She misinterprets my silence for grief, which it is, but a grief heavily weighed down with suffocating guilt. I want to tell her that it is all my fault, that El died because of me, but by doing that I would break my vow to Tracey and if there is one thing I can do to make amends out of all of this, it’s to protect Tracey so that her life isn’t ruined too. She doesn’t deserve to be punished.

I do.

So I will live with this secret. I will carry the burden of blame.

She pats my hand, then releases it. The bed shifts and she is on her feet, moving out of the room like a ghost.

*

Voices shouting; lips pulled thin; tears falling dramatically. I remain in my seat, quiet, calm, patiently waiting for their histrionics to end. There has been an argument with Martha too. They are looking for someone to blame when really they need to take responsibility. Martha is dismissed unceremoniously, no loyalty to her but she doesn’t seem surprised. She is not allowed to say goodbye to me.

My mother sniffs and sobs her way through a box of tissues while my father paces the room, wearing the carpet thin with his anger.

“You will have to get rid of it,” my father says to me, his voice thunderous.

I rise to my feet. “I don’t think so.”

He glares at me. “That is not your decision to make.”

“It is my body. It is my child. I want to keep it.”

“While you are under this roof, young lady, you will do as you are told. You are not eighteen yet.”

I glare back at him, not prepared to back down on this. I have thought about it long and hard since I peed on a stick and had my suspicions confirmed.

“No, you are not getting your way this time either.”

My mother’s head shoots up. “What do you mean?”

“I found your letters. I know.” I raise a shaking finger, willing it to steady and point at him. “You never wanted me. You wanted her to have an abortion, but she didn’t.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re acting like the child you are.” But he can’t look at me.

“That’s why you’ve never taken any interest in me. Because you never wanted me in the first place. And you.” My finger turns its attention to my mother, now dangerously pale. “You have spent the last seventeen years wishing you’d chosen differently, haven’t you? Because you made a choice between him and me, and you think you chose wrong, have done everything you can to make it up to him, but forgetting about me in the process.”