The Promise of Life

The Promise of Life
Copyright © 2016 by Soul Fire Press
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act
of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or
transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or
retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author.
The characters in this book are real people, only their names have
been changed to respect their wish for anonymity.
Editor: Jeremy Soldevilla
Cover design: Neil Noah
Paperback ISBN: 978-1945146-06-0
ebook ISBN: 978-1-945146-07-7
Published by
Soul Fire Press
an imprint of
CHRISTOPHER MATTHEWS PUBLISHING
http://christophermatthewspub.com
Boston
Printed in the United States of America

Without counsel plans go awry,
but in the multitude of counselors
they are established.
~ Proverbs 15:22
Over the past few years of my life I have learned how
important this verse is. I’ve seen what happens when I try
to do everything on my own. I’ve seen the inevitable train
wreck that occurs when I have not heeded that counsel,
and I’ve decided that’s not how I want to live anymore.

Danielle's Story
A
doption is an act of love and sacrifice. I know
this because I decided to place my baby for
adoption even though I wanted more than
anything to keep her. It is a choice I had to
learn to live with.
If you have found yourself in the position to have
to make such a choice, it is one that you will have to
live with. It is all up to you, and it is your
responsibility. It is all about a choice.
In nine months, my life had changed completely.
I faced a lot of hardships, made some very difficult
decisions and grew up rather quickly, all because of
some very immature decisions I had made. The
consequences of my actions were swift in coming and
huge in the long term with life-changing results.
Those decisions affected and impacted quite a few
people, not just my life and my future, but the lives
and futures of my entire family as well.
1

The saddest part was that one individual, a baby,
who had no say or guilt in my decisions, as well as no
responsibility for them, would be affected the most by
the choices I would make in the next few months. I
knew my life was going to change, and I knew I
needed help making a good choice that I would be
content with for many years to come. A choice that I
would be proud of and be able to accept.
I had fallen in love with a guy who I thought was
so wonderful. He knew what to say to my heart. His
words made me see him as my perfect guy. I believed
that he was the one person who needed and deserved
my love and commitment. He told me of all the
horrible experiences that had happened in his life,
and there were many—things that I had never even
thought could happen to a person.
He had a sadness about him. Each time there was
a tragic event in his life, it was always the fault of
someone else, and another person in his life had let
him down. It started with that no-good father that
had left him at the age of two and never bothered to
contact him until he was thirteen. His mother, who
was a drug addict and alcoholic. She kept him and
tried to raise him, but she loved the drugs and alcohol
more. He recalled at the age of three she had given
him beer in this bottle. When his mother retold the
same story, she laughed as if it was a moment she
thought should have been on America's Funniest

Videos. I was thinking it should be on Americas Most
Wanted. They both recalled that she had him buy her
drugs when he was old enough to get down the street
by himself.
He didn’t have a job when we met and could not
seem to keep one for the two years we dated, but it
was because of all of the bosses he worked for. They
didn’t know anything. He was the one who was trying
to do their job as well as his own. They always fired
him for no reason.
He was a puppy dog that needed my love and
protection. After all, my life was nothing like his. I
had so much more. I could show him how family was
supposed to be, what love looked like, I could save
him from the world, and I alone would be there for
him when the rest of the world turned their backs on
him and rejected him. It was up to me. I made him
happy. I made him feel loved, and he loved me back.
That’s what he always told me, and I believed every
single word.
A lot of people do not agree with what I did, and
that’s okay. This is my life, my choices, my
consequences, and I am the one who will have to
answer to God for them. It was amazing to me how
many people would voice their opinions about what I
should do, even though I’d never asked for their
advice and they’d never asked for any details about
my situation. Still others would judge and treat me

like a leper and a whore, someone who was not worth
their time. Many of those who judged me were
Christians. It was so heartbreaking and confusing for
me to be treated so badly by people who proposed to
love and spread the good news of God. It was wrong.
After I decided to look into adoption, a neighbor
told me that adoption was not Biblical. Really? I
thought. What about Moses, Samuel and even Jesus,
who was adopted by Joseph! So, yes, I do believe that
adoption is certainly Biblical.
When I first broke the news of my pregnancy to my
entire family, a few family members suggested I "take
care of it" before it was too late. I could not believe
they could even suggest that. I felt so alone and sad.
They hated John, I knew that, but how could they tell
me to kill my baby? They thought it would be so easy
to have an abortion and move on with my life. They
had no clue what impact their words had on me.
I never considered for a minute not giving this
baby a chance to live.
On some days, abortion seemed like a less painful
path, but I could not do that. God had blessed me
with this baby—I could not "get rid of it" by throwing
it out with the trash. Yes, I made a bad decision to
have sex outside of marriage and a bad decision not
to use protection. Those were life-altering mistakes.
No one understood that better than I did. But now I

wanted to start making decisions I would be proud of
in years to come. Decisions made from time spent in
prayer and with wisdom gained from people that had
real knowledge of parenting and all of the
responsibilities that came with being a great mother.
To do that, I first had to free myself of the people who
were influencing me in bad ways: the people I was
living with, my boyfriend and his family, and people
who had no idea what it was to be in my situation.
Waking Up
I will start this story on my 18th birthday. That was
the day that I made one of those choices that brought
me to this point in my life.
I had wanted freedom from my parents for years.
They had rules I didn’t like, and they did not see in
John, my boyfriend of two years, all the potential that
I saw. All they could see was trouble. He was so sweet
to me, so kind, always there to listen—why didn’t they
just give him a chance? Even the neighbors did not
like him. Why couldn’t they see the person I knew?
The guy that only needed a second chance and love
from them? Weren’t they Christians? Weren’t they
supposed to love and help others?
Of course, I didn’t realize until later that being a
Christian doesn’t mean you hurt yourself to help

