Content Warning! Strong language, including F-Bombs

From the Journal of Debbie Evans

“I just don’t know what I’m going to do,” I told Simon after dropping my series of bombshells. “I never imagined my life could be any more fucked up than it had been before.”

I peered at Simon through lowered lashes, noticing the determined look on his face. He also looked angry, which, in turn, made me flinch. I couldn’t say as I blamed him for feeling that way. I was angry at myself for allowing this to happen, so it would stand to reason that Simon might feel the same. “I’m sorry I dumped on you,” I whispered.

I hadn’t realized he was still holding my hand until I felt him squeeze it. “I’m not angry at you, Debbie, so don’t look at me like that. We were both to blame for what we did together, but what that prick of an ex husband did to you is inexcusable. The only one to blame for that is him.”

I eyed him uncertainly. “Maybe…but if I’d locked the door–”

“Stop it, Debbie! You’re only going to torture yourself if you keep on with the if only’s. If it hadn’t been through an unlocked door, he would have found another way. Animals like that don’t quit until they get what they’re after, and brow beating yourself about it isn’t going to get you anywhere but in an even darker place.” Softening his voice, he continued, “What we need to do now is get you through this and figure out the baby situation.”

“I’m not having an abortion,” I said vehemently. Even though a baby was the last thing I wanted right now, I never believed abortion to be a viable solution.

“I’m glad, Debbie,” Simon said softly. We were silent for a long moment before he spoke again. “I think we should get a paternity test so we know exactly where we stand. No matter how it turns out, I’m not going to abandon you, and that’s a promise.”

“You’d be off the hook if the baby isn’t yours,” I pointed out.

“Maybe so, but I care deeply for you and wouldn’t ever just throw you to the wolves.”

I looked down at my hands and fought off the urge to blubber. “Thank you, Simon, It…it was always hard for me to ask for help, let alone accept it when it’s being offered to me. I always prided myself on being able to solve my own problems. I always could…until now.”

Simon blew out a long exhalation, then wiped away a stray tear that ran down my cheek. “There comes a time in everyone’s life when they need help. I’m going to be that for you now, so just accept it and know I’m here for you always, okay?”

I bit my lip and nodded slightly. “I guess I have no choice. This changes things, though. I-I can’t continue with our trysts, Simon. I want to get that straight.”

He nodded slowly. “I reckoned we would come to that eventually.”

“After…after what happened, I don’t think I can ever have a sexual relationship with anyone again. The thought of it makes my skin crawl. And besides, I have a kid to think about. What kind of example would that set if we were to continue?”

“I understand. Really, I do, Debbie. I agree wholeheartedly with your latter statement, but the former…Debbie, you can recover from this. Therapy can and does help,” Simon said.

I let loose a humorless, bitter laugh. “Oh, puh-leeze! All they’d want to do is push a bunch of pills down me and tell me to do Yoga or something.”

Simon chuckled lightly and patted my arm. “It isn’t always like that. C’mon, Debs, it’s not the dark ages. Everyone seems to be going to therapy these days. Ericka does.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“It’s true. Hell, the therapists have therapists nowadays. You trust me, right?”

“Do I have to answer that?” I quipped.

Simon smiled wryly. “Touché. But seriously, it would do you a world of good, and you need it if what happened earlier is any indication.”

“Shit!” I mumbled.

“I’m sure you’ll have more episodes like that, and they’ll only get worse,” Simon said gently.

The thought of that frightened me, and I shuddered. Slowly. he wrapped an arm around me and held me against his warm body. “How…how do you know all this, and how did you know how to handle me earlier?”

“I have a buddy who got deployed to Iraq,” he said, rubbing my back. “He saw shit that nobody should ever have to see. He was all fucked up when he came back. It took him a long time before realizing he needed help. He’s made great strides since starting his therapy.”

When I hesitated again, Simon reminded me that my benefits from work covered such treatments. “Besides, you have a kid on the way who will need you fit and healthy,” Simon said, putting the final nail in the coffin. What else could I do but agree to therapy?

“This is going to wreck your marriage,” I finally told him.

“I’ll deal with Ericka, don’t worry. Whatever happens, it’s going to work out. Everything is going to be okay,” Simon insisted. I just hoped he was right.

At Simon’s insistence, I went back to work. I knew there would be talk around the office, but it was better than sitting around here wallowing. The old determination to face up to my problems was resurfacing, and it felt damned good.

I hadn’t begun therapy yet, but what I did do was sign up for some self-defense classes. I also vowed to take up martial arts once the baby was born. I bought a power bench and began strength training. Nobody was going to catch me unawares like that again; I would never allow myself to be weak like that ever again.

I worked until the instant I went into labor. That day when I’d gone into work, my back was killing me like always but was hurting even more. As the day wore on, I felt the unmistakable pain of contractions, and my water broke just after lunch. I was taken to the hospital, and after fifteen hours of labor, my son, Nathaniel Robert Evans, entered the world.

Although long, the delivery went well, and Nathaniel and I were ready to go home within forty-eight hours. For a woman who didn’t want to have kids, I couldn’t believe how easy it was for me to instantly fall in love with this little baby. My heart melted the second he was placed in my arms, and I felt like an absolute heel for that time when I didn’t want him. As I fed him, I looked down into his little face. “Well, kiddo, we’re in this together, you and me. We’re gonna make it,” I whispered to him.

My inner voice had been right all those months ago. I had someone besides myself to think about now. This little one was depending on me, and this was something I was not going to screw up.