After we got engaged, Harrison changed. He worried about me more, cautioned me not to stay out late, urged me to begin settling down. I’m sure it was hard for him, being so far away, but I was young and nervous. I was about to make the biggest commitment of my life, and he was telling me to act like I was already married. I began to feel suffocated again, wondering if I was making the right decision.

I was in a reckless mood the night of the party. The usual crowd was there, along with some new faces. The music was loud, and Donna Summer’s “Bad Girls” was blaring through the speakers. That’s how I felt that night. Every pent-up urge pushing to get out. I’d never done any drugs before, but that night I wanted to try something new. I won’t make excuses or blame anything else. I joined in when the pills came out, and the next thing I knew, I was in one of the bedrooms with the wrong guy. I didn’t know anything about drugs—someone told me they were quaaludes, something to make the party more fun. Afterward, I was horribly guilt-ridden, and we swore never to tell anyone. And I realized then that I did love Harrison, and a life with him was what I desperately wanted. How could I tell him what I’d done? He would never forgive me. And the man I’d been with was also committed to someone else. It would have ruined his life as well if anyone found out. We vowed to put it behind us and pretend it never happened. But forgetting wasn’t so easy. Three months later, I discovered I was pregnant. It was too late to terminate, but I felt a connection to the baby already and wouldn’t have been able to do it anyway.