I could tell you the entire story of my abortion, but a single moment fifteen years later tells you everything you need to know about it.
Fifteen years after I had my abortion, I met up with the man who had impregnated me in high school. The same man who, then a boy, told me to go fuck myself and blocked my number when I told him I was pregnant. When we met up all of those years later, I expected an apology. What I got was even better — closure. He didn’t apologize but asked me, “did you end up having it or getting rid of it?”. Him not knowing if we had a fifteen-year-old child or not answered any doubt I ever had as to whether or not it was the right thing to do.
