My Unborn Daughter Warned Me Not To Marry Him Chapter 01
The Voice in My Belly
The night before my wedding, I passed out on the couch. And then I dreamed of my daughter.
But here’s the thing — she’s not even born. She’s in my belly. Right now.
In it, she’s eighteen. Stick-thin, drowning in a hospital gown. And those eyes? Like she’s already lived through the apocalypse.
“Mom. Listen. You’ve got about four minutes before the morning sickness kicks in. So don’t interrupt. Just listen.”
I try to talk. Nothing comes out.
“I’m your daughter. And I came back from eighteen years ahead to stop you from marrying that bastard tomorrow.”
“Right after I’m born, he locks you up in a psych ward. And me? I never even see eighteen.”
Bullshit. This is a nightmare. Just cold feet. That’s all it is.
Her eyes well up.
“You don’t believe me. Fine. Wake up. Go to the penthouse. Now.”
“He told you it was a late meeting. So you’d go to your OB alone. But he’s not in a meeting, Mom. He’s in our bed — with her.”
“Then prove me wrong. I dare you.”
I jolt awake. Cold sweat down my back. Heart pounding.
My hand shoots to my belly.
Just a dream. Hormones. Just hormones. Josh loves me. Josh would never—
Then, soft, from somewhere deep in my chest, or maybe deep in my belly, I hear her again.
“I’m still here, Mom. I’m not going anywhere until you drive to that penthouse.”
I grab my keys.
—
I use my code. The elevator carries me up forty floors. I keep whispering to myself, “She’s wrong, she’s wrong, she’s wrong.”
Then I hear him. Through the bedroom door. That sound. His sound. The one I thought was only mine.
I stand there. One hand on my belly. One hand clamped over my mouth. My eyes burn so hot it hurts.
“Don’t marry him, Mommy,” she whispers, tired and small. “Don’t be my mom. I’m begging you. I don’t wanna live that life again.”
I back away from the door. My heels don’t make a sound on the carpet. Thank God for that.
I spent six months picking out that apartment. Every pillow. Every damn candle. I used to picture our baby crawling on that rug.
Now one more second in here and I’m gonna throw up on it.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” she says softly. “If you still love him, it’s gonna hurt way worse. Trust me.”
“Saturday’s the wedding. You waited ten years for this day.”
“But the video they play at the reception? It’s not you and Daddy. It’s Daddy and her.”
“Sloane sets it up. Everyone laughs at you. Everyone points.”
“And Daddy tells you to shut up. Says you’re acting crazy. Says you’re embarrassing him.”
I make it to the sidewalk before my legs give out. I grab a tree. I sob into my sleeve like some drunk lady outside a bar at 2 a.m.
“What’s your name, baby?” I choke out. “If you’re really mine, what did we name you?”
A pause.
“Dawn, Mommy. My name is Dawn.”
My knees almost buckle.
Josh and I picked that name in bed three weeks ago. Whispered it under the sheets. Nobody else knows. Not one soul.
My belly cramps again. I drop onto a bench. Breathe. Breathe.
“Just let me go, Mommy,” Dawn whispers, and God, she sounds so tired. “Don’t fight anymore. Please.”
“No.” I hug my stomach like it’s the last thing on Earth. “No. You’re my baby. I don’t care what happens later. I am not giving you up.”
She cries harder.
“That’s the problem, Mom! That’s why they break you! You love me too much!”
“You had so many chances to leave, and every single time, you stayed. For me. So I’d have a ‘real family.'”
“And it didn’t matter! None of it mattered!”
My chest caves in. I bend over the bench, arms wrapped around her.
“Dawnie. Baby. Tell Mommy. What happens?”
“Why couldn’t I keep you safe? Why did you die at eighteen?”
The words come out like broken glass in my throat.
Dawn is quiet for a long time.
Then, very small:
“You’re right, Mommy. Some people, no matter how hard you fight, were never yours to keep.”
—