DECISIONS, DESPAIR…

Your mind races through a thousand thoughts of what you should have done; the red flags you should have noticed. You wished the ground would swallow you whole. You reflect on the two-year relationship. “That son of a bitch!” you mutter under your breath.

You lost yourself. Three sweet words and all common sense was thrown out the window. He robbed you of your innocence. “I cannot live without you,” he would say. You fell hard. You wonder what went wrong, but it leads to a different set of thoughts. Will he ever be sorry for what he has done to me? Was I not good enough?

Your abdomen feels like a sword slicing through your insides. You let out a silent moan and massage it. But it is nothing in comparison to the guilt that consumes your soul. Your baby deserved a chance to live. The university hall of residence would have evicted you and scholarship terminated.  Your cheeks flush with tears. You stare into space, picturing your baby all grown up with your light complexion, and her father’s smile. Would she have grown up into a strong woman, successful and famous?

But you lost all that two nights ago when you visited the suburb clinic to kill her. Although you did not know the sex yet, you always wanted a girl. So you work with that fantasy. You wanted to keep the pregnancy, but the father did not share your dreams and hopes for a new life. Now, he wanted to live without you.

“I am not sure I want to be with you forever.’’

The words crush you every time you remember his voice. He had not stuttered. You should have seen the signs when he refused to label the relationship.  The fights had escalated, and you always let him win.

You have now realized that you fell in love with a stranger – a player taking care of a four-year-old kid from a broken relationship.  He has moved on to another girl. It hurts so bad you cannot sleep at night. That is just a quarter of the sadness you feel. You have to live with the guilt for the rest of your life.

Watching the chicken scratch through the small heap of rubbish gathered around the compound, you grab your wet handkerchief and blow your nose hard. You walk through the back door, stop at the kitchen counter and grab your phone. You pause at the dealer’s contact as you wipe the tears off your cheeks. A few hesitations later, you dial.