others. You can’t keep someone else warm by lighting
yourself on fire. That’s not the kind of sacrifices that
God wants us to make.
So, I was 18, and John and I had been dating for
two years. When we had first met he was on
probation for breaking and entering. At that point in
my life I was still attracted to the "bad boy" mentality,
and I had found it in John. John had a lot of anger
issues which were apparent from the beginning, but
he had also been diagnosed with bipolar, which he
was told he needed to take medication for. When he
did take his medication he was fine, but when he
didn’t, he would break things and hurt other people
or himself. It could be very scary to be around.
Nevertheless, I saw in him someone who needed love
and understanding, and I knew I could give that to
him. John treated me so well, I thought. He didn’t
push my boundaries or try and make me do things I
didn’t want to do.
When we began dating I told him I wanted to wait
until I was married to have sex, and he was okay with
that. How many guys are okay with that? I tried
telling my parents that, but they just weren’t
convinced. My mom said that would end the minute
I moved in with him, but I knew otherwise. John
would never push me to do anything like that . . . or
so I thought.

By the time I turned eighteen, John had a place
for us to live. It was close to all the places we needed
to be so that we could walk wherever we needed to go
and carry all of my belongings. Yes, you read it right—
walk. He didn’t have a car or his license or a job—and
neither did I.
The place we lived was also close enough for me
to either walk to school or walk to my grandma’s
house so that she could take me to school. I wanted
to be close to my family—I just didn’t want their rules.
And I wanted to be with John. A family that he knew
was willing to let us live in a room in their house. I
had met them a few times, and they seemed nice
enough. But when we started bringing boxes of my
clothes over, they decided that the room they were
going to rent to us was going to be for their son. They
said we could live in their walk-in closet. I was so
excited about being on my own that it didn’t even
matter to me—I was going to be with John, and I was
convinced that all would be fine.
John had been in an accident a few months back
and had received a settlement of $28,000.00. That
was a lot of money. He said we could get our own
place, but if we stayed where we were, we could save
money and get our own place after we both had jobs
and had the wedding of my dreams. His plan sounded
like a great idea, a dream come true. Couldn’t the
world see that he was trying to make our money last

and that he was only thinking about our future? He
was so smart.
At that point I still wanted to wait to have sex until
we were married. He said he was fine with waiting—
and if that was what I wanted to do, then he wanted
it as well.
However, it did not take long for him to start to
try and change my mind. The same conversations
become relentless: "If I you loved me, you would
show me by having sex with me," or "After all, we are
going to be married soon. It is like we are married
now," and "We are living together. This is what
people do who live together."
He became relentless about it. By having sex with
him, he insisted, he would know that I loved him. I
felt so badly for him. I did love him, and I wanted him
to know that, but I couldn’t see why he could not
understand.
One night, the people we were living with decided
to have a party. Of course, that meant that everyone
there would be drinking alcohol and doing drugs, and
John encouraged me to participate. Until that point I
was not really into that scene, but John was there and
he loved me and would look after me. That was the
night we finally had sex.
It was not at all what I had expected. Yes, it was
my decision to have sex, unprotected, but I was really
not experienced enough to know what I was doing.

John had all the experience—he would make sure
everything was okay. Or so I believed.
Not long afterward, I became very sick and weak,
unable to hold anything down. I wasn’t even able to
move without being in pain. I went to the doctor and
was told I had the flu. The lady that we lived with
suggested I smoke some pot for the symptoms, but I
just kept getting sicker and sicker. My grandma
started coming by to see me, and she would take me
out to lunch. When she took me out to eat, I was
always careful to only eat half of my meal so I could
take John the other half, even though I could have
eaten it all because I was so hungry.
I was not going to school, I was not eating well,
and I was not taking care of myself at all. I was losing
weight and felt faint all the time. She was concerned
for my health, and she let me know it.
Over the next few months my life was consumed
with what John wanted to do: get up late, watch TV,
hang out at the park, smoke pot and just be lazy. And
now we were having sex so that John would know I
really loved him.
I was no longer eating healthy foods and complete
meals like I was used to doing. I ate junk food and
drank soda, if I had anything to eat at all. No longer
did I take time daily to ground myself in God; nor did
I take time for myself to relax and unwind.

I used to take lots of time getting dressed in my
favorite outfits and then changing a few times until I
liked the way I looked. Now I didn’t care how I looked
or even if my clothes were clean as long as I was with
John. I spent all my energy making sure John was
happy and that he felt loved.
This wasn’t the lifestyle I was used to, but this is
what John wanted so it became what I wanted. John
was still unemployed, nor was he looking for a job,
but he was with me, and he said that’s all that
mattered. He told me he wanted to just spend time
with me until he had to go look for a job and be away
from me.
Basically, he wanted to be lazy until we ran out of
money, and I was letting him. I knew that the way we
were living was not smart, but I didn’t want to upset
him.
Very soon I became exhausted, and I started to see
things differently. We couldn’t go out because we had
no car, and he didn’t want to spend any money. He
said we needed to save even though he had no
problem buying pot. He still didn’t have a job. I
realized I really wanted to finish high school and do
something with my life. It wasn’t long before we
started fighting all the time.
After a few weeks, he went out with his friend, got his
license and bought a car. I took this as a sign that

things were going to change. After all, if he had a car
we could go out on our own; he could finally get a job
and our situation would get better. Maybe we would
even be able to get our own apartment.
Wrong.
John could not find an insurance company that he
liked, and the car had no tag so we could not use it.
The fighting continued, and when he didn’t want to
talk anymore, he would get in his car and leave for
hours. I felt helpless. This was not what I had
envisioned with us living together. The fairy tale was
disintegrating rather quickly.
When John finally decided to return to our tiny
walk-in closet, I was still angry and so was he. We
would keep fighting until one of us fell asleep.
John started buying more pot for us. He said it
would make life easier. He promised we would be
happier and not fight as much. But when the pot ran
out so did our patience.
One particular night, John got in his car and left,
to where I did not know. I sat in our "home" fuming
for hours until John walked back in. Without a word
he started looking through his clothes and shoes. I
asked him what he was doing and he told me he was
going to a club with his friend, Alyssa.
He changed his clothes and started to walk out the
door. I followed him, but he was in no mood to talk.

