I shake my head, trying to get rid of the angry flashback. The fourth one of the day consists of my mother breaking my nose for the twelfth time.
In the real world, I look up into the sweet periwinkle eyes of my doctor. He looks concerned, but mostly for he baby moving inside of me.
“This baby is going to need a lot of tending to, after he’s born,” he tells me for the second time that visit.
Again, I answer the same, “I know. And I also know that I can be a better mother to this baby than anybody else could.”
“I know that you could, but will you?” He asks me. “Do you think you’re mentally stable enough to take care of a screaming little boy on your own?”
“Yes,” I say, ending the conversation.
.......................................

I arrive home to the mailman, he hands me a letter. Curiosity is written all over his face. I look at the return address, “Aiden Alden.” I gasp as the world around me starts to spin. A flashback hits me, not as angry or as violent as the earlier one, but just as emotionally draining. This time it’s me. Me telling Aiden about the baby. Our baby. It’s the end of the conversation, when he’s leaving. The door shuts behind him, as the flashback ends. I find myself on the ground, the mailman staring at me in wonderment.
“If one little letter can do that to you, I’d hate to give you a package.” He says walking back to the car at the end of the long, gravel driveway.
I watch him walk away, and then stand up slowly, so as not to become dizzy once more. I amble up the rest of the driveway to the dilapidated porch built onto the front of my disintegrating home. I suppose it’s more of a house than a home. No love enters or leaves here. Yet.
I sit on the porch swing. It’s the only comfortable seat in this house, now that I’ve pretty much reached my bursting point. I put my feet up on the bucket that’s overturned and light up my first cigarette for the day. I’m doing better than I was eight months ago. Those two packs a day can really kill a person. Literally speaking. I’m down to one a day, so as to hopefully not hurt my baby boy anymore.
I look down at the white envelope in my hand. It’s addressed in that perfect handwriting of his. I can see that my hand is shaking as I flip it open to open it. Inside is a short piece of paper. It reads, “Sienna, I can’t do this anymore. You are such a big part of my life that I cannot bear to lose you. I don’t care that the baby isn’t mine. I will care for him, as if he is my own. I’m coming home to you. Love Forever and Always, Aiden Alden.”
One soft tear stains the paper, as I ponder these words of his.
The only reason why he left was because he didn’t think, my baby, our baby, was indeed his.
I hear the crunch of gravel, close but so far away. I look up through tear-struck eyes as I witness the sight of my dreams. That green, falling apart, Dodge of his, is idling at the top of my driveway. I feel as if, indeed my dreams have come true.
The truck moves slowly toward the front of the porch, as if in slow motion. His gears grinds as he throws the truck in park. He jumps out of the truck, looking at me, and only me. I stand up as quickly as I can, in my current state. I walk, almost drunkenly to him.
I look up at him, always to short too be on eye level. I start to tell him the truth, but he shushes me, and kisses me.
I wait for the flashback that will no doubt come to ruin the moment. But it never arrives.