Her cry for forgiveness felt incomplete, yet she rose from her bed and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She made her way to the kitchen fully aware she should eat but couldn’t. Donning her running shoes, she slammed the door on the way out. She hit the pavement and powered down the street.
Beginning to feel like a stalker, Matt banged on her front door once again. “Come on Anna, I know you’re home. We need to talk.” He waited. Nothing.
He slid the box of chocolates onto her porch swing and made his way back to his Mercedes. The car shook as he slammed the door shut and turned the key. Adele’s haunting voice filled the car with music.
With a smash of his fist on the dashboard, he flicked the radio off. The last thing he needed was to hear the crooning about unrequited love.
Tears stung behind his eyelids as a knot gathered in his throat. He cursed under his breath and backed out of her drive.
He headed to his office, thankful he had work to distract him.
His bang on the door made her heart jump and her skin tingle. She missed his dimpled smile, his conversation, friendship, but who was she kidding, she missed a whole lot more. The memory of his gentle touch thrummed. Hungry lips and soft caresses turned needy—her need.
She fanned the heat from her cheeks longing to swing the door wide open. It took every ounce of strength she had to stop that urge. Her body shook with visceral disappointment, and her hand trembled on the curtain she pulled slightly back. To feast her eyes on his slumped shoulders and bent head brought instant tears to her eyes.
Anna filled her days to capacity. She didn’t try to analyze if it was a form of self-inflicted penance or the need to forget. She joined the choir at church, donated time at the soup kitchen, and volunteered at Pine Mountain Senior’s Villa.
“Anna, come here.” The head nurse, Sophia, waved her into the office. “We’ve been impressed with your knowledge base and the kind way you care for the elderly. What’s your background in caregiving?”
“Well …” she stammered. “I’ve raised two boys and my husband was sick with cancer for many years. I guess I learned a lot taking care of him.”
Sophia nodded. “Ahhh … the school of hard knocks.” Her face softened. “You know Anna, we’re always in need of compassionate and capable people. You should think about enrolling in the next nurse’s aid program. Then we could pay you for your time.”
Anna’s heart did a leap. “Do you think I’d be good at it? I could really use the job.”
“You’re a natural. I guarantee it. In fact, we need help in the kitchen immediately, if you want to start there. And then when your training is done, we’ll switch you over.”
Anna couldn’t believe it. She had a job. A smile of confidence split across her face.
As Anna wiped down the trays, one of her favorite residents waved her over. “I’ll be right there, Rita. I just have to take these trays to the kitchen.”
She struggled with a heavy stack to speed up the process, because she loved talking to Rita. Most of the residents wanted to be cheered up or doted on, but Rita was different. Instead of taking, she did the giving. They talked about Steven, the boys, or anything Anna cared to share. She found the gift of encouragement wrapped in this dear, old soul and naturally gravitated to her. Rita’s kindness and wisdom helped Anna renew her belief in a God who cared about the details of life. She slid the precarious load on the counter and hurried to join her new friend.
Rita pointed to the bench across from her wheelchair. Anna settled in, expecting a good chat, but Rita scooted her wheel chair directly in front of her and reached out shaky fingers.
Anna bent forward so she could grasp Rita’s outstretched hands and gently massaged the blue veins that traced their way under paper-thin skin. For a moment neither spoke.
“My dear.”
Anna lifted her head to look squarely into Rita’s faded blue eyes. Rita didn’t sport her usual smile, instead a seriousness permeated her face. She briefly looked up and muttered, “Yes,” before her gaze returned to Rita’s hands.
“My dear, I have to ask. You wear a smile, but the Spirit reveals something more.”
Anna shifted on the bench. Rita’s words were as if God himself carried out an inquisition.
“Your sadness is more than just the passing of your husband, yes?”
Her heart began to pound. Surely God doesn’t expect me to reveal my secret.
That still small voice spoke clearly. “Yes, I do, because you carry guilt you aren’t meant to carry.”
I’m so ashamed Father. The way I’ve treated Matt when I was the one to encourage him.
Anna looked down, away from the set of kindly eyes that bore into her soul, as Rita waited in silence. The thrum of her heart picked up pace and began to beat an erratic rhythm, one she felt the whole room could hear.
“The Spirit of God laid a message on my heart,” Rita said. “It makes no sense to me, but I know from years of experience, it’ll make sense to you.” She squeezed Anna’s hands.
“God wants you to know you’re forgiven, but you’re not to make excuses before him!”
How can Rita know I had made excuses before God?
“Come closer, my child. I have a hug for you from God.”
Anna rose from her bench and bent to hug the older woman. When she tried to pull apart, Rita hung on tight with a strength Anna knew she should not possess.
Rita whispered into her ear. “God has not left you Anna. The question is … will you leave him?”
Anna drew in one breath after another, but air refused to fill her lungs. Buckled over with arms wrapped around her abdomen, she fought off another bout of nausea. Tears rolled down her cheeks and splashed onto the bathroom floor. The small room closed in on her and spun like she was whirling on a ride at the fair. She stumbled out and down the hall.
