The Truth

It’s 5:38 p.m. on Saturday, and I’m lying on the sofa–it’s cold, and leaving is out of the question. My text message indicator dings. I quickly pick up the phone hoping it’s a funny text from a friend. Instead, my eyes read “She’s pregnant.” He texted this as if his dog was having puppies. My heart stops, I stop breathing. I keep reading it. “You won’t take my calls, she’s pregnant, and I don’t know what to do.” I read it 100 times. I get in bed at 7 p.m., but I can’t sleep. I toss and turn and every time I turn I see the words, “She’s pregnant” dancing across my walls. I want to text back, but I can’t say what I want–“Have an abortion”–it’s selfish.


Although I haven’t rested all night, I run the next morning at the gym. Day one of the rest of my life. Life without the thought of him.


“Why are you acting like he is your end-all-be-all?” asks my friend.


“He isn’t––wasn’t––I just wanted us to end up together one day,” I say.


“But you were not even dating,” she reminds me.


“I know, but I always thought when we both were on the same page . . . We said when we were on the same page again we would be together and now it won’t happen because she’s pregnant,” I shout.


I’m walking to work from the train and all I see is pregnant women. I hate them, I hate him, I hate her. Bitch. You stole my life, my white dress, my motherhood. That was supposed to be me. I am crying as I walk down the street.


What happened to us? I remembered when he loved me more than I was capable of loving him. His thoughts, needs, and wants were all about me. He called obsessively. I hated it then, but longed for it now–the way he longed for me then–the trips, dinners, plays, concerts, flowers, driving in the middle of the night because he couldn’t sleep without me, undressing me and him losing his breath–all gone, and she’s pregnant. He used to say I was the only one he ever wanted; the one he dreamed about. Even after we parted he never stopped wanting me. The tables turned. I wanted him, but too much time had passed between us. He loved me but not in the same way. He was experienced now–it seemed someone had told him to call less, care less, and play it cool. I became anxious, “You don’t love me anymore,” I once told him.


“I do, but it’s complicated,” he said.


“No, it’s easy–we dated before, I know how you love,” I nearly shouted. This isn’t me. I don’t shout, I don’t try to convince people of what they want. I’m out of character.


“Just play it cool,” my friends would say. “Be an actress.”


“I can’t. He knows me too well,” I say in between tears.


But she’s pregnant now so what does it matter. I cried for 7 whole days. There were no more tears when he called. I didn’t answer. I have to let him go. Let him out of my heart but loneliness is making me hold on. She’s pregnant I remind myself. I hope their baby is ugly. My only revenge.


When we dated before, I never felt this way . . . something is wrong. “Just go with the flow,” I kept telling myself.


Is she prettier than me? Younger, thinner, or wealthier? Who am I? It doesn’t matter anymore. He loved me once, and he doesn’t anymore. It’s hard to be that person to someone–the one they don’t choose–the “great girl,” but not his choice. That hurts more than her being pregnant.


“Why do I have to be the strong woman? Why can’t I be weak? Weak women always have someone,” I tell my friend.


“Yes, but weak people have someone because they are not strong enough to be alone–they settle,” she says.


“Sometimes I wish I could just settle.” I whisper


“The grass is always greener,” she says.


Day 10: I’m sleeping now, but when I wake, he’s the first thing I think about. I imagine how happy his mother will be–she wants grandchildren. I imagine their wedding–200 guest, summer (he hates the cold), white candles, white flowers, everything white. I wonder if she’ll wear white.


Day 14: I wake without thinking of him, but when I hear songs I wonder what their song is? What will they dance to? We never had a song. We should have had a song.


Day 18: “You need to date,” says a friend.


Easier said than done. “As soon as the weather breaks, I’ll get out there,” I tell her, saying it more to myself than to her.


Day 24: He has called 13 times, texted 22 times, sent 5 e-mails, and left 0 voicemail messages. Coward! I never responded.


Day 30: I’m better–quite surprised at how I’m handling the situation. I read a book for work–it’s called Peak and Valleys. It’s by that guy who wrote Who Moved my Cheese? Peaks and Valleys is a story of a young man who lives unhappily in a valley until he meets an old man who lives on a peak and it changes his work and life forever. Through conversations and some experiences, he learns some basics principles that allow him to better manage the good and bad times in work and life.


During the reading, I kept applying the principles of the book to this situation. I kept asking myself, “What is the truth in this situation?”



The truth is this: I love someone who doesn’t love me anymore. I’ve loved before and have gotten over it, so I’ll get over this. I say this in the morning and at night. It’s the truth. It has to be.