My mother stands by the sink with her fingers wrapped around her coffee mug while the bed of her nails turns white. I sit at the kitchen table and my hand keeps making small circles on my stomach trying to rub off what is inside. She throws her cup into the sink that shatters into pieces that she won’t be able to put back together. I stop rubbing my stomach and start petting it. I can’t even do that. Mike doesn’t want anything to do with me or the baby. “I can’t give my baby up, I won’t.” “It hurts to bad now. I can’t imagine it ever going away.” My throat grows tighter and my eyes sting with pain. I start to feel short of breathe. My throat relaxes and my eyes no longer sting but become