Cold, merciless fear gripped her and grew into full-blown terror. Anna slumped onto the nearby kitchen chair, her legs too weak to hold her.
Pregnant! “Oh, good Lord, no, no, no.”
Although her last pregnancy had been nineteen years before, she had not forgotten the muzzy sensation and sharp pangs of nausea that ebbed and flowed. She had known in that deep part of her soul she was pregnant, yet denied it. The positive pink line on the home pregnancy test brought in a crushing reality.
How could she, an upstanding long-term member of the First Baptist Church, mother of two grown children, a woman so recently widowed, be pregnant? She could hear the dialogue of the gossip mongers circling in her head like vultures over fresh carnage. She would indeed deserve every unkind word.
Shaking, Anna buried her head in her hands. Like a rag doll, her elbows collapsed onto the kitchen table and her upper body followed in a heap.
Oh, God, what have I done? How could I have betrayed my own moral beliefs, the standard by which I raised my children, the building blocks of my Christian faith?
She lifted her head, and yanked the ponytail holder free. A curtain of hair fell over her face as if to cover the shame. After all the years of careful living, of sacrifice, I’ve blown it. How? How? How? That one word tumbled about in her head like a dryer cycle she couldn’t shut off.
Anger snaked from the pit of her stomach up and out. She pulled to her feet in frustration and slammed the chair to the floor behind her. A guttural cry filled her lungs as she screamed into the heavens. “God, is this your answer? I live my whole life for you. I ask for mercy for one mistake, and this is what I get? What kind of God are you? I admit I messed up, but under the circumstances aren’t my actions understandable? Don’t I deserve at least one break?”
Silence filled the room.
In the days following, Anna nursed her acute disappointment in God. Like strands of a spider’s web, Anna felt helplessly caught in its sticky filament. The more she struggled, the greater her entrapment grew.
&n
bsp; How can I conceal the truth from Matt? How can I keep this secret from the church, my friends, my family? How can I wake up from this nightmare unscathed?
Abortion—the only option that allowed enough darkness in which to hide. Like a half-knit blanket, the core of Anna’s belief structure began to unravel stitch by agonizing stitch.
She longed to pray and find comfort in the God she loved, as she had done through many struggles in her past, but Rita’s words surfaced over and over … “God wants you to know you’re forgiven, but you’re not to make excuses before him.”
Anger flared each time she thought of these words. “Oh, so caring for a sick husband for years, and the fact I raised my children without help from their father, not to mention the loneliness, counts for nothing? If you think I’m prepared to let my world fall apart because of one stupid mistake, you can think again.”
In softer moments, she’d pray and plead. “God, please … I’ve stayed clear of Matt and all temptation. Surely, you don’t want the world to know? My failure would only tarnish your name. What about my sons? They’ve been through enough.”
Her anger and excuses were met with silence, and it infuriated her. “God, why are you silent?”
Will you listen? Your child and the father of your child have rights too.
She knew her behavior toward Matt was cruel, especially considering she was the one who had practically begged him to stay that night. Then when he succumbed to what most would consider a natural response, she spurned him. In truth, he displayed more character than she did. He made every effort to see her again. She was the one who couldn’t face him after the way she had thrown herself at him. Though he kept trying to text and call, she remained a silent coward. The doorbell unanswered. Her front door locked.
Try as she might, she couldn’t forget that night. They had connected in a way that went much deeper than a moment of pleasure, and the truth of that experience petrified her. In rare moments, snippets of honesty flooded in like dust mites dancing on a shaft of sunlight. She would promptly slam the door of her heart shut so the light could not reveal what lay in the shadows. Truth brought pain, brought accountability, and demanded action. With this new set of circumstances, shame knocked on her door, and she opened it wide.
Each day that passed, truth grew less urgent, less relevant. The solution and rationale of abortion grew sounder and stronger.
She’d been right to keep Matt at bay, and now she had more reason than ever to avoid him.
She heard that still small voice, My child, this is not my way, it is yours. An involuntary shudder worked up her spine.
How could she possibly reveal such truth to her sons, her sister and family, her church? And what would Steven’s family say, especially after all the help they had given her? Even now, they were paying for her courses. No, she had too much to lose. Like leaves in the wind drifting in erratic directions, fear danced upon her troubled soul.
The ping of a message interrupted Anna’s studies. She shut her textbook and searched for the phone beneath her papers. The last person she wanted to face popped up on the screen.
Drat, Lana! No, I don’t want you to stop over. She dropped her phone in a huff. It scuttled across the table and dropped onto the kitchen floor. Why do you always think you can barge in?
Anna knew better than to dissuade her, because then she would truly suspect something was wrong and call Matt again.
Anna picked up her phone and read her sister’s message.
“Worried about you, Sis. Popping over for a quick tea.”
