“I love her”, I said, tears tumbling down my cheeks. She was my baby, my own child. “Please, please don’t do this”, I pleaded. My mother shook her head at me, “No. NO. She can’t be here. She can’t exist. What will the neighbours think? What will the world think? A girl is not supposed to be a single mother.” My own flesh and blood, my mother stood on the other side of the hospital bed, my sick baby lying in it.
The heart rate monitor was beeping regularly. My mother’s hand inched towards the oxygen supply tube, connected to Grace, my baby. I heard the tiniest gasp and then a long monotone beep. That was it- her last breath. I fell to the floor, shaking convulsively. That was the end of my motherhood.
Nine months ago, I had walked out into the living room announcing my pregnancy. My mother walked out, screaming about how I was a disgrace. I did not have a father or any siblings. My mother spent her time gaslighting me and yelling at me. After my announcement, she kicked me out. The very next day, I was forced to move into my best friend’s house. She had her own place and didn’t mind me moving in. I took a part-time job where I could work from home to help her with the bills. Everything seemed like it would be stressful, but we were okay.
Four months ago, Grace kicked for the first time! I almost cried, I was over the moon! We had kept the pregnancy a secret, to avoid anything getting complicated. My mother had cut me out completely and honestly, I didn’t mind. I was working and taking care of my baby. We found a great doctor and she said I was healthy and so was the baby. Life was going great. We bought adorable clothes and decorations, and the cutest shoes! We decorated a part of my room, turning it into a nursery. We painted it baby blue and put all her things in there. My favourite things in the room were the little pink shoes with the most intricate, yet simple lace on top.
A month ago, two weeks before my due date, my water broke. Grace was coming! My eyes blurry with tears, I woke my best friend and gave her the news. We grabbed the things we had kept prepared and she drove me to the hospital. Six hours after that, Grace was born. And immediately taken away from me. She was sick, but the doctors told me she was fighting, she would make it! I was so proud of her. I was a mother, and it was totally worth it.
An hour or two passed, and I was allowed to see her. But someone beat me to it. My mother. The same woman who has been nagging me and beating me up every day since I was twelve. The same woman who had called her pregnant twenty-three-year-old daughter a disgrace and kicked her out of the house. Fifteen minutes later, I wasn’t a mother anymore. I had been sad before. I had felt pain. But none of that even came close to how I felt at that moment. It was like someone had reached into me, ripped out my heart and cut it into tiny pieces. And it wasn’t just emotional pain. I was crying and shaking and I was so upset, my entire body was aching in pain.
I thought of all the moments I would never have with her. I would never hear her first laugh, I would never hear her first word. I would not see her go to school, I wouldn’t see her graduate. I would never ever hear her voice.
I only heard her last breath.
It’s been a month now, but I still can’t think of her without ripping my heart out. My mother disappeared after she left me at the hospital.
Today, my best friend and I are at a flea market, selling all of the things we had bought for Grace. I try to blink back the tears -though I fail miserably- while I put up the sign:
"For sale: Baby shoes - Never worn."
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