I am going to raise the baby. My decision doesn’t come all at once, but slowly over the course of the morning. It starts as a quiet thought, an idea, but every time I look down at my stomach the that thought begins to solidify.
I try to be logical, to weigh the consequences the way I would any patrol rotation or case assignment. I make a mental list of everything I have to lose. I think about the stress of raising this child alone, and about the future I fought for.
None of it outweighs the love I already feel. Despite everything, despite how afraid I am, despite how wrong the timing is, my heart has already decided.
I can’t give it up. Just because I never thought my path would involve kids doesn’t mean I haven’t wanted them. It doesn’t mean I haven’t grieved that part of myself when