Memories flooded in. Lana, her fraternal twin—first into this world by a whole four minutes—had instinctively taken on the role of Anna’s protector. When their parents died and two different aunts planned to separate them, Lana stepped in with fury and insisted they stay together. There was no way she was about to allow anyone or anything to come between them. They’d always been close, even though they were polar opposites. Where Anna was laidback and au natural, Lana was driven and well put together. Anna was quiet, tall, and willowy—Lana was the life of the party, short, and pleasantly plump. Where Anna loved to run, Lana would joke about hating all four-letter words that contained any type of activity such as walk, swim, bike, or hike.
As the phone screen faded black, Anna’s mind returned to her present situation. There was no point in stewing. Lana never failed to hone in when Anna hurt. That sensory honing device was not about to stop now. She would have to pretend that life in her tormented world was okay.
Though they had shared everything over the years, this secret was different—it involved sin and failure. She knew her sister would be deeply disappointed, especially so soon after Steven’s death.
No. I won’t, I can’t, reveal my shame to anyone.
She formulated a plan to use her grief card to get her sister in and out as quickly as possible.
Lana’s rapid knock signaled her arrival. She entered on her own accord, as she usually did. The clip, clip, clip of high heels on the hardwood irritated the heck out of Anna. Why couldn’t she take her shoes off like everyone else, but no, she had to wear those blasted heels 24/7. Anna couldn’t remember the last time she saw her sister in bare feet or flip-flops.
“I’m here.”
Anna shut her eyes and took a deep breath. “In the kitchen, Lana.”
Perched on a bar stool at the kitchen island, she lifted her fork from a half-eaten plate of food. The last thing Anna wanted was another sermon on the need to eat more from a sister who loved food way too much. She hoped her strategically placed meal would still Lana’s tongue.
“There you are, dear Sis. I thought maybe you’d gone into hiding.” She gave a quick squeeze of her hand on Anna’s shoulder and slid onto the stool across from her.
“So, you’ve actually made a decent meal for yourself and eaten half, or is this a set-up?”
Anna gulped her glass of water, as a piece of chicken got trapped in her throat. She hated her sister’s perceptiveness.
Anna threw up her hands. “You got me there.”
“Have I been that much of a nag that you’ve resorted to trickery?”
“Actually, yes. You give me the same sermon every time you visit.”
Lana stood, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “It’s only because I care. You’ve been through so much, and I feel helpless.”
She plopped back on the stool. “My life’s been a cakewalk compared to yours. I have a great job, a happy marriage, two wonderful kids, and, quite honestly, it makes me feel … guilty. Like something happened in the womb that created this huge imbalance where I got the happy and you got the sad—”
“Ahh … you just don’t like the fact you can’t control my destiny.” Anna forced a laugh, trying to lighten the somber mood. “Remember, Sis, there is a God, and you’re not him!”
Lana didn’t even break a smile.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Anna dropped her eyes and pushed the food around on her plate.
“Do you need help financially?”
Anna shook her head.
“You know that Tom and I are here for you, don’t you? Please, tell me what to do.” She reached over and placed her beautifully manicured hand on Anna’s arm.
Anna could barely resist the urge to open up. She pierced her lips tight and took a deep breath to get that impulse under control. She cleared her throat and marveled at the fact she could lie so valiantly. “Lana, I’m a grieving widow. What I need is time.”
Her sister nodded in agreement. “Have all the time it takes, but I’m not going to stop reminding you that I care.”
“I know you care, but you’ve got to stop smothering me. I need a little room to breathe, to cry when I need to …” Anna’s voice broke.
Lana covered the short distance between them and wrapped her arms around tight.
/>
“You know that I’m not all that good at this affection thing … that’s your gig, but I really love you and I want to help.”
Anna nodded. “I know, I know.”
The lies and secrecy grew weightier.
With the sheets twisted around her, Anna punched the pillow down and flipped it over. A war of thoughts battled. Never in her wildest imaginings would she have thought she would consider abortion. But now, compassion welled up within her for every woman in her predicament, and she realized how logical terminating a pregnancy could seem.
In the next moment, she would imagine the feel of a newborn held protectively in her arms—one with Matt’s gorgeous blue eyes and laughing dimple. An ache so deep would steal her breath away.
Back and forth. Back and forth. The two scenarios battled.
Rather than count sheep, she presented her case to God in logical one, two, threes.
“God, I’m an unmarried widow who has just started a new job and school. I don’t have the means to support myself, much less a child.
“And … at my age, this pregnancy will be high-risk. Remember how I barely survived two very difficult births at a much younger age.” She shuddered at the thought. Her fingers turned instantly cold. Some memories were impossible to forget.
“And it’s not fair to Matt, God. He shouldn’t be forced into responsibility when I threw myself at him. He’s such a talented physician and has given his life to helping others, I can’t take this freedom from him.”
The same question surfaced each time she went through her list of excuses. What are you really afraid of?
All she had to do was ask herself what others would think, and her thoughts would circle around to one ready solution—abortion. The pro-choice slogans gave comfort. The more she entertained them, the bolder they grew. She was a woman of the 21st century in control of her body. The choice to have an abortion was her right. It’s not a baby, just an inconvenient circumstance. She fell into a fitful sleep with the conclusion that abortion was a rational and sound decision, one she could no longer delay.
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