guilt

‘I threw my baby in a dumpster. No goodbyes, no tears.’

“My hands shook as I grabbed a Dixie cup and gently scooped this little piece of flesh, my heart, my blood, from its watery grave. A moment later, I left the bathroom. My little burden wrapped in paper towels, and put it in my purse.”

‘I just got shot, I just got shot, I…got…shot.’ Trapped under a pile of squirming, scared bodies, I lay helplessly on the cold rooftop floor, blood inching toward my face. It wasn’t my blood.’

“I stared at a man next to me gasping for breath. A frantic woman gave him mouth-to-mouth through his blood-covered face, desperate to save him. He was alone. No one knew who he was. As the paramedics lifted me onto a stretcher and carried me down the stairs, I saw them cover his body.”

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