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Ask me as a teenager and I would have insensitively said, ‘Get rid of it, I’ve got a life to live.’ Ask me before meeting Sasha, as a young man, and I would have said, ‘Meh, what happens is what happens.’ But in that moment, when I first learned of her abortion, it seemed to me that both parties in such a situation deserved a say. By making the decision without telling me, she had decided I wasn’t worth dating, that all I’d ever be was her castaway. I busied my hands, stacking my books along the windowsill, keeping preoccupied through our discomfort. Sasha probably wished she had never told me, that she’d kept it a secret, another facet of her life I might never have been privy to. Her eyes turned to the sheetrock and she, seated on my bed, became cold and silent. I cried later that day as I thought of Sasha alone, in a sterile doctor’s office, scared and afraid, doing what she believed was right without me by her side.I wanted to yell, but I merely shook my head, over and over, unable to accept the implications of her decision, that she ended us in the most painful of ways. I would have been there regardless of the decision, even though it seemed that she never would have welcomed me. We’d grown serious quickly and had already discussed what we’d do in this situation.* * * lexa scheduled the appointment at a clinic and she asked if I would join her.Several other men sat in the reception area, a homey room decorated in muted earth tones.And, I realize now, that such reasoning does not justify my faulting her for making the decision without me.But, deep down, I still wish I’d been a part of the process.For the entire duration of our illicit relationship, Sasha had been with another man.She’d been dating him for two years, and things had gone stale.

I understood Sasha’s decision on its face, but at the time wished that it had not severed whatever chance I thought we’d had at becoming something more.I was moved at how perplexed each one seemed when he wasn’t allowed past the waiting room to where the patients sat alone.Perhaps some of them were relieved, even if we’d all come to be there at our woman’s side. She and I sent text messages to each other, keeping in contact while she went through three hours of tests and, later, the procedure.The boxes of books I was holding nearly fell from my hands. “Come on, Ken,” she whispered, and looked the other way.“Hey there,” I said, hoping she’d notice my cool indifference. * * * ince that day I have thought often about the child Sasha and I conceived.

I understood Sasha’s decision on its face, but at the time wished that it had not severed whatever chance I thought we’d had at becoming something more.I was moved at how perplexed each one seemed when he wasn’t allowed past the waiting room to where the patients sat alone.Perhaps some of them were relieved, even if we’d all come to be there at our woman’s side. She and I sent text messages to each other, keeping in contact while she went through three hours of tests and, later, the procedure.The boxes of books I was holding nearly fell from my hands. “Come on, Ken,” she whispered, and looked the other way.“Hey there,” I said, hoping she’d notice my cool indifference. * * * ince that day I have thought often about the child Sasha and I conceived.We had traveled to Istanbul, Turkey, eager to see the world after saving up enough money for a summer trip. When we got to what appeared to be the entrance, we found arrows on the floor which indicated women were to turn right. I was terrified of showing anyone my small breasts. Growing up in a family of six as a Muslim-Bangladeshi American, I was always the flat-chested one.