[COMPLETE]
When Hanna Haddad embarks on what's supposed to be another uneventful summer as a lifeguard on Cape Cod, a trip to the past comes as an unnerving surprise. The discovery of her estranged mother's journal opens up the world of tragedy and...
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Deep down, I knew I shouldn't have done this. But how was I going to let a note scribbled by my mother over ten years ago, telling me to read these entries in order, stop me for real? Nothing material would happen if I flipped several years into the future, which only translated into a few journal pages.
I sat hunched over the kitchen counter, knowing my dad wouldn't burst in anytime soon. Work dinners usually lasted until eleven or into the early hours of the morning, but I had a feeling it wouldn't be the company's fault if he strolled in later. As the days had passed, I'd stopped feeling guilty for not telling him about Cassandra, despite having video evidence of her infidelity. Surely, a man as smart as he was would eventually figure out his partner was a cheater, and at least then I wouldn't have to be the bearer of the bad news.
I thumbed through the pages of the journal hastily, a whir of pen colors before my eyes—blue, purple, black, and green. I'd never made a connection between the colors and the mood of the entries, but I noticed that the best ones were always in purple and the worst in blue.
The date was far too early to be what I was looking for, the entry to validate Jesse's recount of Samantha's funeral, but the blue writing hooked me from the first sentence.
September 17, 1995
7:49 p.m.
I don't why I thought the longer I stared at it, that it would suddenly disappear into my eyes, into the shadows of nothingness.
It can't be real. It can't be real. It can't be real.
Those were the only four words that I could recite in my head as I stared down at the two blue lines. I opened and closed my eyes. I stood up and sat down. I opened my mouth and closed it.
It was real.
I racked my brain for several minutes to remember what night this could possibly be the result of. Were we drunk? Tired? Or maybe just plain stupid? Contraception is a strict rule, so strict that I won't even let Nicolas touch me without knowing he has something somewhere in the bedroom.
How the fuck am I already pregnant? I can't be pregnant.
I don't want to be pregnant.
I swallowed a gulp as I read that last sentence, feeling like a sharpened dagger had made its way through my breastbone. I matched the date of the entry with my birthday, and there was no denying this was the day my mother had found out she was pregnant with me.
No one had ever told me I was an accident, let alone an unwanted one.
I swallowed my pride and the few tears threatening to poke out of my eyes as I continued reading the journal entry, back and forth thoughts on whether and how to tell my father. Not at one point in the two pages of writing did I see a single happy musing at the thought of my existence.
