Chapter 5: So many surprises
My relationship with Nate had undoubtedly grown stronger as a result of our semi-separation, with the scope of such reaching far beyond romance. Dismantling old patterns, reconnecting with our inner selves, and cultivating new ways of living life—all while coping with our family’s first real loss— had shaped us in ways we never saw coming. It was a time that tested our faith and individual souls in numerous ways. There was no way to come out the other side unchanged. Fortunately for us, that period of our lives didn’t break us— it molded us into newer versions of ourselves.
By the time Nate and I reached our three-month anniversary of being recommitted to one another, we’d healed a good deal from our losses and our relationship was going strong. We felt like passionate newlyweds as we continued dating and venturing off on spontaneous weekend excursions together. We’d come a long way since hurricane Blaine blew through our lives and had embraced our new normal as a family.
Then we were dealt another life-changer. I’d accidentally gotten pregnant.
Until that point, I’d been neurotic about birth control. Even though we used condoms every time we had sex, I still tracked my cycle to identify my ovulation window to maximize protection. I’d appreciated that may have been going overboard, but I was not looking to get pregnant…again. But, apparently, with our recent hot and heavy lifestyle, we’d gotten sloppy. A night of alcohol and fun had led to my getting pregnant and I was not prepared for that.
Just as I wasn’t prepared for the flood of memories and raw emotions that becoming pregnant forced upon me. It took me back to the darkest moments of my life.
I was eighteen and had just graduated high school. My brother, Ethan, was in the hospital recovering from a serious motorcycle accident and my sister, Gail, was living states away while enrolled in summer courses at college. That left only my parents and me at home. They split all of their time between work and visiting my brother in the hospital, while I’d planned on juggling my time between Ethan’s bedside and making last minute memories with friends before we disbanded for college. That’s not what happened, though.
One night when my father was at work and my mom was spending time with my brother, I’d returned to an empty house after having dinner at a friend’s. While I was taking my evening shower, someone took advantage of the fact that no one else was home and broke in with relative ease. Then raped me.
After the masked lowlife crept out of the house like nothing had happened, and while still shaking from terror, I somehow managed to crawl back to the bathroom. There, I sat in a tub of cold water for what felt like an eternity.
Then I stumbled my way to my bedroom, where I locked the door and barricaded it with the heavy trunk from the foot of my sister’s bed. Shaking like a leaf, I struggled to cloak myself in several layers of clothing as if they were security blankets. I spent the entire night sitting on the floor with my back pressed into the corner of the room so I could face the door and see the windows at all times. My knees were pulled tightly against my chest and caught my head each time I momentarily passed out from exhaustion. I kept my sister’s old softball bat next to me just in case I needed it.
The following morning when Broderick came by to pick me up for our breakfast plans, I was forced to face what had happened. My dad was asleep after working the late shift and my mom was already at work, so Broderick did what he usually did in that situation- he tapped on my bedroom window to signal his arrival before letting himself in the house. I’d given him a spare key after locking myself out years earlier.
Once inside, though, Broderick couldn’t enter my bedroom because that door was still locked. Time seemed to stand still as I sought the strength to put the bat down, let alone move the trunk and unlock the door. I was beyond exhausted and completely numb.
I opened the door but couldn’t say anything. When I witnessed Broderick’s face turn from his usual, relaxed self to pale as a ghost, I knew I didn’t need to. He understood that something was beyond words. All he got out was a frightened, quivering, “Ethan?” I shook my head indicating that it had nothing to do with my brother’s condition before resuming my position on the floor. He sat next to me and mirrored my posture, then gazed at the floor where I’d been staring. We sat there in silence for close to an hour before he softly uttered, “What can I do?”
The sound of his voice cemented the reality of the moment and caused tears to stream down my face. I composed myself the best I could and asked if I could spend some time at his house.
“For as long as you need,” he assured me. Then Broderick slowly got up from the floor and headed to my closet where he knew I kept my gym bag. He emptied its contents and thoughtfully stuffed it with clothes from my dresser. After he navigated the overflowing bag over his head and across his chest, he held out his hands to help me off the floor.
As soon as we made it to Broderick’s house, he got me settled into his room like a parent does a sick child. He wanted to get us something to eat since we’d missed breakfast, but I wasn’t hungry. I just needed to sleep. I asked him to stay upstairs near me while I rested, so he occupied himself with video games as I struggled to quiet my mind enough to fall asleep. My mind never got quiet, though; my body simply succumbed to exhaustion. But that didn’t last long.
I woke up a short while later with the overwhelming sensation that my blood was boiling and had found myself physically attacking thin air. That’s how Broderick came to know what had happened.
