The Storm

My name is Magdalynn, but you can call me Lynn; everyone does. I’m twenty-three and work as a registered nurse in the local emergency room.

I live in Montana, and although the winters can be cruel, it’s beautiful here. My boyfriend, Justin, and I live in a small apartment just outside the city. We’ve been together for two years.

I really haven’t felt well the last few days but went to work like always. I was reaching in my bag for my hand lotion when I realize that I hadn’t gotten my period yet.

It was like clockwork every twenty-eight days. Looking at the calendar, I count the days and discover I’m nearly two weeks late.

“Shit,” I mutter, making a mental note to take a test when we slow down.

Three hours later, I lock myself in a room with an ultrasound machine. After a few minutes, I see the last thing I was expecting. To most people, it looks like a blob, but I know what it is.

I was pregnant. I take a few pictures and walked out.

“Hey, Nic,”—she’s a nurse practitioner—“how far along would you say this girl is?” I show her the picture.

“I would say eight weeks or so. Yours?”

Shaking my head, I say, “I found it in the bathroom.” I’m not ready to announce it to the world yet.

“Okay, got to run.” She takes off toward the elevator.

It’s seven in the morning and I know Justin will be up and getting ready for work by the time I get home.

His family owns the largest oil company in the state. He can be a little bit of a spoiled rich kid at times, but I love him.

You wouldn’t think a broke girl from foster care would wind up with a rich kid, but we make it work.

I didn’t even know who he was until we were moving in together. Being willing to pay nearly $5K a month in rent was what tipped me off.

He is making coffee when I walk in.

“Morning,” he greets me.

“Morning.” I sit down at the table.

“We need to talk, Justin. I’m pregnant.” I blurt it out before I lose my nerve.

Throwing his cup of coffee, he yells, “You’re what! You better be joking!”

I jump when the cup hits the wall. “I-I’m not joking.”

He’s never been like this before.

“I didn’t sign up for this shit!”

I duck the plate he throws at me.

“You’re on your own.” He storms off to the bedroom and comes back shortly after carrying a bag.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving. I don’t want a fucking kid, Lynn!” He storms out.

He never came back—to me at least. He did come back at some point while I was at work and took nearly everything out of the apartment.

I walk in after a long shift to be greeted with an empty apartment and my things all over the floor.

All he left me was literally my clothes, even cleaned out to refrigerator. I don’t even have a tray of ice. I’m on my own, forced to pick up extra shifts.

It’s not like I can tuck tail and run home—I don’t have one. I never knew my parents, and I bounced around in foster care until I aged out of the system.

As soon as I would get comfortable in a house and start to like the family, I was moved to another one. I learned quickly to keep my head down and mouth shut, especially in the houses that were only in it for the extra money.

Some of the nicer families would give me some money as I got older, but most of them didn’t. I was able to save what I could and learned how to make a dollar stretch.

Once I was out of the system, I worked my way through nursing school. Living with Justin was the first time I had ever let myself relax and feel happy.

The rent on this apartment isn’t cheap, and after searching, I am able to find a cheaper one further away from the city.

I need to save money for time off work, a newer car, needed baby items—plus I have to get more furniture of some kind for myself.

I have a small one-bedroom apartment and the rent is still $1200 a month. I’ve managed to find a couch, box springs, and mattress at the secondhand store, and I put away a couple hundred a month.

But I know it’s not going to be enough. I start making a list of the things I need to still get—basically everything, for the baby at least.

Did I consider adoption or abortion? Not for one second. I would never force another person to grow up the way I did. Not ~all~ babies get adopted right away, or at all for that matter like you think.

I have nothing wrong with me physically and my red hair and freckles make me cute, I think anyway. And abortion…that’s a hard no.

“Megan, do you know if any other departments need help?”

“I don’t think so, dear. Why?”

Megan has been my supervisor from the start; she’s a nice older lady. “I need the extra money.” I cradle my tiny bump.

“Oh dear.” She pulls me into a hug. “I wish I could give you more hours, but there isn’t any. Home health pays pretty good.”

“I’ll check into it, thanks.”

She grabs my arm. “What happened to Justin?”

I really don’t want to tell her. I had hoped he would come back, but it’s been two months and I have yet to hear from him. “He left. I have to go give bay five their discharge instructions.”