We walked outside, and I saw Alyssa sitting in the
front seat, dressed up and ready to go.
I was pissed.
I told him I would not be here when he got back.
Now it was my turn to ignore him and walk away. It
was getting dark, but I didn’t care. I was too angry to
think clearly. I began walking toward my grandma’s
house just a few blocks away. I could hear John and
Alyssa talking, and then I heard him start the car. It
was dusk, and I didn’t even have any shoes on my
feet. I heard the car drive up behind me, following me
slowly as I walked along.
"Get in the car," he called out to me through the
window.
I continued walking. He drove up a side street and
cut me off.
"Get in the damn car!" he shouted.
I turned around and took another narrower street
that I knew would get me to my destination. He
screeched the tires as he pulled around me to cut me
off again.
"I will physically come put you in the car if you do
not get in right now!" He wasn’t bluffing.
I stood there looking at him trying to decide what
to do. He just stared me down. Defeated, I opened the
door and got in the front seat. Alyssa was now in the
back. She didn’t say anything.

John was a reckless driver to begin with, but when
he was angry he liked to scare people. He took off at
a furious speed and drove back to the house. No one
said anything—the tension spoke for itself.
I was terrified. I got out of the car and walked into
the house. John followed and we screamed at each
other until our throats were on fire. It was intense,
but we eventually calmed down.
John promised to take Alyssa home and come
straight back. When he got back, he had calmed
down. He promised me that he would never again
take off like that. He then handed me the keys so he
would not have them the next time he wanted to run
off.
For a few days there was peace, but then I started
noticing that he was not eating or getting a lot of
sleep. It was about this time I realized something
else; that everything was not as it seemed to be.
John was not sleeping. One night I confronted
him and accused him of doing drugs. He blew a
gasket. How could I accuse him of that? Didn’t I have
faith in him? Didn’t I love him? He made me feel like
I was being stupid—that I was the one who was
wrong. Suddenly, I was the one who was defending
myself—not him. He stormed out of the house in a
huff.
An hour later he came back.

I was lying on the mattress that we’d wedged into
the corner facing the wall. I didn’t turn around to look
at him, even though he sat down next to me.
"I have something to tell you," he said. "But you
have to promise that you’re not going to leave me
when I say it."
Finally, I turned and looked up at him. He was so
sincere.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Promise me," he insisted.
"Okay, I promise."
He just looked at me.
"I promise I won’t leave you," I said quietly.
"I’ve been doing coke. The money from the
settlement is gone. I’ve been snorting coke and
gambling all this time at the casino."
I just stared at him. I couldn’t believe what I was
hearing.
"We’re broke," he admitted. He looked away from
me and stared at the wall.
We had no money, no jobs and my boyfriend was
a drug addict, addicted to cocaine. Plus, I was still
sick—getting weaker day by day.
I was quiet for a long while, and then the mood
changed.
He started to blame me for everything. It was my
fault. I had not shown him I loved him. I made him
angry, so he had to smoke pot and snort coke. Then

he tried to blame God. He said, "I shouldn’t have
gotten the money anyway, so that’s why God took it
away from us."
And as crazy as it sounded, I believed him. Instead
of making a plan to get out of this situation, I started
asking myself how I could show him that I really did
love him and make him happy. Even though I knew
that I was still loyal and committed to this
relationship, I called my mom and decided to go stay
with her for a while so I could figure out what I
needed to do without him yelling and screaming at
me.
My parents were in Virginia at the time, working on a
movie set. They would drive back and forth from
Virginia to Florida to check on the house and my
grandma. I could stay with them for a couple weeks
and then go back to John. That seemed like a good
enough plan.
While I was with my parents, he called all the
time. Every five minutes he was either texting or
calling, not giving me a chance to think.
He would text things like, "Where are you? Why
aren’t you answering?" or "Who are you with? They
must be important since its taking you forever to text
back!" or "You must be having a great time since you
can’t answer the phone." It was suffocating.

Even so, I gave in and made sure to keep my
phone on me so I could answer whenever he called or
texted. He needed to know I loved him. And he kept
saying how sorry he was and how much he loved and
missed me, demanding that I come back right away.
When I said no, he would threaten suicide. If I didn’t
answer the phone, he would accuse me of being with
another guy or not loving him.
Life was so different with my parents. I ate real
food, not just chips and soda, and I could eat anytime
I wanted. I was starting to feel better, physically
stronger each day. There was peace and tranquility
around them, no screaming and fighting, no smokefilled
rooms.
There was just no John, although his phone calls
were constant, and I believed everything he was
saying to me. He was sorry and promised he would
change. He also kept reminding me that the people
he loved had abandoned him his entire life,
insinuating that now I was included in that group.
My parents told me he was manipulating and
controlling me, but I thought they just did not
understand him. Why did they judge him when they
didn’t know all that he had been through?
I had my parents take me back to him.
Once I got back, things got worse. John didn’t believe
I loved him anymore.

"You abandoned me," he would say when I tried
to tell him I did truly love him. I tried everything I
could to show him how much. I intended to convince
him I would stay with him forever.
After a few days we settled back into our routine
of doing nothing all day except being together and
dreaming about our wonderful future. While we were
figuring out what to do, the news came that we were
being evicted from our walk-in closet.
We had five days to get out.
When John told me the news, I broke down. What
were we supposed to do?
The next few days were chaotic. We sold most of
our belongings, but we still had nowhere to go. My
mom said I could move back home again (which at
that moment was still Virginia), but that would mean
leaving John. I couldn’t leave John. He would have
been homeless and alone, and there was no way she
would let him move in with us. I had already asked.
The neighbors that John had become friends with
said we could move into their spare room since they
could see the desperation of our situation and how
terrified I was. However, their offer came with two
conditions. First John had to get a job. The second
was that he must pay rent. They told me that I was
free to stay whether or not he met those
requirements.

