Love's Suicide(43)

I looked down at the medical bills and knew that if I wanted to be able to afford things, Bobby’s offer was the best way to make that happen. It was obvious he’d take care of me and treat my daughter like she was his own.

After getting up from the chair, I opened the door to wave him back inside. Bobby stood in front of me with his hands in his pockets.

“Fine. I’ll do it. I’ll marry you, and I’ll try my best to make it up to you and make you happy.”

And there it was.

In less than a year, I was engaged for a second time and this one was even more shameful than the first occurrence. This time I aware I didn’t love him and that for my own selfish reasons I was doing it anyway.



We were married at the courthouse four days later, after our license was approved. Sarah and Dave were our witnesses, and we celebrated afterwards with our normal card night.

Bobby knew it would be too much stress on me to move in with him right away, so he opted to stay the night with me. I still couldn’t believe that I was married. It felt surreal and sad at the same time. It was as if I knew I was closing a chapter of my life even when I didn’t want to.

When it got late, Bobby grabbed a pillow and started to get comfortable on the couch. I felt so bad because he wanted more and I hadn’t given it to him. After lying in my bed alone for nearly twenty minutes, I walked back out into the living room and reached out my hand. “Bobby, you’re my husband. We’ve been messing around for months, and I feel like it’s time for us to consummate our relationship. I can’t let you sleep on my couch and feel right about it. You belong next to me in my bed.”

He looked down at my belly and touched it with both hands. I ran my hands through his hair when he kissed my bare stomach tenderly. “You don’t have to, Katy. I can wait for as long as you want me to. I didn’t do this to push you into movin’ forward. We’ve got plenty of time to be together.”

I cupped his face into my hands, knowing that he was the best I was ever going to get. “You should never make a bride beg for it on her wedding night.”

For the record, I wasn’t considering how difficult it was going to be to be intimate at nine months pregnant. Bobby climbed into the bed beside me and pulled me into his arms. I expected him to undress and get right to it, after making him wait for so long. Instead, he kissed me slowly and pulled away to look into my eyes. “This is all I need tonight.”

I wrapped my arms around him and felt safe. Bobby was going to take care of us and it was the most important thing to me.



My due date was September 10th and I was in a nervous wreck when I hadn’t gone into labor yet. One thing I was happy about was that the baby was without a doubt Brooks’.

As I prepared for my first year without the Valentines, on the anniversary of my parent’s death, I knew if I could just get through the day in one piece, I’d be okay. My biggest fear was going into labor on a day where I was haunted by death and despair.

My water broke that morning, and six hours later I was pushing out a seven pound, seven ounce little girl. With Bobby and Sarah by my side, I was able to get through it while being completely grateful I wasn’t alone.

After they’d done her measurements and gotten her cleaned up, I saw them walking her back in my direction. My heart was beating so fast, knowing that I was moments away from feeling her for the first time. I held my arms out and watched her being set inside of them.

She was the most beautiful thing that I’d ever seen in my life. Her head of hair was light but was still apparent and her gray eyes, that I knew would change, were alert and looking right up at me. “Hi. I’m your mommy.” I was a babbling mess and she just kept blinking and looking at me. “I love you so much. I don’t care what I have to do, I promise to make you happy. I’ll do anything for you.”

I hadn’t discussed her name with anyone, because I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. I knew once she was there, they couldn’t argue with me.

Brooklyn Micheala Valentine was born at four in the afternoon on September 11th and I knew my parents were with me in that hospital room. She was a gift to me from them and believing it made the moment the most special experience of my life. For a day that had held so much pain for me it was immediately replaced with something so much more powerful.

Named after her birth father, she was healthy, with ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes. I knew I had to share, but I couldn’t stop holding her and looking at every wrinkle remembering the night that she was made. She was a real life miracle and I’d never felt so blessed before.

Out of tragedy I’d been given this beautiful gift and I was going to spend my whole life giving her everything she could ever want.