But he hasn’t missed a therapy appointment. He hasn’t missed a shift at work. He hasn’t once suggested backing out. The anger I felt in the beginning hasn’t disappeared. It has changed shape. Now it sits beside fear. Because what unsettles me most is not that he became a father young.
It’s that he believed creating life would protect him from more loss. I don’t know if that belief will shatter one day. I don’t know if he will look back at seventeen and feel regret. I don’t know if Bree will resent the weight of this decision later. What I know is this:
This wasn’t stupidity. It wasn’t manipulation. It wasn’t rebellion. It was a boy who lost too much, too fast, and decided the only way to stop shrinking was to build something bigger. And that is far more complicated than an “accident.” I still remember the first night he said it wasn’t a mistake.
The way the room felt like it tilted. The way my whole body went cold. Because I realized in that moment—my son hadn’t just crossed into adulthood recklessly. He had tried to outrun grief. And now we’re all living with the consequences of that choice.
So tell me honestly—If your child tried to build permanence because he couldn’t survive another loss. Would you still see only irresponsibility? Or would you see the fear underneath it?
