LaceyCrisp
The day meant for love became the day I understood I had none.
It was Valentine's Day in East Tennessee, the sky was the color of wet cotton, hanging low and heavy over the hills. Somewhere in town, the transactional dance of romance was in full swing. Men bought roses from grocery store buckets, their faces etched with last-minute urgency. Women set out candles, smoothed tablecloths, and performed the delicate choreography of pretending not to check their phones. Someone, somewhere, was being kissed under soft light and told they were loved with the kind of casual certainty that implies a future.
For me, that Valentine's Day meant something else entirely.
This day became the anniversary of a private, profound earthquake.
I was twenty years old and five months pregnant when he left me kneeling on that porch. The weight of those two facts-my youth and impending motherhood-felt like a crushing imbalance.
I can still hear the U-Haul idling in the driveway, its engine humming low and steady, a sound that didn't match the way my heart was beating-wild and uneven, slamming against my ribs like it was trying to escape.
"Let me come with you," I tried again, my voice catching. "Please."
By the time we reached the front porch, something inside me had completely given way. My stomach lurched violently. The world tilted. I barely made it to the edge before I dropped to my knees, palms catching against the damp, splintered wood. Bile rose fast and violent, followed immediately by the scalding heat of humiliation.
There is nothing graceful about vomiting while pregnant and being abandoned at the same moment. It is loud, animalistic, and undeniably human.
(This story is complete. A new chapter will be available every Monday. Thank you for your support!)