We had another chance to make it on our own
without having to move home with my mother. They
helped him get a job, and it seemed as if this was a
new beginning for John and me. While John worked,
I stayed home. I was getting sicker and sicker and
really needed to see a doctor.
One day, my blood pressure unexpectedly
bottomed out. My vision started to go blurry; I felt my
legs give way beneath me. I fell onto a mattress that
was luckily right next to me and felt an intense pain
in my stomach.
John didn’t know what to do. He kept asking me
what was wrong, but I was in too much pain and too
scared to answer. I had no clue what was going on
with me; this was not normal.
Our friend Marissa called an ambulance. John
stood at the end of the room talking to Marissa’s son
when she walked into the room.
"The ambulance is on its way," she said John and
came to sit by me. "Baby," she asked me, "is there
anyone you want me to call?"
"Call my mom," I screamed. "I just want my
mom!"
John reached over to get the phone, then started
to panic.
"We’ve got to move Danielle to the living room!"
he demanded.
Marissa and her son walked over. "Why?"

John pointed to the floor and then the dresser.
"The bongs! The pot! We can’t let her mother see all
that."
I couldn’t even stand, let alone walk myself into
the living room. John and Marissa had to carry me
into the living room and put me down on the reclining
chair.
Before we could do anything else, the ambulance
pulled in the driveway and the medics were at the
door. They could not get the stretcher through the
doorway; it was too narrow, so they explained they
would have to move me.
My head started to pound and their voices
sounded like a jumble of noise. One of the medics
moved the footrest from the recliner over near the
doorway. After that, two of the men helped sit me on
the footrest, and one began looking for a vein to put a
needle in, while the other strapped a blood pressure
monitor around my arm.
John came over to me and put the phone up to my
ear. I grabbed it and willed her to pick up. After a few
rings my mom picked up.
"Hello?" she sounded annoyed. Then I
remembered this was John number, so of course she
was going to be annoyed.
"Hey, Mom."
This time she sounded concerned.
"Hey, honey. What’s wrong? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I’m . . . Well, no,I’m sick. They’re going to
take me to the hospital."
"Who is taking you to the hospital? What’s going
on, Danielle?"
"I don’t know. I’m just in pain. I can’t move."
I knew she could tell I was scared.
"Do you want me to call your brothers? Maybe one
of them could come see you?"
Although I wanted my mom, having my brothers
with me was a comforting thought.
"Yes, please. Mom, I miss you."
Right as the words left my mouth the medic found
a suitable vein, and I felt a rush of cold fluid flow
through my body. I lost all feeling I had left. John
grabbed the phone, and one of the medics caught me
as I collapsed.
"Okay," the paramedic said, "we have to get her on
the stretcher and take her to the hospital. Has she
eaten anything today?"
"Uh," John hung up the phone. "I think she might
have eaten a yogurt this morning." I actually hadn’t
eaten anything that day because everything made me
sick.
Carefully the two men lifted me off the recliner
and onto the stretcher. As the cold liquid flowed
through me, the pain was gone, but so was everything
else.

Once we were in the back of the ambulance, the
first medic started to ask me questions. "How is the
pain?"
I tried to talk but couldn’t, I could move my head.
"I think we need to lower the dosage on this." The
medics turned to talk with each other. I could only
catch a few words here and there. I was still pretty out
of it.
I heard them talking about John, but I couldn’t
figure out what they were saying. The doors to the
ambulance closed, and we began to move quickly.
A short ride later, I was being rolled through the
emergency room doors. I was put into a room and
swarmed by nurses seconds later. John walked in
behind us and was told to sit down in a chair by the
corner. I was shaking all over. Not from the cold—I
was terrified.
By the time the nurses had finished with me, I had
IV’s in both arms and a bunch of blankets piled on top
of me. The meds were beginning to wear off, but the
pain had not completely subsided. Moments later,
two nurses walked in and said they needed to take me
for an ultrasound.
Why would they need to do an ultrasound? There
is no way I am pregnant, I thought.
The entire scenario had me in a state of confusion.
Everything was rush, rush, rush and felt like a blur.

After the ultrasound was finished, the nurses
wheeled my bed back into its original room. Before
John and I could start talking, my brother Jim walked
in. The feeling of relief and joy that came with seeing
my brother was unexpected. I had not seen him in a
few months and I had missed him greatly. Jim sat
down beside my bed.
There was an awkward silence, and then a nurse
walked in.
"Hi there," she said. "We will be back with the
doctor in a few minutes to explain what we found on
the ultrasound."
Once she had left, John said he had to go outside
to make a call and would be back in a minute. As he
left the room so did the tension. Jim and I fell into
conversation.
"So what’s going on with you?" he asked.
"I wish I knew. I’m in pain all the time and I can’t
hold food down. I think I have the flu or something."
"That sounds like a really bad flu, D. Mom thinks
you should move back home."
"You know I can’t leave John."
"I know you don’t want to leave John, but yes, you
can."
We continued to talk for the next fifteen minutes.
Finally, the doctors walked in trailed by a nurse.
The doctor smiled at us and asked, "Aren’t we
missing one?"

"Yes," I answered. "He went out to make a phone
call. He should be back any minute. He should have
been back ten minutes ago, I thought.
"Well," the doctor continued without him. "We
found out why you have been feeling sick and why
your health has been deteriorating. You’re pregnant.
We believe you are approximately three months
along. However, there is also a cyst on your ovary that
we need to take care of. As for the pain, we can’t tell
you where that’s coming from. Everything seems to
be fine, but If you need some relief, Tylenol is okay to
take. It won’t hurt the baby. Do you have any
questions?"
Baby? I thought. Baby?
I shook my head. "No, thank you," I stammered in
a state of bewilderment.
The doctor left the room and the nurse explained
what I needed to do to check out. Just as she left,
John walked back in with a huge grin on his face. I
felt nauseous again. I looked at my brother who wore
a look of deep disgust on his face.
I asked even though I knew the answer, "Are you
high, John?"
"Ha ha, yeah." John was completely stoned, and I
was ready to puke knowing what I now knew. I told
John what the doctors had said about me being
pregnant. He couldn’t have been happier.

