I was emotionally isolated with a growing baby in my belly. It is a long story and this is a short version. I still felt tinges of uncertainty but I felt those happy butterflies fluttering about. I was told that I only tell one side of the story, my side, the one I want people to hear. However, the personal problems that I had with my father were not any better than they were the years previous and I decided to stick to the plan to move the three of us to Halifax where my paternal grandmother resided. I stopped communicating with most of my friends, I apprehensively made changes that he demanded necessary to settle his foul moods. Bradley was on a six month work visa and quickly decided to go through the efforts of obtaining Canadian Residency. It was a standard protocol supposedly put in place to help support new mothers and prevent postpartum depression. I was not quite years-old and I had a history of heart-break and emotional vulnerability.
The Hague Convention Act was the only legal help I could afford. He was the one who had been there for me in a way no one else ever had. He began asking me personal questions about my past relationships and sexual history, which was normal enough at first, but it insidiously became interrogative. This time I reached out and slapped him in the face. I brushed off the first name-calling and controlling behaviour. I could see a good heart on the other side of his tempestuous, unstoppable moods. He said I always seemed cold and detached and that was a big part of the reason he acted the way he did. Both sides of him were so convincing during their moments, that the emotional confusion was unbearable and it tore me in two. But good enough was only temporary. I could see a good father in his loving, generous, and strong charisma, the one that faded in and out, intermittent with his dangerous, blind rages of anger that appeared on a regular basis. I was tired of protecting the truth about him from my father and the rest of the world, so I texted my dad and told him. The emotional chaos continued but being away from Bradley much of the time still allowed for me to find my long-lost happiness and free spirit. However, the personal problems that I had with my father were not any better than they were the years previous and I decided to stick to the plan to move the three of us to Halifax where my paternal grandmother resided. He wanted me to come too but he at least wanted Jacob. I knew many times that I would have to leave. That was a turning point. I still felt tinges of uncertainty but I felt those happy butterflies fluttering about. I considered adoption but he convinced me that the pregnancy would be a turning point in his behaviour and he begged for one last chance to prove he would change. He sat close to me and mocked those tears. I am not against abortion but I became immediately attached to the little surprise that was growing inside me. By the time I stood up and sought legal help, it had been over a year of Jacob being in England, with me travelling back and forth. We returned to Canada about a month later continuing on with the destructive pattern that our beloved son had become a part of. However, I wanted to keep to my word to go on a date with him and after the first date, I did not regret it. Nonetheless, it wrecked havoc on my own mental well-being. I was living a youthful glamorous little life, carrying an outward smile but a sad, broken heart.
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