17 and Pregnant.

My mother wasn’t dead yet. She was still breathing through these tubes, that were all over her body. The doctors said she had a good chance of waking up, though I didn’t believe them. She hadn't woken up in almost two month, by now all the hope I once had faded. I didn’t believe in this wonder anymore. I didn’t want to let go either. Maybe the day came, maybe she really was going to come back to life.

When I left the hospital, the only person I never wanted to see again, crossed my way. It was my father.

"What are you doing here, whore? Can't you just leave your mother alone, now that you killed her?", he started yelling. I knew he was drunk, I could hear it in his voice. Someone even had to hold him back so he didn’t get over me. He would've beaten the crap out of me. I knew him. I had dealt with this for years.

He thought it was all my fault, though it was his too. He had beaten my mother for quite some time, she was desperate to leave him, though it was against her religion. It was a sin to get divorced, like god told her. My father was religious just like her, though he was an alcoholic. He drank a lot. Every evening he came home drunk, I only tried to get to my room as fast as possible, locking myself in, so he wouldn’t be able to beat me. Instead he always beat his wife. The one who didn’t deserve any of the shit she had to take.

Now that my mother was in the hospital, not even breathing by herself, my father blamed me for everything. Maybe he even lied to me. Maybe she wasn’t looking for me, but had had enough of the beating, just wanted to get away.

I wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. He had told more lies in his entire life, than he had told the truth. I despised my father, I always did.

Actually, I haven't even been sad that he abandoned me for one second. I just got out, when he told me to, partly even happy about the fact that he hated me. At least we felt the same way for each other.

I knew it was mean, and no one should've ever said that, but I truly hoped that my father's obsession with alcohol and night clubs would've gotten him cancer in the end. I hoped he would've turned out to lie in the hospital, suffering from his disease.

My baby should've had a future with two parents and all of his grandparents, but I actually preferred the kid to have just me, Max and Max' whole family, rather than having to deal with my father. It was always hard for me to live in the same house as him, I didn’t want my baby to go through the same.

I didn’t even bother looking back at my still yelling father, before I stepped into Max' car. My boyfriend had been coming along while I was visiting my mother, he knew her well, he wanted to say good-bye to her too.