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Honey- I don't know how to start this letter. I love you and I know that you love me too, but I need you to understand how I am feeling. I know that I have been fighting with you a lot lately and I am sorry, its just that I am so mad at both you and myself. I wonder what would of happened if I said that I wanted to keep our baby...I know that you would of been supportive, but I didn't want to put you through that pressure, because I know what you wanted to do. I know that you are still hurting...I just don't know why we don't talk about it. I need someone to talk to. I feel so alone at times. If I could do it all over again, I would probably tell you that I wanted to keep it. You will never know exactly how I feel, because you never carried our baby inside of you. Our baby was totally dependent on me...and I let it down. It was my final decision, and I know that I could of decided to keep it, but I didn't. I hate myself for it. I feel like now I have lost so many experiences...I will always wonder about my first baby, what she (I believe that our baby was a girl) would of looked like, what she could of became, and everything about her...I wonder where she is. Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a long-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him and a deep mel- ancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards of board fence nine feet high. Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a burden. Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost plank; repeated the operation; did it again; compared the in- significant whitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed fence, and sat down on a tree-box discouraged. Jim came skipping out at the gate with a tin pail, and singing Buffalo Gals. Bringing water from the town pump had always been hateful work in Tom's eyes, before, but now it did not strike him so. He remembered that there was company at the pump. White, mulatto, and negro boys and girls were always there waiting their turns, resting, trading playthings, quarrelling, fighting, skylarking. And he remembered that although the pump was only a hundred and fifty yards off, Jim never got back with a bucket of water under an hour -- and even then some- body generally had to go after him. Tom said: I know that you have been supportive and that you are trying to understand, but I need more. I need you to be willing to talk more. You always tell me that it is not my fault and that it was our best decision...that is not what I want to hear from you...I need you just to listen to me, tell me how you feel and hold me and let me cry in arms...just like you did when I found out that I was pg. Dyf2tfLup2KSWHsBT9PBWsvHEH5p5OqKkRTRaJiSEapT4Dw6 I love you, and I do not want this to ruin our relationship. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but I need you to listen to me more...I need your help. I love you, Christy