Jim had to work in the morning so after he made
sure I was okay, he said his goodbyes and left.
I was in shock. How could this be happening?
What would I do? The thought of telling my mom was
terrifying.
John stood by my bed and handed me the phone.
I dialed the number and listened to the phone ring,
and then she answered. I was so scared. I didn’t know
how to tell my mom I was pregnant. I said it as
quickly as possible and then waited for her to
respond.
"Mom, I’m . . . I’m pregnant."
There was a long pause.
"Mom?"
When she answered, the pain in her voice broke
my heart. "Well, what can I do to help you?"
I just wanted to cry and tell her how scared I was,
but John was there. He was so happy. How could I
tell him what I was feeling? That would break his
heart. Instead, I said, "Just be there for me."
"Of course I will, sweetie. I love you."
"I love you too, Mom. I’ve got to go."
"Okay," she said with all the sadness in the world.
"Just call me tomorrow. Let me know what’s going
on. I’m going to be driving down to Florida, so you
can call me anytime."
"Okay. Bye, Mom."

John grabbed the phone out of my hand and hung
it back up on the wall since the IV’s in my arms
wouldn’t let me reach very far.
"So what did she say?"
"Nothing, she just asked what she could do to help
me."
"I bet she was pissed."
"No. She sounded . . . sad."
"I bet she hates me now." John went on and on
about how my family would have to accept him now.
I simply retreated inside my head.
I could hear the pain in her voice. This was not
just my worst nightmare—it was hers as well. I
wanted to tell her how sorry I was, how scared I was.
I wanted to ask her what the hell I was supposed to
do, but I couldn’t.
All this time, John was standing at the edge of my
bed with this gigantic smile that screamed Victory!
He knew this was what my mom had feared for so
long, and now he was convinced that they would have
to accept him into the family since he had gotten me
pregnant.
My nightmare was his dream come true.
He was dancing around, elated—he would be a
dad and have someone that would love him forever.
I was in shock and had to remind myself simply to
breathe. I knew there was no way we were ready for a
child.

I was humiliated. Three months pregnant, living
with people I barely knew, sicker than I had ever been
in my life, and some days wondering if I was even
going to make it through this pregnancy.
John and I were fighting all the time; there was never
enough money. Even though he had a job, we couldn’t
even buy enough food. I remember one day being so
hungry, but there was nothing to eat in the house
except some old yogurt that had been expired for a
month. John offered to walk to the store to get
something for me to eat, but instead he came back
with spice—his new drug of choice.
I was used to him putting his own wants and
needs above mine, but now he was putting himself
above the needs of the life inside of me. I know this
now, but then I didn’t see it that way. All I saw was
how stressed that he always claimed he felt, and I
convinced myself he deserved something to help him
relax.
The house was full of smoke from four adults that
were chain smokers. Fighting was a norm for these
people. Yelling, screaming, name-calling . . . These
were things I had never been around in my home, and
yet it seemed normal for these people to
communicate with each other like this. In spite of my
stress, it was starting to feel normal.

This was not at all what I had imagined when
John spoke of the life we would have together. I was
starting to see that I didn’t really want to live this way.
After only two weeks of work, John was fired
from his job. This was the straw that broke the
camel’s back. Enough was enough. While John was
watching TV my phone rang. It was my mom; I
stepped outside so we could talk privately. I told her
how I was feeling and that John had lost his job.
Of course, I felt bad for being angry with John so
I started to defend him, saying it was his boss that
had not really given him a chance. This time when she
asked me if I wanted to move back home, I hesitated.
Maybe this is what I need, I thought. Just because I
move back in with my parents doesn’t mean I have
to leave John. We can still be together; maybe this
will be what he needs to get him to work.
I began to think about my life before John. I had
everything I needed. There was always good food in
the house, I was always able to take long showers
after a hard day, I had a comfortable bed complete
with two great dogs who loved to cuddle up on my
pillows and I was surrounded by people who loved
me and never asked me to prove I loved them back.
They just simply loved me.
"Okay, I want to move back," I admitted. She was
quiet for a minute.

"You realize I’m only offering for you to move in—
not you and John."
"I know, but I need to get healthy and so does our
baby."
"Okay, when do you want me to come get you?"
"Tonight."
"All right, I will," she promised.
"I love you, Mom. Thank you."
"I love you too, honey. I will be there in a few
minutes."
Now I just had to figure out how to tell John. I
knew there would be a fight, and the very thought of
it made me nauseous. I walked back into the house.
John was on the porch smoking a cigarette. I started
sweating as I walked towards him. His back was to
me.
Just breathe . . . breathe.
I knocked on the sliding glass door, and he turned
his head. I motioned for him to come in.
"One minute," he held his hand up and motioned
to his cigarette. I nodded and sat down on the couch
to watch TV while I waited. Minutes later he walked
in and hugged me. I gagged at the smell of smoke on
him, it was so strong.
"What’s wrong?" he asked.
Breathe . . .
"We need to talk," I began. "I want to move back
in with my parents."

