Free On the Divinity of Second Chances by Kaya McLaren

believe how badly I’ve messed up my life.
    I pack my books.
    I’m doing this for my child , I remind myself.
    I am going to be one more woman with a picture of her child on her desk at the bank. To what end? How, exactly, is my plan so great for my child? What is the point in having a child if I just have to turn around and farm the baby out? Are these really my only two choices? Make my child live in poverty, or hardly see my baby at all?
    I sit on a box of books and wonder if my thinking is too limited. Do I have choices I just don’t know about? What would my life look like if it could be anything I wanted? That’s the million-dollar question.
    Matt knocks and lets himself in, finding me there sitting on the box, looking tired, a handkerchief keeping my hair out of my face. I look up at him with great disdain.
    “You’re moving?”
    “Why does that surprise you?”
    He doesn’t answer my question. “Where are you going?”
    “I’m sure not going to a tipi.” We stare each other down for a moment. As strongly as I dislike him now, for the sake of my baby, I need a moment of truth. I say a silent prayer: Please, God, if Matt is capable and willing to be a father to this baby, please give me a sign so I don’t needlessly rob my child of a father. If he shows me he’s willing and capable, I’ll make every effort to let go of my anger, open my heart, and create a new beginning. And now, to ask for the truth, but not leave my interests unprotected, I pose these questions to him: “Matt, what if we were living in the tipi and I got unexpectedly pregnant? Would you really expect me to raise children out there? Would you really think that was adequate shelter for a baby?”
    “If you got ‘unexpectedly pregnant,’ I don’t think the issue would be whether or not a tipi is adequate shelter for a baby.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “The question would be: just how ‘unexpected’ was it? I mean, come on—if you don’t want to get pregnant, then you don’t. If we’re living in our tipi and you’re telling me all the time that you don’t want to get pregnant, and then all of a sudden it just ‘happens,’ I’d have to wonder just how accidental it was.”
    “Are you saying I’d get pregnant on purpose?” I feel like I’m going to throw up.
    “I’m saying I’d have to wonder. People do it all the time— you know, find ways to manipulate their partner, force them into things when it’s not what they want. I wouldn’t fall for it, that’s all I’m saying. I know you better than that. If you didn’t want to get pregnant, you wouldn’t.”
    “Are you serious?! So if I did, it would be all my fault? I’d be trying to manipulate you? You really believe that?”
    “I already told you what I think, but fine, let’s just say if we’re living in a tipi and you ‘accidentally’ get pregnant, I don’t know how that would really be my problem—adequate shelter and all those things. I’m pretty sure I’d be thinking more about why I’m living with someone I can’t trust and seriously wondering if that’s the type of person I really want to spend the rest of my life with.”
    Wow. Signs don’t get much clearer than that. I swallow hard and thank God for a clear answer.
    “So, where are you going anyway?” he asks again.
    I look at him and shake my head, defeated. “Why do you care?” I didn’t realize how much I hoped his answer would have been different. I feel like a punctured tire with all the air draining out. “Look, Matt, I can’t afford this place without you. Your decision has turned my life upside down. Forgive me if I feel no need to tell you where I’m going.”
    “Oh, I see, you’re punishing me.”
    “Of course you’d think that. Here’s a news flash, Matt: I need to take care of myself now. I just want to get on with my life and know that you’re not going to show up at my door unannounced after I’ve moved on.”
    “Right. You don’t want me