I got home and sat on the couch. I stared blankly at the TV that wasn’t turned
on.
“Are you gonna be okay, Kers?” Graham asked, sitting next to me and
kissing my forehead.
“I don’t know.” I replied in an almost silent whisper.
“Your mom seemed sad that you didn’t talk to her.” he said, turning to face
me.
“I don’t care.” I said. “She doesn’t want anything to do with my kids, I don’t
want anything to do with her.”
“Kersey, I really wish you would talk to her.” Graham said, putting his hand on
my knee. I didn’t say anything.
“Let’s just order a pizza tonight, how’s that sound?” he asked. I nodded.

It’s been a few months since my father’s passing. It has had a huge effect on
me, and I went to a family therapist the first month and a half after. Now, being 8
months pregnant, the doctor told me I need to spend the last couple weeks relaxing,
and not being so stressed out. She put me on a depression medication that I have
had to take everyday for the past two months.
The baby room was coming to a finish. We had three cribs, stocked up on
diapers, and every necessity a baby would possibly need. We were fully aware that
these kids could come any day now.
The phone rang and I reluctantly picked it up.
“Hello?” I said into the phone.
“Hi, it’s mom.” the voice said. I rolled my eyes.
“What?” I said sarcastically.
“I just want you to know I love you.” she said.
“It sure doesn’t seem like it.”
“Well I’m your mother, I do care.” she said. I could tell she was holding back
tears.
“Please call me when you go into labor.” she whispered and hung up.