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Eighty-seven
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2024-10-29 19:42:56"Dear wife." I pause to allow the laughter bubbling in my throat to spill out. Throwing a glance at Brandon sitting ramrod straight, nails digging into the steering wheel while we wait for the light to turn green, I chuckle. He is too stiff. "This is so formal," I say and he mutters an inaudible reply. My hand moves to his shoulder. "Relax, it's just a letter."
"Is it?"
That didn't come out the way intended but I nod. My eyes return to the sheet of paper in my hand, settle on the font in black ink. I would have loved it handwritten but the line at the top right corner shows he printed it from his email. The date on top tells me it is about a month old. I clear my throat to continue reading out loud and my voice breaks.
"I miss you. Everyday." There is a fluttering in my chest like butterflies are rousing from their nap, I don't look to him when I murmur, "Then why didn't you call or text me?"
"
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I am pregnant.Three words. Three words I don't want to be associated with. Brandon's hand returns to my knee but it weighs a ton, I shrug it off, I don't want his support. My lung closes, the pressure in my chest spreads. I wheeze, a cold feeling of fear whips through me. My breath catches in my throat, a strangled sound escapes me. I don't want to be pregnant.Reaching for something close to me to keep from drowning in this sea of nothingness, my hand closes around thin air and I gasp. The image of the doctor blurs, I cradle my head in my arms and choke on a sob. I don't want a baby."If you want, we could-"I jump, flailing my arms in protest, we shouldn’t have come. "I don't want anything." My chair clatters to the floor, Brandon hisses, a look at his face shows a nail scratch on his cheek. The thin line turns red, looking scarier than it should because of his pale colour. But I don't apologise, he put the baby in me. Staring at the wall, I ask, "Can we g
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