I forgot your death day this year. It was two weeks past before I remembered the day I killed you. Aborted was what they called it. In the end it all means the same thing. I wonder if the dark of the womb is the same as the dark of dying. There are a million things I want to ask you but know that you won’t have the answer. Won’t tell me any answers. Your heartbeat is something I will never get over. Really it was all you had and, therefore, it was all I had of you. Every tiny piece of you was growing so quickly. I wonder if you would have looked like me. or Him. He would have loved you. He did love you without ever knowing you as more than a couple pounds on my belly. He noticed the weight gain but didn’t believe me when I told him that you were inside of me. somehow I knew. I was terrified, but I knew. Before the tests and I felt you inside of me, growing into a little heartbeat. I was afraid of you. You were so scary for being so small. Now, I wish I knew you. And afterwards I wished I had had more time to think before I killed you. Terminated you. Aborted you. Any way it’s put I’m the murderer and you’re still a memory of a heartbeat that mimicked mine. Where are you now? You won’t tell me.