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That second time, I didn’t know what to do, and neither did Danny. I ended up having an abortion. And it was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my whole life. I was devastated. I did it and we both cried. We were both destroyed and not long after that we fell apart and broke up. I couldn’t live with myself. Danny went off to join the band on a cruise ship that traveled through the Caribbean. I went and traveled through Europe on a Eurail Pass for a couple of months. All the while, I could not believe that I had had an abortion. I was so upset with myself. So I made a plan. I planned and I plotted and I schemed. I pinpointed exactly when I was ovulating—I even went to Memphis first to hang out with my aunt Patsy and work out how to make it happen. It was a group effort. I had it down to a science—then purposely planned a trip to see Danny on the ship. We went to the island of Aruba or somewhere for the night. I remember getting back on the ship hoping I’d fucking done it. Danny had no idea of my plan. But I didn’t really care anymore what he thought about it. I didn’t care if he wanted to be part of it or not. I felt that I had to redeem, to make amends, because I still couldn’t believe I had had an abortion. I thought, I’m going to have this child. There is a child that I need to be having. I would be talking to the lost child, saying, “I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I fucking did that. Please forgive me and stay with me until I get pregnant again.
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