“I l-love you s-so much …” My hands fisted his shirt. “I c-can’t do it. I can’t s-say goodbye.” He pressed his lips to the top of my head. “And I can’t make this decision for you. Not this one. I’d rather lose you than have you hate me for asking you to choose me.” I didn’t care for life at that moment. Pregnancy was supposed to be a joyous occasion, not a death sentence. Love was supposed to heal all wounds, not rip apart souls.
