What Now? Do I Tell Him?

To tell, or not to tell?

It's difficult to sneak around behind a man's back with a urine test in your hand, trying to look as if your entire world hadn't been turned upside down. I was at my boyfriend's when I took the tests and got the positive.

I had concocted a very gallant plan in my mind when I saw the second line on my test, indicating a positive result. It had been my idea to use the ovulation predictor kit. I talked him into not using the condom during those five days. (Five days, five times! That's all it took! Afterwards, we went back to using condoms so as not to tempt fate. Ah, the irony of it all!) As far as I saw it, I was the one who was solely responsible for this accidental pregnancy. And I was going to bear the consequences to the very end, and carry this secret with me to my grave.

We went on a short field trip with a mutual friend, and I thought I was doing quite well, playing the role of a girlfriend with no secret to hide. He asked me once or twice what was wrong, but I just said, in my usual, cheerful voice, "Nothing, why do you ask?" I smiled at him, and he believed me. Oh, I felt so guilty. He trusts me. He believes me. Should I not trust and believe in him, too?

All during the trip, my mind was distracted with plans of how to conceal the consequences from him. There was no question, of course, of whether I would be continuing or terminating the pregnancy. We are both poor, with huge loans from school, and no jobs in sight. His family is thousands of miles away, and mine is a conservative one of Asian heritage which would not support such a reckless undertaking as plunging headlong into parenthood without even the slightest bit of security for our future child. I knew what I was going to do, but the question was now whether I would do it alone, or with him by my side -- or risk losing him altogether, whether from the consequence of having hidden it from him, or from having told him in the first place.

We came back, and were alone again. I asked how much he trusted me. Implicitly. I asked him if he wished me to be completely honest with him, or if he would understand that there would be times when I wouldn't be able to share things with him. He said he would understand, but that he hoped that I would trust him enough to be able to share things with him.

He had an idea of what was going on, I think. I had been looking through the drawer with the pregnancy tests that morning, as he got ready to shower. What is it? He asked. I couldn't answer. Should I lie again, and say "nothing" yet again?

I smiled and looked away, and he said, "Pregnant?"

I shook my head, sadly. "I'm so sorry," I said. I don't remember the next few minutes other than saying "I'm sorry" over and over again, and crying into his shoulder, and feeling his hand stroking my hair, trying to comfort me.

"It's my fault, it's all my fault," I said. "I was the one who insisted, I was the one who did all the research into this and thought it was safe and convinced you."

"It's no one's fault. I agreed to it," he said. "It takes two." Even at a time like this, we could laugh at ourselves. But there was another to think of now. "It was an accident. Not even condoms are 100%..."

"I'm so sorry." I cried and cried.

I am so, so sorry.