A Beginning Without an End

Chapter Twenty-nine
A Beginning Without an End

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Based on a true story

Breaking up with someone can show you one of two things: how much you need them, or how much you don’t.
    The next morning after Mark and I decided to take a break, I didn’t want to get out of bed. Intense pressure weighed onto my chest, pushing down, making me cry and ache from lack of breath. I didn’t quite know how to deal with this since I’d never known that a mental issue—like a breakup—could affect me like this.   
    After fighting to drag myself from bed, I donned my best smile and got my children off to school and daycare. Some computer-work needed to be finished for the airline; I could barely concentrate. That’s when my mom called.
    “Gina, are you okay?”
    “No. Mark wants to have kids.”
    “Oh, Gina! You can’t have more kids. You know what the doctors said. Mark is great, but your body can't handle any more pregnancies.”
    “I know…. That’s why we’re taking a break--probably for good. He’s thinking about things. It was my idea; I want him to realize that we’ll never work out if he wants a baby. It breaks my heart.”
    She sighed into the phone. I wondered how hard it would be to see one of my own daugthers go through heartbreak after heartbreak. I really felt bad for my mom. “I don’t know what to say," she finally stated, "other than that you’re so strong. You’ll make it through this too. If it's meant to be, it'll be.”
    “I’ve gone through so much, Mom. But to lose him--after finally knowing what it’s like to be with someone who fits me so well, and is kind, and generous, and loves the kids—" Then I was sobbing, uncontrollably.
    After we hung up, that’s when I felt compelled to write our story, Mark. To tell you all of the details, how I fell in love with you, from my stupid job as a security guard, from our little talks and our friendship, to our first kiss in that rocky cave.  I know we might not work out, I know, but I wanted you to realize how much I care, so I can always have these memories to hold dear. And maybe if I write everything down, you won't forget me either.
    I’ve typed, so many chapters that they’ve almost filled an entire book. Not because it's something that makes me rich, or comfortable…it’s just something I've done to cope. And this is the first time I’ve found myself writing a story that I don’t really know the ending to. Most authors, plan the end first so they’ll know where to start. But I couldn’t plot “our” story out, not this time. And I’m hanging on, wondering if you’ll ever even read this….
    
    I thought about all of this for what seemed like an eternity.
    We didn't talk for several days that week, until you finally called me....

    "Gina, I'd like to meet with you, just to talk about how both of us are feeling. It seems only right, to meet in person."
    "Okay," I said, trying to keep my voice from sounding sad. "Can we go where you hung that hammock a few weeks ago?"
    "Sure. That's all right with me."
    And so we decided to meet the following day.
   

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