Becca's Baby

“So you’re going to do this.” Just clarifying. Making certain of his facts.

“I…” She was behind him, too close. “Will, please look at me.”

He couldn’t.

His back still to her, he asked, “Have you decided for sure?” He had to know exactly how bad it was. Had to hide how much he hated her at this moment.

“I feel I don’t have any other choice.” Her voice broke.

Right along with his aching heart.

“You always have choices, Becca,” he said. God, he sounded like some pompous school official. Surely, as her husband, he should be supporting her in whatever she felt she had to do.

But there was no way he could support her on this. She was killing their child.

She sniffed, twisting his heart a little more.

“I need you to talk to me about this,” she begged.

Against his will, he turned around, cringing inside when he read the despair on her face.

Was it for herself, for their marriage? Or was she suffering, as he was, for the baby they’d tried for twenty years to conceive—the baby she no longer wanted?

Staring silently, Will couldn’t hold back his frustration and disbelief—his hurt—enough to be civil. Who was she, this woman who looked like his Becca, but didn’t want the baby they’d spent half a lifetime mourning the absence of?

“Why won’t you talk to me, Will? You can’t ignore me forever.”

He wasn’t so sure about that. “I can try.”

“So that’s it?” Her eyes, while filling with tears, were also angry. “You crucify me because I have to do something you obviously don’t agree with?”

“No!”

“Then what?”

He turned back to his bookcase. “This is about far more than you doing something I don’t agree with,” he bit out. “You’re talking about a life here.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“I don’t understand how you can know that and still plan to keep that appointment on Friday.”

“Then talk to me!” she cried. “Maybe we can help each other here, Will. That’s how we work, isn’t it?”

Her words struck a familiar chord. Finally, something that was Becca.

“And,” he continued, unable to stop the flow now that he’d started, “I don’t understand why, the physical risks aside, you don’t want this baby.”

“I never said—” She stopped.

Will turned to face her, his eyes shooting the accusation his mouth wouldn’t say. “You didn’t need to.” The words were soft, but still conveyed the anger he was struggling with.

“Doesn’t it scare you at all?” she asked. “The thought of raising a baby at our age? Of keeping up with midnight feedings? Of having the energy to lug paraphernalia everywhere we go? What if we no longer have the patience to deal with inopportune crying, constant demands and the stress of teaching a child all the things we take for granted? A baby deserves to learn and grow in a loving environment.”

She’d obviously given this a lot of thought. Perhaps more than he had. Still…

“We were given this chance.” He told her what he’d been repeating to himself over and over this past week. “I believe that if we’re meant to be parents, we’ll also be granted the strength and wisdom to handle the responsibility.”

That sounded more than pompous, even to his own ears. And yet, he stood by every word.