He was quiet and just stared at me.
"Are you going to say anything?" I asked.
I could see he was livid and about to explode on
me, so I tried to explain why I was doing this. I didn’t
get very far. Predictably, he started yelling at me.
I stood my ground, so he kick-started his regular
cycle of manipulation. Guilt was next: How could I
take this child away from him? I was taking
everything he loved away from him. "Danielle, you
and our child are my world. If I lose you I’ll have no
reason to live anymore!"
"That’s what I’m trying to tell you, John. I don’t
want to leave you, but I have to. I’m sick and I’m not
getting any better. The smoke is killing both of us. I
need to get healthy!" I just couldn’t grasp why he
would not even try to understand.
When he saw that the guilt was not working, he
tried to reason with me as best he could.
He started to recap all the reasons I needed to stay
with him. "Baby, you’re carrying my child. You need
to stay with me so I can take care of you."
"We have been living together for three months
and you’ve done nothing to take care of me."
"I had a job, Danielle. It’s not my fault I got fired.
It was stupid."
"Yeah, it’s always someone else fault, isn’t it? I’m
tired of this. You need to grow up and take
responsibility."

"WE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE A FAMILY," he
screamed in my face. "If you move back in with your
parents, I am never going to get to see you!"
"My mind is made up. I’m moving back home,
John."
"But your parents are going to try and make you
fall in love with someone else," his voice got softer
and more desperate. "I just don’t wanna lose you,
baby. Why can’t you just stay with me so we can work
through this together?"
I tried to reassure him that nothing was changing.
I just had to get out of a stressful environment. He
wasn’t hearing any of it.
Since he wasn’t making any headway with me, the
next go-to strategy in the cycle was to threaten me—
once in a while he would even threaten to hurt my
beloved dogs.
"Danielle if you move out, you’re going to end up
leaving me and I can’t let that happen."
"No!" I tried to tell him. "I would never leave you,
I love you, and you know that!"
"Do you?" His face showed nothing but betrayal.
"Because I really can’t tell right now. Do you really
want to have my baby and marry me? You need to
prove it."
"I’ve been killing myself trying to show you I love
you! What else can I do?"

"This is all because of your mom! She’s going to
turn you against me! I hate that bitch!"
"John!"
"No, Danielle, you know it’s true!"
After the threats, the whining and crying always
followed. Once again, he turned it all around, it was
entirely my fault. I was the bad guy, taking his child
away from him, and he was just an innocent victim.
"I am her father! She needs me!"
I didn’t know how to respond to him. Nothing I
said convinced him I was not trying to hurt him. My
energy was draining quickly; arguing with John
always made me tired. After the whining and crying,
the belittling began. He was good at name-calling and
talking down to me. "I always knew you would end up
leaving me."
Was he just ignoring me? I had told him over and
over again, "I am not leaving you!" Yes, I was moving
out, but I was not breaking up with him. Anger was
starting to well up inside of me.
John just went on and on. "Nothing I do will ever
be good enough for you! You’re such a selfish bitch!
You just want to move out so you can break up with
me and get back with one of your ex-boyfriends. I
can’t believe I trusted you! You’re a slut! You played
me!"
He even tried to say I had only wanted his money
and now that all his money was gone, I didn’t want

anything to do with him, even though he had thrown
away his life for me.
Lastly, he tried to quote the Bible, "A wife is
supposed to follow her husband! You have to do what
I tell you because God says to obey me!"
I had grown up in a Christian home. I knew the
commandments and I knew my Bible stories. I didn’t
know nearly enough to refute this.
The Bible says a wife is supposed to follow her
Godly husband. First of all, we weren’t married, and
second, the way John was treating me was not the
way a husband is supposed to treat his wife.
God does not want a person to be hurt and
abused—that’s not love. God clearly explains His love
in the Bible, and it is beautiful. Love is patient and
kind, not threatening and angry. If I had remembered
the way love is explained in the Bible I would have
seen that this entire relationship was not based in
love.
For the first time, I saw through his arguments
and tantrums and blame. I knew I needed to think
about the life growing inside me and what was best
for the both of us—not John.
I looked at him and said, "I am not leaving you. I
am leaving this house so this baby and I can become
healthy." I turned around and continued packing the
rest of my belongings.

The next thing John did was also predictable. He
walked away. He went to a friend’s house and started
getting high. I continued packing and fuming over the
way John was acting.
As I was closing up the last few boxes, he showed
up again and started the same pattern of behaviors as
before.
Something inside me just snapped. I was
pregnant and sick, and he had done nothing to help
the situation or me—and yet, he was screaming at me
and telling me how selfish I was.
I had already made it clear that I was not leaving
him —I was just moving in with my parents to get
healthy and give our baby a chance to develop in a
safe, healthy environment, but if he didn’t get his life
together, I was going to leave him. I let him know that
I had had enough and was not going to take his
whining, complaining or his anger anymore; it was
detrimental for our baby and me.
I tried to push past him and started walking
toward the stairway. He blocked my way, physically
preventing me from leaving.
I kept thinking, This is ridiculous! I just want to
go home! I was too tired to fight again, my feet hurt
from standing so long. I was weak and exhausted.
There was no way I could go around him since the
staircase was too narrow. Telling him to move was

useless since he really didn’t care what I wanted right
then.
I decided at least inside I would be able to sit
down while he yelled at me. I tried to go back inside.
I opened the door and stepped one foot in, but John
was not going to let me leave. He grabbed the door
handle and yanked it back, hitting my stomach and
head. I started to cry.
He immediately fell to his knees and started
crying and apologizing. He said he didn’t mean to, it
was an accident, I should not have tried to leave, and
I should have just let him talk to me.
There it was.
He could not take responsibility. It always had to
be someone else's fault, and that someone else was
always me.
"If you wouldn’t have [fill in the blank], then I
wouldn’t have had to do that." And "I would rather
cut off my own hands than hurt you!" He kept saying
that over and over again.
John had his hands on my hips and his head on
my stomach. He was crying and pleading with me to
forgive him. "I didn’t mean to, Danielle! Oh, God! I’m
so sorry, I didn’t mean to!"
"Let me go, John!" I was scared and shocked. I
wanted to get away from him, but he would not let go.

