Page 175 of Let You Love Me

My chest tightens as I lower the journal. There it was. The moment I decided I’d keep the burden from them and shoulder everything myself. Only, I did so to the point of destruction, like I’m some kind of fucking martyr.

I flip the pages quickly, only picking up words and phrases as they blur together before my eyes.

Today, Danny Connors called me a slut . . .

I thought Kiera, Jenny, and Amanda were my friends, but today, I overheard them at the lunch table laughing at me and talking about me when they thought I couldn’t hear.

Gabby told them to fuck off.

Guess they’re not my friends, after all . . .

Prom is only a couple months away and I really want to go, but I’m not holding my breath. Most of the kids treat me like a pariah. My old friends see me coming and they do everything they can to avoid me, even crossing the hall to walk on the other side.

I’m five months along now and showing, which is probably part of the problem. Like a fool, I thought maybe Chance would take pity on me and ask me to the dance. After all, Iamcarrying his baby. But then I heard Mira talking with a friend in study hall. Turns out, they’re going together.

It stings just a little.

He and I made a mistake and yet I’m the only one paying for it.

Sometimes it seems unfair, but then I remind myself not to dwell on it since I can’t change it.

Gabby asked me to go with her, but I don’t think I will. I know she likes Kevin Rooney, and rumor has it he’s going to ask her. The last thing I want to do is be the pathetic pregnant friend and play third wheel.

At least I got to go to junior prom . . .

I’m counting down the days until graduation, which is only a couple weeks before my due date. Maybe I’ll even go into labor first, and then I won’t even make my ceremony.

Either way, it’ll be a relief. I’m huge. I can now say with confidence I know how Hester Prynne fromThe Scarlet Lettermust have felt. I might as well have a giant A on my back for how much everyone stares at me . . .

When I returned to my seat after receiving my diploma, the group of kids in front of me snickered. I was so embarrassed . . .

My hands clutch the journal, my eyes watery as I remember how hard those days were. Reading the entries over for the first time feels like reliving them all over again, but I know there are happier days in store, so I flip forward a few pages where the entries morph and change.

After the birth of Sophie, the entries brighten. My words are full of joy and love, instead of despair, and my eyes well with tears just reading them.

She’s so beautiful, the most beautiful thing in the world . . .

I’m three months postpartum, and it’s amazing what breastfeeding can do. I’m back to my pre-pregnancy size, which my doctor also says has a lot to do with how young I am and my body’s ability to bounce back so quick.

I guess there’s at least one perk to having a baby at seventeen.

I was feeling pretty good about myself until I was walking to class and a guy from Sociology came up to me. He has sandy hair that brushes his collar and bright green eyes. The old me would totally think he’s cute, but new me knows better than to even entertain the idea of finding a man attractive when I know it could lead nowhere. Even if I wanted to date, I don’t have time. I barely have time as it is between my gig working from home, classes, and Sophie. But I also know better than to think a college freshman would want to date a single mom to a newborn.

As if to prove myself right, when he asked me out, I told him I wasn’t sure I could get a sitter for my three-month-old and he blanched. Every ounce of blood drained from his face as he took three giant steps back, voice shaking as he said that could be a problem, and, actually, he was busy, anyway.

Never mind the factheaskedmeout.

Then he turned and ran like his pants were on fire.

I document several other similar experiences, not that I was even looking to date, but the more I read, the more I see how right Gabby was. It’s not hard to read between the lines. From the moment I got pregnant, I decided I wasn’t worthy of love, and with the exception of Gabby and my parents, the world around me seemed to agree. All I saw were the weight of my mistakes, and ever since, I’ve been hellbent on correcting them. I used to think I was proving to everyone else—the cruel kids at school, the girls who used to be my friends, all the boys who ran when they found out I had a child—that I was worth something, that I had succeeded and made something of myself.

But now I wonder if maybe this whole time, I was trying to prove it to myself. Ineeded to know I was worth it. I needed proof.

The epiphany hits me like a ton of bricks.

Maybe this whole time, I’ve felt unworthy of love, which is why when it smacked me in the face, I did everything in my power to run away.

The thought sits heavily on my shoulders as I turn back to the journal.

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