“Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t email me. Don’t come by my house. Delete me from all of your social media and forget you ever met me,” I said as I looked him in the eye.
“So, it’s like that,” He responded trying not to sound defeated.
I couldn’t do it anymore. I just could not take it. A year of my life has passed and I can never get that back. I told myself I wouldn’t struggle like this for anyone else ever again. Even my son wouldn’t get a pass because I had given away what I felt was the best part of me. Now my bags were packed, my son was in the backseat and there was only one thing standing in the way of me driving off into the sunset and starting our lives over wherever we stopped, which hopefully would be at least two states away.
“Look, I’ve asked you more than once if you were in or out. Well, I’m tired of asking. She has made your decision for you, so I’m gone. Now move away from my car so I can get in and go,” I answered. I couldn’t get away from him fast enough. All I felt at that moment was hate and anger, not just at him, but at myself. Once again I had allowed this to happen. Once again I had set myself up to be hurt. Bruised. Broken. Maybe if he could see that, he would move away from the driver’s side door of my car and I could get in without me having to threaten him.
“You can’t just leave like this. What am I supposed to do with you taking our child out of state?”
“Whatever you want to do. You always have done whatever you wanted.”
“Are you at least going to tell me where you’re going?”
“Of course not.”
“So, you’re not going to let me be there when the baby is born? I can’t let you do this. You’re not keeping my baby from me.”
I didn’t answer him right away. Maybe in this moment I was being selfish, but I was hormonal and slightly irrational.
“You have got to make up your mind what you want out of life—who you want in your life.”
He paused, “I don’t know what to do.”
“You better figure it out, then. Now, move!”
“I told you it’s been complicated.”
“Complicated, how? I don’t see what’s complicated. Do you care enough about me to stay in my life or not? Heck, do you like me enough?”
“I love you.”
“No, you don’t. Please move,” I begged. I figured I’d try to beg a little before I reached for my pepper spray.
“Are you really going to let her come in between us and everything we’ve built over the past year?”
A few awkward silent moments passed before either of us spoke. Neither of us broke eye contact. Good thing my son was asleep in his car seat.
“Hey,” he said. This was his way of changing the subject. My nerves were rattled and my hands were shaking. I could not go through this again. I went through it once with my son’s father. Not again.
“Hey,” I replied. My hand was on my pepper spray, ready to make my next move. He was not about to stop me from getting my car and leaving tonight.