Beauty from Ashes

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 41

I’m sitting here staring at my phone, except I’m not paying attention to anything online. I don’t even have any browsers or apps open. I’m just staring.

I know I don’t deserve to be happy. It makes sense that these past few months were as horrific as they’ve been. I’ve got to do my penance, face my consequences, reap what I’ve sown, all those stinking clichés.

I’m thinking about right after Jake and I got married, how gentle he was, how scared he was of hurting me, how he promised to take care of me. We didn’t talk about Natalie that night, but I think once we got married we started loving her even more. I know I did. Because we were a family now. She wasn’t just this little sick girl who popped out of my body. She was my own flesh and blood, the tangible result of my relationship with my husband. So maybe we didn’t do things in the right order. Maybe I was as tainted as those abstinence cheerleaders said I was. Maybe all I had to give Jake that night in the Ronald McDonald house was hand-me-down love, but you know what?

It was beautiful.

The problem is I know it’s not going to last. I’m not talking about sabotage or anything like that anymore. I know that’s my tendency, but this is something different. It’s not false guilt, either, and no self-help guru or psychologist can convince me otherwise.

I’ve done such a good job fighting these memories whenever they try to surface. I’ve done such a good job ignoring the shame that will probably suffocate me if I ever let it take full rein of my emotions. I’ve stuffed that guilt into such a small hole in the center of my soul that I hoped I might lose it there forever.

But there it sits, and I can feel it getting bigger. Pressing against the constraints of my conscience. It takes an iron will to contain it. Keep it buried where it belongs. And I’m so tired. I’ve been up since 4:30 and cleaning or cooking or suctioning out my daughter the entire day. I’m not used to this kind of schedule.

I’m not used to this kind of strain.

I don’t know why this demon from my past is trying to escape now of all times when things have been going so well. I feel like I should do something. Pray against it. Fight it. But how? It’s like trying to stop a tidal wave and all you’ve got is a trash can full of shredded paper.

I bite my lip and jump online. There must be someone I can stalk, someone who can get my mind off this demon. If I ignore it completely, it’s bound to go away eventually, right? Like the stray cat you refuse to feed, no matter how persistently he cries at your front door.

A distraction. That’s what I need.

I don’t recognize the profile picture at first glance. Elder Thomas? What in the world is he doing on my news feed? Then I see that Sandy’s replied to something he wrote, and since the internet’s semi-omniscient, it assumes I want to see it, too.

It’s some pro-life meme. Anti-baby-killer meme, I should say. At least it’s not one of the ones that shows the dismembered fetus, but it’s not much better.

And all of a sudden I’m not sitting on the couch looking for something to slow my racing brain. I’m not in my trailer waiting for Natalie’s next feeding time.

I’m five months pregnant, I’ve driven all the way to the Spokane Women’s Clinic, and I’m about to kill my baby.