41. Rory
Chapter 41
Rory
“ … If what you’re saying… if you’re right, Rory. I’ll fix this. I’ll fix it. I promise .”
Some words are meaningless. They’re spoken, but they have no purpose. They don’t fix anything, they can’t. Sometimes what is broken can’t be fixed.
Hearing Noah’s muffled words through the wall are exactly that.
Empty words.
Yet, it seems that even empty words have the power to hurt. I feel tears gathering, and I do my best to suck them back. I don’t want Noah to hear them. I don’t want him to know that he still has the power to hurt me. I get up and slowly go to the shower, turning on the water and making it as hot as I can get it.
There’s part of me that hopes the water manages to burn my skin off and makes me feel clean. It’s not physically possible, at this point in my life, I’m pretty sure I’ll never feel clean. It’s never something I’ll stop wishing for, however.
I let the water wash over me, sinking to the floor and replaying Noah’s words to me. I can’t quote them—not verbatim, but only because I don’t want to. It’s just one word that keeps repeating in my head.
Abortion.
I place my hand on my stomach and just let the tears fall. The great thing about showers is that they help hide the tears. I’m not very far along, but I swear I can feel him or her inside of me… growing… living… surviving.
If it wasn’t for my child, I think I would be weak enough to take Noah back if he apologized. I really think I would. But, he didn’t say he believed me. He didn’t say he was sorry for anything and he didn’t beg me to forgive him for even mentioning that ugly word around me and my unborn child.
Abortion.
I’ve been reading pregnancy books and most truly believe that an unborn child can hear what is going on around them. They believe they hear music and studies show they react to it. Could my child hear its own father suggest an abortion? Even if he or she doesn’t know what that means, just the word alone is… ugly. Maybe, that’s a choice for some women, but it’s not for me. My child is a part of me and I will not give it up.
I move my other hand up and now they both rest on my stomach, I close my eyes and concentrate on the life inside of me. It’s all that is important now.
Nothing else. Not me. Not Ryan. And, to be honest not seeing him hurts almost as much as not being around Noah. Still, nothing else matters—not my brother or Tony. Nothing.
“Mommy loves you peanut. I’ll protect you,” I pledge. “I’ll love you,” whispers, tears clogging my throat once again.
“I’ll love you enough for a mommy and a daddy.”
Slowly I get up on my feet, turn off the water and grab a towel. I dry off before I go back to the bed. I climb in, giving my back to the wall.
Nothing else matters.