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It was mid-morning, right as I was sitting down for breakfast when I felt it slam into my body like a fucking truck. I breathed harshly, completely taken off guard. It was painful, but it could’ve been nothing. When it happened again a couple of minutes later, I knew.Bean. She was coming.I went and packed myself an overnight bag, taking all the things I’d planned. Some extra clothes, toiletries, a few outfits and booties and headbands for Bean to wear in the hospital. I packed up everything I needed, all the while biting my lip through the contractions, needing to sit every time one rolled through my body. It was excruciating.I called Wes.“Hey, babe,” he said, and I could hear the click clack of a computer keyboard. He was likely researching for surgery or doing reports.“It’s time, Wes.”There was a pause. “Now?”We were two weeks early, but Bean was ready. Another contraction, and I was left groaning and gasping.“Yes, now,” I said through gritted teeth.“Fuck, holy fuck,” he said,. I was either playing with all my chips on the table or I was sitting it out completely. During those celibate years I would wonder if my fate was to be married to my right hand for the rest of my life. The failed marriage had left me feeling that I was not desirable; that I was incapable of attracting a truly desirable woman. Most of my relationships were with damaged women who had little to give me, and no way to grow into a healthy relationship. Why were they damaged? The reasons varied, but the fact is that I sought them out. I figured that with them I had a chance of getting lucky for a day or two. I didn't give myself a chance with women who weren't damaged. I didn't try. Or ... you could say with some honesty, I didn't know how. In all honesty, maybe I still don't.My second marriage lasted exactly thirteen years. The divorce was granted by the court on our wedding anniversary. (The odds are 364:1 and considering 365 random things probably happen each day, it's not as unlikely.
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