“You could have the baby," he said. "Best case scenario, it would absolutely destroy my relationship, like completely burn it to the ground, and then we would get together. It would be hard, but I would do it."
In my thirties, I have had two abortions, six years apart. I tell no one. I perpetuate the shame of every woman who has ever chosen to terminate an unwelcome pregnancy—with my silence.
No one comes in to check on me, no one asks if I’m okay after I finally emerge, embarrassed, my eyes completely red. They all love me, but not enough to forgive what I’m about to do.
My husband, Devan, wants to know when he can stop lying to everyone he cares about. He’s talking about the baby, the fact that we’re having one (if all goes well) in early October.