At 18, I was living in a crappy apartment with my future husband and my 6-month-old daughter when I found out I was pregnant again. The first thing that popped into my mind was, “I can't do this—I’m going to have an abortion.” I wish with all my heart that abortion would not have been an option. Deep down inside I didn't want to go through with it. I just needed a big push forward, someone to tell me everything was really going to be fine. But the most important people I turned to for support all told me I would not be able to care for two kids. My boyfriend, my mom, my future mother-in-law, even an ultra sound technician told me during an examination, "It’s a good thing you caught it on time; it’s nothing right now." IT, IT, IT…It was not an IT. It was my child, my baby. But I did not know that then.

I was 10 weeks pregnant when I went in for my abortion. I found out later my baby had a heart beat already. I felt like I got cheated. They could have at least shown me a video on what was really growing inside of me and told me about the consequences of abortion. The Planned Parenthood clinic was horrible. There were many girls in there; they were all sad. One was crying and the nurses kept saying, "Oh, it’s OK. You will feel better later."

But she was wrong, it never gets better.

I felt guilty that I had murdered my child, until I came to rest in God’s fountain of love and mercy. I started to heal, but there is a thick scar that's always going to be there. For me, I know God has forgiven me, but when I look at pictures of my three kids, I know one of my babies is missing. God is all merciful beyond our comprehension and I have faith that I will see my li’l one in heaven one day.