I knew I was never meant to be a mother. The blood that runs through my veins is anything but maternal. The atoms and molecules that my body are comprised of simply aren't equipped for such a task.
For some women it comes naturally, as though they were destined for such divine greatness. At the mere age of eighteen, girls around me were longing to produce offspring. They described the feeling as natural and womanly. As though being a woman comes with this inherent prerequisite to nurture a child. It is instilled in us from birth. We are raised with this one goal in mind: to be mothers. I mean, what other purpose could we possibly serve in this world? We are women, after all. We are maternal. We are motherly. But apparently, I am not.
I didn't want to have children. That was a phrase that often left my mouth when I was young. "I don't want kids." The statement that somehow invites listeners in, automatically giving them permission to respond: "You're still young! You'll change your mind once you get older!"
My mind didn't change. Not when I turned twenty-six and my friends politely reminded me that my biological clock was ticking. Not when I took the pregnancy test and saw the double pink lines. It didn't change when I felt my stomach expanding for nine months, growing this new formed life inside of me that I didn't ever think would be possible. My mind didn't change when she came out of me, slimy and screaming, demanding my undivided attention at all times.
Some women just aren't meant to be mothers. But that doesn't mean I killed my child.
Let me rewind.
YOU ARE READING
Until Proven Innocent
Mystery / ThrillerFollowing the birth of her first child, Cordelia Waters suffered from a severe postpartum psychosis. When six months later, her baby goes missing, Cordelia becomes the prime suspect.
