The Years She Counted

Carly sat hunched on the cold tiled floor while silent sobs shuddered through her chest. Black mascara streamed down cheeks, mingling with the snot spilling from her nose. She closed her eyes and took a slow, ragged breath. Leaning her head against the bottom cabinets, she allowed herself a moment to think about her future child’s life.

If she had a son, she would name him Kyle, but if it were a girl, Sadie. Kyle or Sadie would fit perfectly in her arms as she rocked them to sleep after waking her at four in the morning. When Kyle or Sadie turn one, they will smash their birthday cake with their tiny fists. Carly will smile broadly at the smeared frosting on their cheeks and rush to find her camera. At two, they will wail at the swimming pool, water stinging their eyes. Carly imagines wrapping them up in a towel and pulling them close to her chest. At three, they will accidentally swallow a nickel, and Carly will race to the hospital, crying harder than they will. At four, Carly will walk them to their first day of preschool, lingering in the doorway longer than she should, her chest aching as she lets them go. At five, they will lose their first tooth. Carly will save that one and every tooth after it. On their sixth birthday, Kyle or Sadie will get their first bike with ribbons dangling off of the handlebars. However, they won’t figure out how to ride that bike until they turn seven. Carly will embarrassingly cheer so loud that the grumpy old neighbor next door will glare at her out the window. She won’t care what he thinks though. At eight, they will go on their first roller coaster. Afterwards, they will keep insisting on riding it again and again. When they turn nine, Kyle or Sadie will have their first sleepover and invite too many friends. Carly will be overwhelmed by the chaos and quietly limit sleepovers to two guests. At ten, they’ll beg her for a pet hamster during a trip to the pet store, and she’ll give in because, after all, they’re only ten. The hamster will be named Chubs. Carly will drive five and a half hours when they are eleven to watch them play in their first baseball or softball tournament. They won’t win, but Carly will be glad she went. At twelve, Chubs will die quietly in his sleep. Kyle or Sadie will cry for hours, and Carly will help bury him in the backyard, her chest aching as she watches her child face loss for the first time. By thirteen, Chubs will be forgotten when they fall into their first romance—Julie, Noah, or Sam—and Carly will catch them smiling at their phone late at night. At fourteen, she’ll snap embarrassing first-day-of-high-school photos, holding onto them even after her teenager groans. Their heart will shatter at fifteen, when Julie, Noah, or Sam ends it the day before Homecoming. They’ll slam the door in Carly’s face when she knocks, and she’ll walk away, helpless. At sixteen, they’ll beg for a car. Carly will explain she can’t afford it. They’ll slam their bedroom door, and Carly will hand over her own keys, riding the bus to work with an ache she can’t name. At seventeen, they’ll come home drunk one night, and Carly will shout that they’re still just kids. Kyle or Sadie will stumble to the bathroom and vomit on the floor before Carly even finishes her lecture. At eighteen, Carly will hold them tight outside their dorm. She’ll cry into their shoulder, proud that her baby is the first in the family to go to college. They’ll beam with excitement, already leaning toward the future, but a small part of them will miss their mother. Carly will drive home alone, letting her baby grow up.

But instead, the wooden boards were dark with blood. Fine red specks freckled the white walls where she had hurled the coat hanger aside. Pain twisted through her body, sharp and relentless, but it was the thought of him that made her sob harder. He had told her what would happen if she ever trapped him with a baby. She believed him.

It was 5:30. In two hours he’d be home, expecting dinner on the table and no sign of defiance in her eyes. Carly pressed her forehead to the cabinet, trembling. She wished there had been another way. She wished she could have kept her child safe. But safety meant silence. So she reached for the rag, scrubbing at the stains as the clock ticked closer to his footsteps at the door.