Chapter one

The apartment is a mess, I haven't showered or slept well in a few days, everything is a mess. I'm exhausted, emotionally, physically mentally.

The shrill screams and the crying, they won't stop no matter what I do. I have no idea what I'm doing, I'm way in over my head.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten," the stupid exercises don't work. I knew they wouldn't when Julie advised I try it out.

"What do you want from me?? I fed you, I changed your diaper and I cuddled you! Just shut up. Shut the hell up. Please!"

The crying gets worse, and the screaming continues. It won't eat and its pamper is dry so why is it crying? I give up, I'll just leave it in the bedroom and close the door.

The crying isn't as loud in the kitchen with the bedroom door closed. I need a glass of wine, but I have no clean dishes, no surprises there. I've been unable to get anything done with that baby in there. Oh well, guess I'll just drink the wine straight from the bottle.

Eventually, it tires itself out and I breathe. After checking on it and seeing it asleep, I take the opportunity to somewhat get my life together starting by cleaning as quickly as I can.

The baby is still sleeping when I come out of the shower. I wave my hand in front of its face and get no reaction, so I grab my laundry bag, lock the apartment and go down to the building basement where the washing machines are.

Twenty minutes later, I'm back up in the apartment and the gods must be looking down upon me well now because the baby is awake but quiet.

My stomach growls loudly so I grab some bread, butter and cheese and make grilled cheese sandwiches. Halfway through my meal, the baby starts crying again, some lungs it has. This time it has a reason to cry, its diaper is wet, and it needs to be changed.

I offer the baby its bottle, but it spits out the formula.

"I guess you're not hungry then," it just stares at me before its tiny bottom lips starts to tremble and its face scrunches up.

"No, no, no. I know that face, please don't cry."

I rock it and bounce it around my apartment but it's too late. The baby bellows out in another series of cries. A minute later, harsh knocks at my door startle me.

I open it and it just had to be the grumpy old guy who lives directly above me.

"Will you shut that thing up?!"

"I'm trying."

"Not hard enough!"

"I'm sorry Sir."

The baby won't take its pacifier and I don't know what to do anymore. I look at the baby, put it down and take its pacifier to the kitchen.

"Just a little whiskey baby. Just a little won't hurt you."

I force the pacifier into the baby's mouth and its little face scrunches up at the bitter flavour of my cheap whiskey. It works like a charm though as I watch the baby's eyes start to get droopier and eventually it falls asleep.

My shirt feels wet, and I look down to see the milk leaking out of my tits. I forgot to pump out the milk in the afternoon. My breasts rejoice as the milk is sucked out of them and I dump it down the drain when my breasts have been milked dry.

Back in the kitchen, I find a soggy grilled cheese sandwich and cold cocoa, great. I eat the sandwich anyway; I can't afford to toss away food. The cocoa I at least reheat before I drink it again. Depressing thoughts plague my mind when I'm alone in the silent kitchen.

Would parenting be easier if I had told him? If he were here with me would he know what to do with our baby? I'm sure he would be better than me, I'm fumbling right now.

Later, in the night, I dress the baby, pack all the stuff I could afford to buy for it and sit down to write a letter at my kitchen counter. For the first time in a while, I feel comfortable uttering the baby's name.

Water drops on the paper as I write my letter. Isn't that just great, now I have a leak in my ceiling. I realise my cheeks are wet when I look up at the ceiling, seeing nothing, yet feeling tears move on my face. I did this to myself, I put myself in this situation, now I'm dealing with the consequences and I have no right to cry about it.

The conclusion is the hardest to write but I'm going to be a big girl, viciously wipe my tears and keep moving. I glance at the innocent sleeping baby on my couch and write down my love with shaking hands.

The waterworks start again as I fold up the letter. I know I shouldn't, but I can't help it, so I just allow myself to break down and cry for being such a terrible, useless mother to my three-month-old baby.

I find myself standing in front of an orphanage at one in the early morning hours. I quietly put the sleeping baby down by the door, only to notice how awake the baby is.

His piercing aquamarine eyes, his father's eyes, hold mine hostage as he stuffs his tiny fist into his mouth and sucks. He must be hungry now. I sit down and look at my son for the last time, quickly wiping tears away.

"I'm so sorry Killian. I'm sorry. For not telling your father about you, for bringing you into this world only to abandon you and make you suffer. I am sorry. Maybe I should have aborted like my dad said, then you wouldn't have to hurt. I love you, my sweet little boy and for that reason, I must leave you and hope you'll have a better life than what you've experienced with me. I wrote a letter for you to read when you're grown up. You'll forgive mommy, won't you? I know you will. You're going to grow to be a strong, handsome and loving young man, okay?"

For the first time, he smiles. He smiles at me and my heart shatters. I pick him up and hold him close, breathing his scent in for the last time. After planting kisses all over his face and telling him I love him, I knock on the door loudly and rush to hide behind the stairs of another building. I'll leave when I make sure they've taken him inside.

Two women open the door, and one picks Killian up. He screams and my heart breaks for my little boy. They both look around the streets and I quickly duck when they look in my direction. I only move after hearing the door close and the fading cries of my son.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. As soon as I step out, I bump into a woman, one of the two who opened the door.

"You're the boy's mother, aren't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Could have fooled me!"

"Lady, I don't know what you're talking about, some girl ran past a few minutes ago, she must be the one you're looking for."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"So you just randomly happened to be watching the child?"

"I- I wasn't watching him."

"If you say so," she turns to walk away.

"Wait," she looks at me.

"He'll be well taken care of, right?"

"Of course. I'm just not sure you'll be as alright as he will be."

"What?"

"Do you really want to leave your son?"

"He's not mine."

"Okay, let's go with that. Do you want to come in for some tea and raisin bread?"

"No, no. I have to go. Thank you."

"Please come in. You look troubled, just for tea."

"I don't think I can."

"I insist," she holds the door open for me and I follow her to the kitchen.

"You can talk to me my daughter; I'll help you the best way I can."

"You can't. I- you can't."

"How do you know if you don't tell me?"

"I just know okay! I have no job, I'm struggling with debt, my father disowned me, I am way out of my league with Killian and I just- I don't know what I'm doing. I'm failing at life. Oh, and I don't know how to budget the money my mother is secretly sending me every month to keep my son and I alive."

"He's beautiful."

"Who?"

"Your son."

"He's better off without me."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I don't know the slightest thing about being a mother and I can't get a job, I have no savings, I can't afford to take care of him."

"We have a house for young, single mothers like you. We help them to gain skills, find jobs and we provide for them till they can stand on their own. I can see in your eyes that you don't want to abandon Killian, you don't have to."

A cameo of Killian growing up plays in my head and I feel my heart flutter with joy. I want to be there, I want to be his mom, a part of his life.

"Really?"

"Yes, we'll help you."

I find myself crying tears of joy and relief in the elderly woman's arms, thanking her.

"Sleep here and we will get you sorted tomorrow."

"Thank you, thank you so much..."

"Marilyn, my name is Marilyn."

"Thank you Marylin, I'm Rue."

She guides me to a room where we find a young lady feeding Killian a bottle. After a few introductions, she asks if I would like to finish feeding him and I nod. They leave the two us in the room for the night and I stroke his beautiful, curly headful of hair while stroking his back gently.

"I'll never leave you sweetheart, I'm sorry that I even did for those minutes. It's you and me, always."