She doesn’t know I exist yet. Her body is too bruised and sore to realize that not all the discomfort comes from what happened. Some of the uncomfortable sensations are caused by changing hormones and my rapidly forming cells in her womb.
She’s convinced her life ended the day mine began. Her high school graduation cap and gown hang forgotten in a closet. Someone else will give the valedictorian speech in her place. Her diploma will arrive by mail. No public ceremony will mark this milestone in her life. She won’t attend graduation parties or senior dances. Instead, shame and anger and a deep sense of betrayal consume her. This wasn’t supposed to happen, my mother thinks. She’s barely stopped crying. My world rocks with her sobbing. I taste her tears.