"It’s not my fault! You were trying to leave me! I
didn’t mean to hurt you! Please stop trying to leave
me! I don’t want to lose you! I can’t!"
"Let GO!" I screamed.
He just held me tighter. He got up and wrapped
his arms around me, but it didn’t make me feel safe—
it made me feel trapped.
"If you weren’t trying to take my baby away none
of this would have happened! Can’t you see what
you’re doing? You’re ripping our family apart! Look
at what you’re doing!"
My crying and his hysterics brought Marissa and
her son out to the already crowded porch. She started
yelling at John telling him he needed to get off her
property.
They started screaming at each other.
"I just want to talk to Danielle! I’m not leaving
until I get to talk to her!"
I sat in the corner of the porch with my arms
wrapped around my stomach, bawling my eyes out.
Marissa and her son were slowly trying to push John
away from me by moving in front of me to block his
path.
"You’re going to end up giving your girlfriend a
heart attack and killing this baby!" Marissa yelled at
him.
Her son started in as well, "Yeah, man, you really
need to go."

John was not daunted by their efforts. "She is my
girlfriend and that is my baby! You need to stay out
of my business!"
Marissa’s son got in John's face, "You don’t even
take care of her! We take better care of her than you
do! You sit around and get high while she is in
constant pain! What’s wrong with you?"
Marissa was standing in front of me, but moved
closer to John forcing him to back down one of the
steps. "This is my house. I have told you to leave. If
you’re not off my property in the next thirty seconds,
I’m going to get my bat and I will make you leave!"
Finally my mom, who had arrived and was
downstairs in the car waiting for me, came out to see
what the problem was. Everyone was yelling and
shouting at John to leave. My mom took out her gun
to threaten him; I jumped to my feet, and my blood
ran through my heart like ice.
I knew how much my mom hated John, but could
she really kill him? I wanted him to leave—not die!
My mom held the gun, but pointed it at the ground.
She was yelling at John but not aiming at him.
My heart started to beat again; I knew she would
not shoot. I was scared and mad and completely
confused. I felt bad for John and wanted to talk to
him. Marissa told John she would call the police. He
stopped yelling for a minute, but still didn’t move.
Everyone stood there staring down everyone else.

Finally, my mom dialed 911. A minute later we
heard the sirens. John was running off in the opposite
direction. He was on probation and a violation would
mean serious prison time.
I was an emotional wreck; my legs were starting
to shake, and I was too tired, both physically and
emotionally. I could feel my blood pressure dropping,
and I had to sit down. Why did everything have to be
so full of drama, so emotionally draining?
This pregnancy was turning into a nightmare. I
grabbed the wooden railing and wobbled down the
stairs. I had planned on getting to my mom’s car so I
could sit in a chair, but my legs were about to give out,
so I sat down when I was at the bottom of the stairs.
My mom put her gun back in the car and came to sit
by me. I held my head in my hands and tried to
breathe while she stroked my back. I could hear her
and Marissa talking, but I wasn’t listening to what
they were saying.
A few moments later a police car pulled into the
driveway and two men in uniform got out and walked
over to us. I could hear the clinking together of their
keys and then my eyes went straight to their guns.
What would they do to John?
"Hey, so what’s going on here? Fill us in," the
officers said. They were looking at my mom, so she
explained what had just happened. When they were

finished with her, one took off to look for John and
the other came to sit beside me.
"How are you doing?"
I was a little surprised, he sounded so kind and
genuine.
"I’m doing okay."
"So your mom just told me what happened, but
I’m a little confused. Did this guy hit you intentionally
or was it an accident?"
"He didn’t hit me. It was an accident. He was
trying to close the door, and I was in the way."
"You were in the way?" he questioned.
"Yeah, I was trying to open the door and go inside,
and he closed it at the same time. He only wanted to
talk. It’s not his fault."
I heard the officer sigh. "I’ve seen this way too
many times, and this guy is never going to change
unless you stop making excuses for him and make
him take responsibility. It’s only going to get worse.
He may not be hitting you yet, but that’s where this is
leading to." The officer was kind and at the same time
firm.
"He’s not like that. It was just an accident. He said
he would rather cut off his own hands than hurt me."
They asked me if I would be pressing charges. I
told them I definitely did not want to press charges,
but I was afraid of him hurting himself. He constantly
threatened suicide and homicide.

One of the cops looked at me and said, "I’ve seen
this a million times. You are going to be dealing with
this for the rest of your life unless you do something
to change it."
Until I pressed charges and made him accept
responsibility for his actions, which were
unacceptable, he was not going to change. He was
unstable and needed help that I could not give him.
They said if they found him, they would not arrest
him unless they thought he was a threat to himself or
others. All would be well.
I filled out a report and said I did not want to press
charges. That was the end of it, and the policemen got
in their car and drove off.
My muscles seemed to tighten with every breath I
took. It was cold, and he had nowhere to go. I did not
want to be around him at that moment, but I wanted
him to be safe. His dramatics were really starting to
weigh on our baby and me.
I was still losing weight and vomiting constantly.
Even the tiniest physical exertion left me exhausted.
I was sick and so was this baby. After the police left,
my mom sat down on the steps next me and wrapped
her arm around me.
"I’m so tired of this," I told her. "Why can’t he just
listen?"
"Maybe he just doesn’t want to, honey."

