I press my forehead to the cool glass of the passenger-side window, watching two raindrops race each other down the slick surface.
I’m six months along now and can feel her movements occasionally throughout the day. Though I try not to dwell on them, it’s impossible not to notice the way she’s grown stronger. Sometimes, she wakes me up at night with a kick in the ribs, making me smile before the sadness sets in and I remember that she doesn’t feel like mine to keep.
My dad reaches across the center console and squeezes my handtightly. “It’s going to be alright, Teagan,” he whispers, though I suspect he’s reassuring himself as much as me.
The last six months have been hell. I’m still not showing much and usually wear sweatshirts to disguise the tiny bump that has formed. But I know that with spring approaching and a due date in May, I’ll have to face the reality of my growing belly soon. My dad and stepmom have already discussed pulling me out of school to homeschool for the last two months of the year so that no one asks, and I’ve agreed. This is one thing I’d like to keep private.
Finding out I was pregnant by a man who could be jailed if anyone knew, was just the beginning. The doctor in the ER also confirmed that I had a broken arm, which would take eight weeks to heal. I couldn’t ride Riley because of the pregnancy and the break, and my hormones were all over the place. While my friends spent their sophomore winter dating and attending school dances, I was grounded indefinitely—until I told my dad who the father was. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell him.
Despite everything, I didn’t want Harrison to get in trouble. But mostly because I was embarrassed that it was him.
Therapy helped me realize there was never an equal balance of power in our relationship. He, being much older and an adult, knew better and should not have initiated any sort of contact with me. It wasn’t only illegal, it was wrong. Slowly, I started to find ways to forgive myself and move forward, trying my best to look towards the years I had left in high school and the college plans I was starting to make.
As soon as I started to come to terms with my future, I ran into Harrison at a New Years church service. After a brief conversation with my dad, he grabbed my arm and pulled me aside to a private corner of the building. I'd been wearing my usual loose sweatshirt attire which concealed everything, but I told him about the baby anyway. I felt like he had a right to know. When he found out, he looked like he was about to cry. Insteadof him apologizing to me, I found myself apologizing to him, promising I wouldn’t tell anyone, especially his wife despite the sickening feeling the situation left in my gut.
When I told my therapist about the entire encounter, she’d reassured me that he was the one who should have been apologizing for how he treated me and the way he took advantage of his power. He was wrong, too weak, a coward and a predator, too scared still to own up to his actions.
Two weeks later, he showed up at my house late at night, knocking on my window, and asked me what I was going to do with the baby. I finally saw him for what he was and realized she’d been right: a childish man. When I told him I was meeting with a family in Houston who was interested in adopting our child, it seemed like he couldn’t have cared less.
“The agency said that the family has a six-year-old daughter named Rebecca. They’ve always wanted another child but were never able to get pregnant with their second. Rebecca is thrilled to meet you today,” My dad says.
I nod, my forehead still pressed against the glass window of the car. I found out a month ago that the baby is a girl. Knowing that she will have a sister if I make a plan for adoption with this family should give me peace. When Shawna came into my life at just twelve years old, my whole world got better. There’s nothing like the bond shared between sisters, but I'm still not sure that I’m ready to let her go.
I feel a tiny kick and resist touching my stomach, something I only do in the privacy of my room. I don’t want to make this harder for my family to see me bonding with the baby, but my hand is drawn to her like a magnet. I reach into my sweatshirt, find the tiny bump that houses her, press down, and release. She kicks back in response immediately.
You’re going to be okay. This is the right thing for you and your future. This family will adore you.
And it’s not that my family wouldn’t, my dad would move mountains to support me if I chose to keep her. It’s that I don’t feel ready to be a mom either.
We drive in silence for the last five miles. My father takes the exit for their home, follows a side road, and stops in the driveway of a small brick rancher. The rain has let up, leaving behind a humid and warm February day in the city.
I miss the cooler, crisp days in Pennsylvania.
My dad opens the car door and takes my hand. "Remember Teagan, we can leave at any time. Okay? You don’t have to make any decisions today."
I nod. “Okay.”
"I need you to be strong and brave. Can you do that for me?"
I nod again but before I can take a step, the front door flings open, and a beautiful little girl with brown hair and big brown eyes bounds out.
“Hi! I’m Becca!” She flings her arms around my waist squeezing tightly, then pulls back and smiles at me. “It’s so nice to meet you, Teagan!”
Her words sound sweet and innocent, but they trigger a surge of bitterness in my throat. The urge to keep my baby is overpowering. I envision turning around, slipping back into the car, and instructing my dad to drive us back to Pennsylvania, far away from this seemingly perfect family and their daughter who could offer my baby the love, sisterhood and care that I’m not ready to provide.
And that reality grips me tight. At just sixteen years old, a mere sophomore in high school, I'm faced with the daunting truth of my situation. I still have two years of school ahead, followed by at least four years of college. Uncertainty and instability cloud my future in a way that it doesn’t for this family. I haven't figured out what I want from life. Financial strain burdens my farmer family, and deep down, Iwantto hold onto my youthfor longer. I’m not ready to give up the firsts that I envision for myself that I have yet to come. I would never choose to become a mother this young and the thought of raising another human being while feeling like a child myself, is daunting.
Despite all these conflicting emotions, I push forward because I know it’s the right thing to do to meet this family.
I bite down hard on my lip as we step into the ranch, the little girl's grip tightens around my hand as she chatters excitedly about her toys, their neighborhood that boarders a cul-de-sac where she likes to ride her bike and her pet kitten. In the doorway, a woman with auburn hair and gentle eyes greets us warmly, asking if she can offer me a hug first. The Andersons radiate warmth and compassion. They have a beautiful home, the finances and love to take care of my daughter and I can feel my nerves start to melt as I listen to them talk.
I spend the next hour in Rebecca’s room as she shows me her toys and tells me about everything she wants to do when she becomes a big sister someday. Surprisingly, getting to know Rebecca is what makes things easier and solidifies the decision I decide to make. She reminds me of me when I’d first met Shawna. Excited to finally have a best friend and partner in life.
My baby will have a full, safe and loving life here in Houston. A mom who will dote on her, a father who is present, and a big sister to protect and guide her. And should she ever wish to find me someday and know more about the circumstances that brought her into the world, the Andersons agree to an open adoption where they’ll tell her my story and the story about how she came to live with them. They even extend the offer to arrange transportation, whether by flight or by car, whenever she desires to see me which brings tears of emotions to my eyes.
As evening arrives and we begin to wrap up our visit, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson send Rebecca to her room to change for bed while my dad and I get ready to leave.
“I’ll see you in three months in Pennsylvania for the delivery,”I tell them as Mrs. Anderson does her best to conceal her tears while she realizes just what I’m saying. “I just have one more request,” I whisper as we break apart.
