“Did anyone ever tell you what really happened to your baby?”
My story began three decades earlier, in my parents’ kitchen.
When I announced my pregnancy, my mother dropped her dish towel, and my father pushed back his chair. TrackPregnancy
“Who’s responsible?” he demanded.
“I’m not telling you.”
I’d never defied him so openly.
My father warned that I had no money, no independence, and nowhere else to live.
But I had Daniel.
When I’d told Daniel about the pregnancy, he’d wrapped his arms around me. TrackPregnancy
“We’ll rent a little apartment,” he promised. “I’ll find extra work. We’ll make it happen.”
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