She scoffs as though she has absolutely no idea what I’m talking about. “Was it all an act? Jesus Christ, Jessa. The Jessa I thought I knew would never do what you’ve done. It fucking eats at me alive to think just how much of a common occurrence it was for you to drink while you were so far along in the pregnancy. How can you fucking live with yourself?”
I look into the eyes of the woman I have spent nearly a year with intimately. The woman who, right now, has no remorse for the bomb she just dropped in my lap. “Please Jessa, don’t do this.”
Shaking her head, she frowns, “Tell me, will you ever leave her to have a family with me?”
“No. Never.”
“Well, there’s your answer. There’s nothing left for me to stay.”
I shake my head at her in disgust. “Your child is a damn good reason to fucking stay.”
“I only did this because I thought it would make you want me. I could deal with you not loving me. You made that blatantly obvious. I could tell I was losing you, and I was desperate,” she says with a shrug of her shoulders.
“If you do this, I’ll never forgive you. I won’t let you hurt our child this way,” I tell her before reconsidering her words. “Hold up … what do you mean? Did what?”
Before Jessa has a chance to answer me, the room explodes with activity. The sounds of monitors screaming with alarms ring through the room and before I know what’s happening, the same nurse that brought me into this room is trying to push me back out.
“Sir, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to get you to step outside. They’re going to need all the room they can get.”
“Stop,” I demand in a panic as I attempt to shake her off. “What’s happening? What do those sounds mean?”
No response comes before the doors are slammed in my face and I’m left in the hallway without a fucking clue as to what’s going on with my baby, and I pray to whatever God that lives above that they both come out of this alive.CHAPTER 25BULLRage.
Pure, fucking filthy rage courses through my body as I look through the glass window at the clear plastic crib that holds my tiny baby boy. He’s the most precious little thing that I have laid my eyes on and already dominates my heart along with his sisters.
Tubes are in his mouth and nose, helping him to breathe and eat. The cords connected to beeping machines are stuck to every little inch of his skin, monitoring his heart rate and oxygen saturation levels. The NICU is busy around him, with nurses currently checking over him, taking his temperature, and pricking needles into his delicate skin.
I feel helpless as I watch him lay there all alone—abandoned by the one woman who should be right here by his side. I'm listening to his pediatrician explain all the difficulties my little man might be about to face; a conversation Jessa should be forced to hear as well.
Jessa should be here taking responsibility for her fucking actions and feeling just one inch of the shame that I’m feeling for allowing this to have gone so far. The word FADS keeps getting thrown around, and every time I hear it, my blood boils.
Fetal alcohol spectrum disorder.
Under no circumstance did I think Jessa’s drinking had gotten so out of control and I have no one to blame but myself.
Yes, I knew she had been drunk on more than one occasion, but it was always when I was out with Amelia and I truly thought it was all to get my attention. I thought not giving her the attention she was so desperately after would make her realize sooner rather than later that I was never going to cave and never going to change my mind.
I could not have been more wrong. I could have done more ... no, I should have done more.
Premature birth.
Brain damage.
Problems with growth and development.
Birth defects, heart defects, hearing problems, or vision problems.
Low birthweight.
How could she do this? How could one person be so fucking selfish to harm a defenseless child, and all out of spite? All for attention, hoping it would be enough to make me want to be with her.
I listen as Dr. Ginsburg continues with the possible issues my son may struggle with for the rest of his life, seeing absolute red the longer he goes on.
Low body weight.
Poor coordination.
Hyperactive behavior.
Difficulty with attention.
Poor memory.
Learning disabilities.
Speech and language delays.
On and on, he just keeps going. And my hatred for Jessa keeps on growing. No, hate is not a strong enough word to describe the way I feel towards that woman right now.
I. Fucking. Loathe her with every fiber of my being.