Author's POV:
People say that some sins are worse than others. I say, it's the people that commit those sins that make them worse. For example : Hitler was responsible for all those deaths of many innocent people. If the Pope did it, it'll seem worse because he's supposed to set a positive example for his religious followers. Correct? It's the same sin, just different ways to look at it.
People say that mistakes are made in order to teach valuable lessons. I say, mistakes are bound to happen regardless if you learn something from it or not. No one is perfect. If we were perfect, there would be no purpose in life. Gravity wouldn't be needed, change wouldn't exists and the word "flaw" would be an insult. If you don't tie your shoe, you're going to fall. If you wear white on field day, it's gonna get dirty. If you fall in love with a married woman or man, you're going to get hurt. Mistakes are inevitable. Being human is permanent. Perfection is a myth. This story, your story, our stories are the definition of imperfection. Fortunately, for those who accept the truth, will find peace, reason, and happiness in chaos.
Nicole's POV:
I checked out the hospital this morning and my eyes in the back of my head haven't blinked yet. My anxiety has been provoking me to go far away for a very long time. Yet, I rock back and forth holding my bundle of future in my arms. Praying that my plan doesn't backfire. If it does, death. If it doesn't, I have 18 years to fix this.
I look to my left, a woman and her 4 children. The boys were playing around, being boys. The eldest was a girl and she seemed out of place. She glanced at me, then at my arms. I felt ashamed and I could tell she was judging me. I'm a sinner and I know it. As I began to tear up, the girls mother called her name. Regret, she said regret. Suddenly, I felt a jerk and my eyes shot open. No worries, it was just a dream. As the Rapid comes to a stop on Bridge and Broadway, I stand on my feet and dreadfully walk to the exit.
John: "Where the fuck were you?" He said opening the door for me as I stepped in, holding a beautiful baby girl wrapped in a quilt my grand mother made for me. His expression changed as his eyes met with her. He grew speechless and shook his head.
Me: "This is De'Shawn.. your daughter."