Illogical is

Illogical is, as illogical does

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Fiction

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Moral rights

S.E. Saunders asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

External content

S.E. Saunders has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

Designations

Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

Authors Note:

While the assertion above states the stories found in this book are fictional, I will include notes where the stories aren't fiction. The following is based on events from my life.

I'm feeling anticipation with each step. The glistening sidewalk resembles a thousand camera flashes, lighting our way as we ascend the steps leading to the sea-foam green apartment. I can't help but notice it carries a nostalgic charm reminiscent of the early seventies—a welcome change from the motel where we've been living for a year. Our new home is bare. The furniture will gradually find its place, as we've done since escaping my father's rage years ago.

A lot has happened. This time I'm the one who is pregnant. The young man who was once a part of this journey has disappeared. It's an added concern for my mother, but now it's my burden. The most heartbreaking part is hearing her cry, despite her desire for a better life for us.

Bringing a child into this world should never be associated with such weighty thoughts. It should be celebrated, even if unexpected. I understand this truth at fifteen, even if my mother's family doesn't. I can still recall the sound of one of my uncle's voices as I eavesdropped behind a door and his suggestion that I should dispose of my child as though he were trash.

Mother bears their words gracefully, and I see her crying after they've left. Unknowing I've heard, she softens their harshness but allows me a voice and support to make the hardest choice a mother will ever make in a situation like mine.

She would keep him and raise him as her son. He would know me as his mom. Adoption to an aunt and uncle in Toronto who have been trying for a baby. Or an open adoption to someone unknown. I can see she struggles to talk about the casting away by medical means.

This is the option her family is pressing for, and I hate them for even suggesting it. They package it as though they're worried about the child ruining my life without considering the fact I'd be taking his. My heart constricts in its cage.

My decision was made the moment I knew. I may have made one error in judgment, but I didn't need to make two.

The flush of relief that washed over my mother's face was noticeably perceptible as I declared that I had made my bed and I would sleep in it. It was decided then. Mom, my brother, and I were having this baby. He would be ours, and we would love him where others might not.