After the divorce, I kept his baby a secret. On the day I gave birth, the doctor lowered his mask, and I couldn’t breathe. It was my ex-husband. He smiled coldly and whispered, “I knew about the pregnancy all along, and now that the baby is here, you will never see him again because…”
receptionists barely looked up from their screens.
Whenever a gentle, unsuspecting nurse would pause with a pen over my intake form and ask, “And the father’s medical history?”, my palms would grow slick with sweat. I would force a dead-eyed smile and recite my practiced script: “There is no father in the picture. It’s just me.”
