thought he might be joking.
He shoved his chair back and stood.
“So after everything I’ve put into this, you give me a girl?”
Even now, writing that sounds insane.
I actually thought he might be joking.
“Michael.”
“What do I need a girl for?” he snapped. “I wanted a boy. You knew that.”
“I didn’t choose this.”
“This is our child,” I said. “Why does that matter?”
He laughed, but there was nothing human in it.
“Why does it matter? Are you serious?”
I stood too. “You’re scaring me.”
“No, Sharon. I’m telling the truth for once.”
I said, “I didn’t choose this.”
I followed him into the bedroom while he yanked a suitcase out of the closet.
He pointed at me. “It was your egg.”
I just stared at him.
To this day, I do not know whether he was that ignorant or whether he just needed someone to blame.
Either way, he meant it.
“You ruined this,” he said. “You knew what I wanted.”
I followed him into the bedroom while he yanked a suitcase out of the closet.
I felt like the floor had dropped out from under me.
“You cannot be serious.”
He started throwing clothes into it.
“I am not raising a daughter,” he said.
I felt like the floor had dropped out from under me. “You are leaving me because the baby is a girl?”
“I’m leaving because you destroyed our marriage.”
Then he looked me right in the face and said, “Remember that. This is all your fault.”
A few months later, I gave birth to Maria.
And he walked out.
No apology later. No call the next day. No second thoughts.
He was just gone.
A few months later, I gave birth to Maria.
And once I held her, my world got brutally hard and strangely simple at the same time.
She needed me.
Maria never met him.
