Today marks ten years since the birth of Amy. Amy is my daughter. Today is also the day I'm finally going to tell Jonathan about his child.

Jonathan was seventeen when we first made love. I was fifteen. I was madly in love with him. At least that was how I felt back then. I missed my period for two months after our night together, and I was throwing up all the time. But I didn't want to believe that I could be pregnant. I still remember the day I used the pregnancy test. I was terrified, and my whole body was shaking. When my eyes rested on the bright red plus sign, I broke down. I lay in the tub, with the shower on, and sobbed till there were no more tears left.

A day or so after, my mom found out. She didn't yell at me or give me a long lecture. She did something even more hurtful.

"I never thought my daughter would turn out to be a wh*re." She muttered as she packed my bags. She was sending me to her sister who lives on a ranch in the middle of nowhere.

I called Jonathan this morning, and I asked him to meet me at the park where we always used to hang out when we were younger. His voice was cold, and I knew that this would not turn out well, but I needed to tell him. Better he finds out from me, than from someone else.
When I first saw him standing under the tree where we spent hours holding each other, I knew that I still loved him. How could I not? He loved me when I couldn't love myself.

"What do you want?" He grunted.
"I need to tell you something." It came out as a whisper. My heart was pounding and my mouth was dry. I loved him. Did I really want to tell him he has a daughter and that I've kept her a secret from him?
"I just wanted to tell you that I am sorry for leaving." I looked at him, watching his face for the tiniest reaction. There was none. "I wanted to tell you that I think I still might be in love with you, even after all these years." I braced myself. I knew that in a moment I would shatter to a million irreparable pieces.

"Well I don't love you anymore. I'm not the person I was ten years ago, Emma. That person died. You killed him." He was nonchalant, but I could feel the pain pulsating in his voice. I wanted to hold him in my arms. I wanted to touch and caress him. I want to kiss every contour of his face.

"I'm sorry. I really had no choice."

"How could you not have had any choice?" His voice was getting louder and louder. "You made the choice to leave when you could've chosen to stay! How could you do that to me?" He was yelling now, and passersby were staring at us. But I couldn't care less.

"You don't understand. You won't, even if I tried to explain." I was devastated. I knew there was no way he would ever love me again. I had to tell him the truth, to salvage what we have left, no matter how little that is.

"Try me."

So I did. I told him about Amy, and about my mother when she found out. He cried at the end. But he cried because he regretted ever being with me.

"Emma, I can't love you anymore. I don't want to love you anymore. You have no idea how much pain you have caused me." He paused, reluctant. "I don't know what to do about Amy, but I can't have her as a part of my life anymore. I'm sorry."

He walked away whole. I, on the other hand, was broken beyond repair.