Prologue
“Push.”
I had never experienced such pain in all my sixteen years. Not even when my mother died. Pain in my body, but even more so, pain in my heart. I knew once I finished pushing, regret would fill every corner of my heart. Regret about my choices. Regret about the life I was giving up. Regret that I couldn’t give this baby everything it deserved. Deep down, I knew this was the best decision I could make, even if it broke me in the process. I was sixteen years old. What kind of life could I provide a baby? I was still a child myself.
Another contraction hit, and a scream ripped through me as I bore down, pushing with all my might. No sooner did the echo of my scream fade than the cry of a baby filled the room. I sank into the bed, exhausted in body and spirit.
“It’s a boy,” came the voice from somewhere in the room. I heard the hustle of activity as the nurses prepared my baby — no, not my baby, their baby — to be handed over to his adoptive parents. I tried to ignore the crushing agony threatening to overwhelm me. Now was not the time. I could grieve later.
“Would you like to see him?” the nurse asked me, even as I started to shake my head. No, I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want to look at his beautiful face or count his little fingers and toes. It wouldn’t change a thing. It would do nothing but make my decision more difficult. I turned my head toward the wall and wished everything would just be over. I heard the nurse sigh softly in disappointment as she moved away. Before I knew it, the buzz of activity stopped and the quiet snick of the door closing sounded. I turned toward a soft caress against my cheek and immediately burst into heart-wrenching sobs as my father gently climbed into the hospital bed with me. He wrapped me in his comforting arms while we cried together as my heart shattered.