I am finally ready to tell the truth.
"You need to move on with your life, because I’ve moved on with mine."
That final sentence from my ex-boyfriend (let's call him Mark) was the culmination of a nearly five-year relationship.
Our son's headstone was still on order, and they'd place it on his grave any day now.
I sat outside the doctor’s office in my car, waiting for the next medication to resolve trauma I suffered from the recent delivery of my stillborn son. They contemplated admitting me to the hospital, but my mind wasn't focused on my health. I wanted to know who this woman was that Mark had been seen with, and why he didn’t contribute more money to the cost of our son’s funeral or help me with medical bills like he said he would.
"It was your decision to bury him," Mark said. "You’re his mother and that was your choice."
"But what was I supposed to do?" I screamed, sinking into the black leather interior of my car in the September Midwest heat.
That was the last I heard from him.
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