On the 14th of February 2023, I was lying on the table of a doctor with my legs spread apart as he looked into me, figuring out how to take out what was growing in me. My boyfriend was on the outside, waiting to take me home once everything was done. I didn’t even know it was Valentine’s Day or maybe I knew it but because of what I was going through, I relegated it to the background of my mind as one of the unimportant events that should strut along like the shadow in the sand.

When I walked out of the hospital room, my boyfriend met me at the door and asked, “Is it done? It means you’re no longer pregnant?”

He didn’t ask how I was feeling so I tell him how much I wanted to die along with what was scooped out of me. All he wanted was for me to be free from pregnancy so he could concentrate on his future without a child to draw him back.

In a taxi going back home, the man on the radio was waxing lyrical about Valentine’s Day. My boyfriend threw his hand around my neck and said, “It’s Val’s day. How did we forget?” When the taxi stopped in traffic, he bought a bar of chocolate from a hawker in traffic and handed it to me; “A chocolate. Happy Val’s Day.”

We had been dating for only five months when I got pregnant. I was jobless. He was jobless too. When I told him about the pregnancy he said, “We should have been able to have this if any of us were gainfully employed. Can you take care of a child alone until I get a job?

That question threw me into a dark future where I saw myself suffering, and my baby too. “No,” I answered. He told me, “Let’s not have it. Let’s get a firm grip on our lives before anything else.” I put my head on his shoulder and said nothing while he caressed my hair gently. Days later, we went to the hospital and got it done. A couple of months later our relationship came to an end.

In September 2023, I watched his status on Facebook. He was wearing a white Kaftan with a baby in his hand with the caption, “Number one just landed.” In the next photo, he was with a woman. The woman was carrying the baby this time. They were both smiling. They were both not wearing rings so I figured they were not married.

I called him and his explanation was, “She got pregnant before you but she didn’t tell me until we couldn’t do anything about it.” “Is she your wife?” I asked. He answered, “Not at the moment.”

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I cried but not too much to dim the flicker left in me. I moved on until I’ve gotten to this point where I feel I can share this story. The only bad I feel about my story is that on every Val’s Day, while people are receiving flowers, I will remember the flower that was plucked out of me. It hurts and it’s gonna hurt for a very long time.

#MyValsDayStory

—Daisy

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