It took a great deal of pleading to convince him to keep the matter just between us. His mom had served as a trauma nurse for most of his life, so Broderick’s instinct was to contact her at the hospital. I feared she might be obligated to report it to the police, and I couldn’t bear my parents finding out. There was no way I would be responsible for dumping more stress on them while they were dealing with the medical and legal ramifications of my brother’s accident. Going against everything he believed in, Broderick begrudgingly swore to keep it a secret.
I stayed at his house for a week straight before venturing back home. Even then, I only made quick, periodic appearances to let my parents know I was alive before making some excuse or other about why I needed to leave again. It was easy to be gone for days at a time without them noticing since they were rightfully focused on my brother’s recovery. And, thankfully, Broderick’s mom often worked long hours at a hospital two towns over, so it was just as easy to avoid her while living at her house.
For the first week following the assault, I hardly ate. I was traumatized beyond measure and had completely shut down. By the third week, though, my appetite not only reemerged, but I’d felt hungry almost constantly. I’d assumed my body was making up for the weeks prior when I couldn’t eat. I also started noticing smells like I was a bloodhound. It wasn’t until the smell of the BBQ potato chips Broderick was eating made me sick to my stomach that I caught on. It was so obvious, even he caught on. And just like that- the light that was starting to return to my eyes and color to my cheeks instantaneously vanished. I’d reverted to being nearly catatonic.
I stood hollow and empty, slumped over the bathroom sink when Broderick came to check on me. He guided me back to his room in what felt like a silent, slow motion film sequence. I was so detached, I didn’t even register sounds as we made our way down the hall. He made sure I was comfortable in bed before announcing he’d be stepping out for a few minutes. He returned with a multi-pack of pregnancy tests and set the bag on the floor next to his bed.
I laid there in silent tears, avoiding the tests. I was speechlessly traumatized. But I’ll never forget all three tests coming up positive. I was undoubtedly pregnant. Sobbing and near hyperventilation ensued.
All Broderick could do was hold me tight against him and tell me that I wasn’t alone. For an eighteen-year-old, his composure and strength in the face of such devastating news was profoundly impressive. Or maybe he was simply in shock, too. I don’t know.
Hours after receiving the gut-wrenching news from those sadistic tests, the compounded emotional fatigue claimed me. When I woke up from my brief slumber, the two of us sorted through my options. I was a virgin at the time of the assault so I didn’t have a plan of action for an unexpected pregnancy. But, due to the circumstances, only one option really seemed to exist in my mind—abortion. I couldn’t imagine raising a child who would forever remind me of the worst trauma of my life. Especially as an unwed teenager.
I was in no position to handle the arrangements myself, so Broderick set up all the appointments at my request. He even helped me pay for everything. He was remarkably supportive and stood by me every step of the way without judgement. I couldn’t have survived either ordeal without him.
From a medical perspective, it was a luxury to take a couple doses of medication to expel the pregnancy from my body instead of undergoing an invasive surgical procedure. Somewhere in the back of my mind it registered that I could’ve felt grateful for the “minimal” physical discomfort and recovery time noted by the medical staff, but my soul knew otherwise. There wasn’t a single aspect of the experience that didn’t permanently scar me where it really counts.
THAT’S what came flooding back to me as I stood next to the bathroom sink holding an unexpectedly positive pregnancy test in my trembling hands.
Of course Nate’s baby had been conceived through love, but the pregnancy was still unplanned. In fact, I’d never planned on having kids. I immediately blamed myself for getting so swept away by lust and hormones that I’d failed to use protection one night. I couldn’t stop myself from heading straight into an emotional tailspin.
I battled the ghosts that haunted me for several days before I could bring myself to share the news with Nate that I was pregnant. He felt as blindsided as I had, but he immediately embraced the pending change to our family. His natural comfort with our having a child helped put me at ease and allowed the miraculous nature of the pregnancy to wash over me—eventually. I was still scared as hell, but I knew Nate’s love would help me through it.
We spent the next couple of weeks researching local obstetricians, pondering baby names, and coming to terms with this unexpected, life-changing news. Some days were rose-colored, and some were fraught with pending parenthood panic, but Nate always eased my fears. I knew he would be the most patient, nurturing, and supportive father to our little one, and that soothed my soul.
When I was only a few weeks pregnant, we learned that my sister-in-law was entering her second trimester with their first child. I couldn’t have been happier for her and my brother. Naturally, Nate and I didn’t want to share our big news at the same time. We wanted them to enjoy their special moment. But we were giddy inside as we looked forward to the day when we’d inform our family that two new babies were on their way instead of one.
The abundance of baby hormones in the air and overwhelming family joy hastened my coming to terms with my secret pregnancy. Thinking about my child having a cousin around the same age to play with and grow up alongside warmed my heart. It was the turning point that enabled me to truly feel excited about our becoming parents.
But as quickly as that turning point opened my heart to our new life, it was all taken away from us when I miscarried. Nate and I were equally devastated.