Page 52 of Harper

Giving life to Raven almost cost me my own.

In the end, I survived, but not unscathed.

The official medical term for what happened was placenta percreta—Raven’s placenta, which never should have attached itself anywhere, had invaded my endometrium and grown through my myometrium, the wall of muscle behind it. From there, it had attached itself to several of the organs in my lower abdominal cavity. An incredibly rare condition for women of my age and health, it had happened nonetheless, and because I hadn’t been good about showing up for my OB/GYN appointments, it wasn’t discovered until I was in labor.

The surgery needed to dislodge and remove the placenta had caused hemorrhaging and damaged my uterus, bladder, and bowel in the process. It had also cost me my right ovary and fallopian tube, and left such a large amount of scar tissue on my one remaining ovary and fallopian tube, the doctor said to consider them permanently and irreversibly damaged. Although I could have a child via IVF, because he’d managed to spare one ovary and my mangled uterus, a natural pregnancy would be impossible.

At that time, I hardly cared.

I never wanted to go through childbirth again as long as I lived.

During those dark days, I grieved Raven—that I’d never know her, never see her, never have a chance to love her. I’d missed her so much in those first few weeks, I still don’t know how I survived it. I didn’t feel equipped to raise her, of course, but that didn’t change the fact that giving her up almost killed me, both physically and emotionally.

Over time, as the details of the doctor’s report clarified in my mind, I realized that karma had put another nail in the coffin of Joe’s and my relationship. Not only had I given his child away, but even if we somehow managed to find each other again one day, we wouldn’t be able to have another naturally. I was damaged goods.

I hug my knees closer to my chest.

When Joe says he loves me, he doesn’t know who he’s talking to.

He’s talking to someone who took away his agency.

He’s talking to someone who gave his daughter away.

He’s talking to someone who can’t get pregnant naturally.

He’s talking to someone he doesn’t know he hates; someone he’d despise if he only knew the whole story.

Taking a deep breath, I crawl off the bed, strip off my clothes and climb into the shower. Hot water beats against my back, stinging my skin and making me cry. I scream and I sob. I fist my hands and punch the wall. I rage over decisions too big to make when you’re only twenty years old and your own mother is dead. I curse the fact that those terrible decisions have shaped my entire life.

Ten years have passed, but I am still stuck in my aunt’s bed, desperate and sad, devastated and alone.

The daughter I grew to love, but never wanted, is long gone.

The boyfriend I still love desperately is all but banished from my life.

The body that was fertile and healthy is now scarred and sterile.

The future I’d once longed for is nothing but a faded memory.

“It was impossible!” I wail into the steaming spray. “There was no good option!”

I wish it had all turned out differently, but I don’t know what I could have, or would have, changed. I still don’t have better answers, all these long, lonely years later.

My anger depleted, panting and exhausted, I rest my forehead against the shower wall.

My voice is halfway between a murmur and a sob when I say, “I’m sorry, Raven. I’m sorry, Joe. I’m so damn sorry.”

My tears mix with the water and fall to the shower floor, circling around the silver drain before they disappear.

***

Joe

When I woke up and found Harper gone, I raced to the kitchen to see if she was making coffee, or sitting out on the deck enjoying the morning sun.

All I found was her note.

A deal’s a deal.

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