"It’s not like I’m leaving him, I told him that. I just
wanted to leave this house."
"You know you’re going to have to do this on your
own, right?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, John is not going to be any help to you
and this baby. He can’t hold down a job or even buy
you food. He is not going to change once the baby gets
here."
I stared at my feet. He’ll change, I thought. I just
need to talk to him and help him realize how he is
acting. He really didn’t mean to hurt me.
"Can we go home now?" I asked.
We gathered the rest of my belongings and drove
the short way home in silence. Although I just wanted
to go to sleep, the night’s activities kept me wide
awake.
My mom explained to me that the stress I was
feeling was hurting not only me but my baby as well.
When my muscles contracted, my stomach did too.
That couldn’t be comfortable for the baby.
My mom made me a cup of hot tea and suggested
I take a bath to relax myself. The hot water
immediately released the tension from my body, and
I finally did start to relax.
The tea felt warm and comforting as I sipped.
Peppermint, my favorite. I felt every muscle begin to
loosen and a smile made its way to my lips. I made

the mistake of bringing my phone into the bathroom
with me (in case John should call), and, predictably,
after only a few minutes, it rang. Before I could even
say hello, John began screaming into the phone:
"How could you let your mom pull a gun on me?
Why didn’t you stand up for me? This is my baby! You
have no right to take this baby away from me!"
All the tension that had eased out of my muscles
from the warmth of the water came back in full force.
The bath water turned cold in an instant.
"I had to walk eleven miles to my aunt’s house in
the middle of the night because of you! This whole
thing is YOUR fault!"
There was nothing I could say but sorry, and for
him it was not enough, so I hung up. He called again
and again and again. I turned my phone off.
I had moved out to give this baby a better chance and
become healthy again and that’s what I was going to
do, no matter how much John screamed at me and
blamed me for everything that was wrong with the
world.
I started to see that making one good choice led to
my being able to make another. By moving back
home, I had good food, a bed, a place to be calm and
to relax.
I also had my mom to help me. She knew the
benefits of holistic medicine and took me to her

acupuncturist. After the first visit, the change was
glaringly apparent. It brought color back to my skin,
and I was able to walk without being in constant pain.
I could even keep down some food.
It took a week of my being away from Marissa’s
house to get the smell of smoke out of my skin and
hair. My mom made me wash everything that I
brought into the house one, two, even three times.
The smoke was making her sick, and I could not even
smell it.
When I eventually got the smell out of my skin I
noticed the difference. I could walk without being
dizzy all the time. It was fantastic!
Acupuncture became a weekly occurrence, and I
was grateful for it. My stress levels went down, and I
even began to gain a pound here and there. The
acupuncturist put me on some vitamins and
supplements, which greatly helped lower my stress
levels and stopped the constant feeling of nausea.
Now that I could think more clearly, my mind was not
weighed down with constant worry or fear of
upsetting John.
Then came the next better choice: to finish high
school. I did not have that much left to accomplish to
receive my diploma, but I had been too absorbed with
John and our "perfect life" to think of anything else.

I had been doing a Christian homeschool program
which involved me going into the actual school every
week so that I could take tests on what I had learned
and move on to the next level.
I had never been their favorite student, but now it
seemed like I had leprosy. The teachers looked at me
with such hatred and disgust. My friends were
overjoyed to see me and excited to hear all about this
new baby, but the staff treated me with hostility and
gave me the coldest looks they could.
I tried to focus on the tests and ignore their
judgment, but as I kept failing each test, I had to ask
for help. They acted as though the other students who
came in to test were more important than I was
because they hadn’t gotten knocked up. It was
humiliating to be treated like this. These were
supposed to be Christians.
I was getting nowhere, but where else could I go?
If I tried to transfer to another school I would have
triple the work that I had to finish now. Most of my
credits wouldn’t transfer over to another school. I
didn’t have that kind of time.
I wanted to be finished with school by the time my
baby came. My due date was only four months away.
How was I going to keep a job, finish high school, and
raise a baby all at the same time?
I told my mom how I was being treated and how
lost and scared I was feeling. She started to research

pregnancy centers and other places that could
possibly be of help to me. She found one that stood
out. It was called Life's Choices. She called and
explained to them what was going on. They said they
could absolutely be of help.
It was a long drive out there, but we didn’t know what
else to do. I was a bit hesitant at first. I did not want
to go into some group full of pregnant girls and
explain my life to them, and I especially didn’t want
to see all these "perfect couples" expecting their
bundles of joy and be the only single mother there.
My life was a mess, and I didn’t buy into the idea that
having everyone know my business would make a
difference. Luckily, it was not what I had been
expecting.
When I walked into the building, there was a
small waiting area with the reception counter and a
corner full of children’s books and toys. There was a
couple waiting with their child. A few of the women
greeted me with smiles. They told me my counselor’s
name would be Claire and that she would be out in a
moment.
Sure enough, Claire came out and led my mom
and me back to a room for just the three of us. I was
so relieved. There were no big classes or happy
couples to make me feel inferior. Everyone in that

place was there to learn and to find someone to help
teach and guide them.
Claire explained to me that she was there to help
me in whatever way she could, with whatever choice
I made. I told her how I was so confused and lost and
I only wanted to do what was right for this baby.
That was when the topic of adoption came in.
We spent the next hour talking and going over a
plan for the next few sessions. Did I want to learn
parenting and job skills? Or did I want to look at
adoption? Was John going to be coming with me?
What was his influence in my decision?
At first I thought John would be a very important
part of this decision; this was our baby after all, but
the more time I spent away from him the more I
realized what he wanted didn’t matter.
In fact, what I wanted didn’t matter.
The only thing that mattered was what was best
for our baby, and it didn’t seem like John was
interested in finding out what that was.
I looked through a few adoption pamphlets, while
my mom told Claire about how things had been for us
thus far.
While I sat there, I decided I did not know what I
wanted. I had never thought of adoption as an option
for me. I thought, "I love my baby. How could I just
give her away?" I knew how John would feel about
it—he would be completely against it.

But maybe I wasn’t.
I told Claire that I would be open to looking at the
possibility of adoption, but I still wanted to look at
parenting this baby as well. She said I could
participate in their Earn While You Learn class,
which involved me watching videos of a baby’s
development and filling out homework on those
videos, as well as learning the necessary skills
involved in being a good parent. Some of those skills
were how to breastfeed, how to bathe a child, how to
eat in a healthy way and what to avoid eating and
drinking.
This concludes the preview.
You may order the book at
www.christophermatthewspub.com
or online or at your local bookstore