My husband, James, and I met back in high school, and later, after we both graduated from college, we decided it was time to get married. For a long time, we didn’t have a place of our own, so we made the decision to live with his parents on Maple Street. There weren’t any other options at the time; only James was working, and the money was barely enough for food and rent. His parents welcomed us warmly.
A bit later, thanks to a friend’s recommendation, I found a job too. We had just about enough money for the same essentials, plus the occasional treat, like a movie night. Then, out of the blue, came the news of a baby. As a Christian, raised by devout parents, I knew they would never forgive me if I considered an abortion. I wrestled with doubts until the very end, unsure whether to keep the child and how we’d manage to climb to better financial ground.
— It wasn’t just my family pressuring us, Emma, — James’s aunt would say. — An abortion could ruin your health, maybe even stop you from ever having kids again.
Looking back, I see most of it was exaggerated scare tactics, but I was young and naive then, and I let them frighten me. In the end, our son, Liam, was born. I don’t regret his arrival one bit; we were lucky to avoid the hardships and hunger that could have come our way.
Liam is now finishing third grade, and his grandparents can’t get enough of him. Back then, we never imagined we’d have two children. We were all crammed together in a two-bedroom apartment on Oak Avenue. Its biggest flaw was the paper-thin walls—impossible to argue or make love without everyone hearing. Everything was out in the open.
After some time, we moved out because we could finally afford to rent our own place on Cedar Lane. By then, I’d already managed to strain things with James’s mother, Margaret, a domineering woman who couldn’t stand anyone challenging her opinions. But moving out was non-negotiable—James’s brother’s wife, Sarah, was pregnant, and they were planning to move in with his parents.
After Liam, we had a daughter, Sophia. Things were a bit easier then; two kids aren’t three. Plus, we could send Liam to his grandparents for the holidays, or he’d often stay over at his school friends’ houses.
Just the other day, I found out I’m pregnant with our third. James is thrilled and insists that no matter what, we can’t even think about an abortion—we need to make the apartment work for the baby.
— Emma, this is a blessing, — he keeps saying. — We’ll figure it out, but we have to keep this child.
The problem is, we’re still in a one-bedroom on Pine Road, and we can’t afford to buy a place yet. We don’t qualify for any mortgage programs. I know James wouldn’t forgive me if I had an abortion. He wouldn’t leave me, but it would devastate him, and he’d never let it go.
— I’d never get over it, Emma, — he told me quietly one night. — It’s our child.
I’m not sure if we can save enough for a down payment on a mortgage. Right now, I have some savings from a family support program, which we’d hoped to use someday to build a house in the countryside, maybe near Willow Creek. But what to do now, I’m struggling to figure out. Deep down, I want to keep the baby too.
No comments