The father of my unborn child was a heroin addict. That was a painful admission. It hurt so bad I could hardly breathe. For years, I had hung on every word that came from his mouth, too in love to see the warning signs and red flags dancing in front of my eyes. Unknowingly wearing my trust around my neck like a noose until it strangled me. Even now, as I watched him crawl through my bedroom window and stumble toward my bed in the darkness, I couldn’t find it in my heart to send him away. Because I was in love with him. The boy he used to be. The man he had become. All of his versions. I loved
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