I wasn't even sure where I was walking; I was walking to walk, to avoid thinking, feeling, or breathing. Was it possible? Could this have happened? Why was I suffering when I hated him? He used me, told me he loved me, that we would always be together, and as soon as he slept with me... he ran away. He said as if nothing had happened: "Weronika, we can't be together anymore, I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to turn out this way." What was he even thinking, what was he imagining? I felt like a whore who had sold her body for a few kind words. But the worst was yet to come. When I finally pulled myself together, the nausea set in, and from then on, it was a cliché. Two stupid seventeen-year-old brats, unprotected in a moment of oblivion, supposedly out of great love, and now here she was—a little creature in my belly.
I didn't know what to do. Should I tell my parents? They'd hate me, throw me out—a deeply religious family, and then such a slip-up. I went to church—that was the only thought I had. God is someone I don't understand, but I want to believe he exists. I believe he exists, I love him because he always helps me, because he exists. I sat down and cried, then the priest approached me, and as if nothing had happened, we started talking. The strangest thing was that I had no qualms—I told him everything. Maybe it was because it was overwhelming, I wanted to be a little girl again, whose mother braids her hair, but no—now I have to deal with it. Father Maciej told me to talk to Krzyś, to tell him, so we could decide something together, so that this child could be born and have a chance at happiness, just like us.
And then I went to Krzyś, even though after what he did to me, I hated him, I was so terribly upset that he had abandoned me, that… I gave in. I knocked on his door. His mother opened the door, and I was surprised by the look on her face—it was tired, empty—and then a flood of words and tears rolled out: "...the cancer...suddenly...he died in the night...there was nothing I could do about it..." I didn't want to listen any longer, I ran out, and now I'm standing by the lake, crying, and he seems so small, so tiny. God! My child will never know his father, he'll have no one to call "Daddy." Who will he give a card to on Father's Day? Who will tell him about "bees" and all that? My child, even though he's only a month old, is half-orphaned. Krzysiek—why? At the funeral, I couldn't cry; I just threw a small bundle into the coffin, containing a tiny shoe—the shoe of our future child, whom he'll never know. I'm 17 and I'm going to have a child. I'm 17 and I don't know what I'll do if my parents don't accept this news. I'm 17 and I'm a widow. It's not true that I didn't love him, I just hid it from myself.
My baby, we'll manage. I went home and asked my parents to sit down on chairs because I had something to tell them. You have no idea how difficult it was. I started something like this: "Mom, Dad... what I'm about to tell you won't be easy, neither for me nor for you. I know I made a huge mistake and I can never fix it, but this tiny creature I'm about to give birth to isn't to blame. She wasn't even born yet, and she's already half an orphan." I don't know what they were saying—nothing reached me, just two words from my mother: "Get out, get out." God! What did I expect? What did I want? I knew this would happen. Baby, what are we going to do now? I packed my bag and went to church, to Father Maciej. He barely understood me, the words mixed with sobs, and I finally fainted. When I woke up, a beautiful, white angel was standing next to me.
He held my hand and quietly whispered, "Don't be afraid, I'll help you." Only then did I notice that the angel had the face of Krzysztof, my Krzyś. I wanted to scream, but the white room transformed into a hospital, doctors in white coats swarming around me. After an hour, Krzyś's parents came in. They just looked at me, and his mother whispered, "Don't be afraid, we'll take care of you—you're not alone." I started crying again. Mrs. Daria handed me an envelope—it was beautiful, with wonderful flowers and smelled of roses, carefully sealed with a signature for me. I opened it and saw his handwriting. I put the letter aside; I wasn't ready to read it, I couldn't. I didn't reach for it until the evening. In blue pen, he wrote:
"Weronika! I want you to know that I love you, even if I'm no longer here. I had to break up with you; I didn't want you to suffer when I died. I know it's soon, and since you're reading this letter, I'm no longer here. What I experienced with you changed my world. You're the most important person in my life... I dream so much of being able to touch you again, feel your scent, taste your kisses. The night we spent together will remain in our memories forever... Sometimes it feels so unfair. I would love to be with you, to get married, have children, be together forever. Be happy,
Krzysiek."
"We would have gotten married, had children." Honey, we already have a child... that tiny creature beneath my heart. And yet he loved me. And yet he didn't treat me like a whore, didn't take advantage of me. My own parents threw me out, strangers took me in. I don't know what will happen, but I know he's watching over me and our child. I had so many fears when I moved in with his parents: that it would be hard for them to accept me, that I would feel like an outsider. All of that vanished when I entered Krzyś's room. I felt such warmth, such positive energy. Days and months passed. I helped Mrs. Daria as much as I could. I didn't want to be a kept woman—I thought about getting a part-time job, but a minor, and pregnant one at that, doesn't stand a chance. Then one day came, I remember it perfectly. The weather was terrible, no going out for a walk, nothing. I was sitting in an armchair watching some soap opera. Mrs. Daria was preparing dinner. Suddenly, I felt pain—it wasn't like a toothache or a stomachache, it was so unexpected, so special.
I realized it was my child. My little baby kicked me. It was wonderful, I'd never felt like this before. Mrs. Daria ran into the room, and then we both started crying. She sat down next to me. She told me what Krzysiek had said, what he had planned. She said that not a day went by without him mentioning me, that he had planned, that the illness had ruined everything. She couldn't bear to watch him grow weaker with each passing day, how a part of him died each day, and the day she entered the room to wake him and he was already gone... It was the first time I'd seen her cry—she always kept it to herself. My little one was born on May 12th, on a wonderfully sunny day. I was so happy, I wanted to tell the whole world what a beautiful daughter I had. She looked just like Krzyś, she had the same little eyes when she looked at me. I felt like we were the only ones who mattered. Even my parents came to the hospital… strangely contrite, changed. I can't be angry with them, I can't hate them – after all, they're my parents.
My little Dorota was baptized by my friend, my guide, Father Maciej. After the sacrament, I went to the cemetery to see her daddy to introduce them. The little one waved her arms happily, and I stopped crying because I knew it was all thanks to him, that he was still here with me, and even though I can't see him, I feel his presence, his angelic hand. I love you, Krzyś.
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