I'm getting up close and personal with this post. It's about a wedding that didn't happen, and at this point probably never will. (If you don't like depressing, this might be a good time to switch to another post)
My daughter is twenty-three. She's been living with her boyfriend almost three years. It's been a pretty turbulent relationship, on-again/off-again. But, she says she loves him and they always patched things up.
In January she discovered she was pregnant.
He agreed to marry her.
Note, I said he agreed, not that he proposed.
The wedding day was set for February 14, Valentine's day. The most romantic day of the years, my daughter said with stars in her eyes. It would be a small civil ceremony. Intimate rather than elaborate. Something to remember and hold on to, something to bind them and prepare for the new child.
I bought myself a mother-of-the-bride dress. I bought them a wedding present. Then I received a phone call.
The wedding had been postponed. Indefinitely.
Her boyfriend changed his mind. Seems he remembered that his first wife had cheated on him, and he wasn't certain the baby was his. After the kid is born, he said. After he's sure it's his. Then he would talk about marriage again.
I got one tear-filled phone call while my daughter vented. Then she was back to her old ways. She understood his need to wait. I thought he handed her the biggest insult possible, but she bravely said she could wait. It's only a coincidence that one of the bad guys in one of my books hands the same insult to his pregnant girlfriend. (Really, I wrote those scenes a few years ago, but boy could I supercharge them with emotion now)
My daughter had a host of prenatal worries over the past few months. She had had some illnesses in her childhood that left permanent changes in her body. The doctors wanted to keep a close watch on her.
If you really hate unhappy endings, this is the place to stop reading.
I received another call last Tuesday. She was in the hospital. In spite of all the extra care and checkups, she lost the baby at six months. Her voice broke when she talked about all the stress she's been under.
In a romance novel, this would be the moment for the real hero to sweap her into his arms and make her forget the scoundrel in her past. In Women's Fiction, this would be the moment for her to decide it was time for her to stand on her own two feet and tell her scoundrel boyfriend where to go and how fast toget there. In Literary Fiction, I would kick him to the curb, bring her home, and make everything all right while she admits Mom really did know best.
But this is reality.
So there won't be a wedding. Or a baptism. Just the funeral.
My website - babinns.com
My personal blog - barbarabinns.com