“You are my child,” my wife says.
“I can’t help you if you want me to.”
“I know you don’t want me.”
“It’s OK, baby,” I say.
“It doesn’t matter.”
I’m an adult.
We have two children.
And I want to be a parent.
“If you want to do this, you’re going to have to talk to me,” she says.
The next thing she knows, I’m in a car parked outside the clinic where I’ve been giving birth to our daughter.
I am in her room.
My wife is standing on the bed.
“Are you sure you want this?”
“You’re pregnant,” she answers.
“Is this what you want?”
I say no.
“That’s OK,” she tells me.
“Here’s the deal.”
She reaches out with her hand.
It’s a long, thick, soft plastic bag with a thick ribbon.
She hands it to me.
I’m not sure what it’s made of, but she says it’s for her to use.
I look at it.
I think it’s plastic.
It has an elastic band at the top, and a small hole on the bottom.
I reach out with my right hand, and grab it with my left.
“Get on the floor.”
My wife and I’re sitting on the other side of the room, about two feet apart.
“What do you want with this?” she asks.
“For me to be able to take you home with me,” I tell her.
“Don’t worry,” she responds.
“We’ll figure it out.”
“What is this?”
She says it looks like a tiny vibrator.
“Can I get one?”
I look around.
I don’t see anything I like.
“Why don’t you take off your shirt and put it on the ground?”
“What are you doing?” she says, grabbing my shirt and pulling me to the ground.
I grab her by the hair.
“Oh God, baby, don’t hurt me,” my daughter cries.
I put my hands on her neck and pull her closer.
“My baby,” my husband says.
He looks at me.
It doesn’t look like he’s really listening.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
I feel like crying.
Just let me do this.”
“This is what I wanted,” I cry.
I push her away and grab her shirt again.
You can’t do this.
I want you to stay here.”
I feel her body tighten around me.
The sound of my heart pounding and the pain in my body is unbearable.
“This isn’t what I want,” she shouts.
“Come here, baby.”
“My husband is taking me to get a abortion,” she screams.
I pull her into the bed and wrap my arms around her, and I lie down on top of her.
My arms are wrapped around her waist.
“Take off your clothes,” I scream.
“Do you want your husband to take me home with him?”
“I don’t,” she replies.
“There is a procedure you need to do to be pregnant.
You’re not going to go through with it.”
I look down at her, in shock.
My husband is kneeling on the mattress beside me.
His arms are draped over my waist, his head resting on my shoulder.
He’s not looking at me, but I can see the tears forming in his eyes.
I tell him that I’m pregnant and I want him to take my baby home with us.
He stares at me in disbelief.
I say, “You need to take it easy.”
“No,” he says.
I pull him closer to me and kiss him.
He hugs me tightly, then he lets me go.
He lies on top and looks at his baby.
I know what he’s thinking.
“OK,” he finally says.
I can’t bear to look at him anymore.
I ask if he wants me to go home with my baby.
“Yes,” he tells me, “I do.
You should go home.
It will be better.”
“Ok,” I reply.
He looks away.
“God, I can feel my body tightening around you.”
I put both my hands over his chest and pull him close.
“The abortion will be over soon,” he shouts.
He is crying so hard that I can barely see him.
I get up and walk over to the front door.
I close the door behind me.
When I walk through the door, my wife and baby are still in the room.
“Thank you, God,” she cries.
“So, are you going to be OK?”
“You can do this,” I answer.
“But you’re not the one who has to make this decision.”
I sit down on the edge of the bed, put my hand