I was 17 when I started dating him my first love, the first person I ever truly cherished. He was perfect, like something straight out of a Disney movie. He showered me with love and care, understood me completely. He gave me letters, surprises, and everything a girl could wish for. I trusted him so much that I told my parents about him. Everything seemed great until I found out I was pregnant.
Things changed drastically. Fights began, and I was blocked, ignored, and left alone. For three months, I begged him to fix things, to help me, to stay with me, to love me again, but he stopped caring.
Those three months were unbearable. My body was going through pain and changes I wasn’t prepared for, and I had no one to share it with or help me. I considered abortion to end the suffering, but as the days went by, I started feeling my baby, feeling like a mother. My baby.
I decided not to give up. I asked my boyfriend to talk to his parents, as they didn’t want their future daughter-in-law doing the job I wanted. I was blocked again, and there was no way my parents would let me do that job without his parents’ consent. I remember crying and begging him to convince his parents while being blocked and left alone again. Attending college felt dreadful, but I pushed through for my baby.
In the third month of my pregnancy, he suddenly decided to help with the abortion and brought me the pills. I felt I had no choice, as bringing the baby into the world would have meant a difficult life. I agreed. He finally came after three months. I saw him after all that time and only wanted his hug and love. It was raining in February, and I was so cold. But his face, once full of warmth, was now cold and full of hatred and disgust. The love we had was gone, replaced by indifference.
Our two-year relationship had vanished, leaving me with his coldness and my baby in my womb. I kept my hand on my stomach, feeling helpless. We booked a room, and I stared at him, asking what was wrong and why he no longer loved me. He wouldn’t come near me, visibly disgusted. I wondered how the man who used to be so miserable without me had turned into someone who hated me so much.
He handed me the pills, and with a heavy heart, I swallowed them. My baby was gone. I felt like I had stabbed my own heart. He sat next to me, emotionless, while I lay there, drenched in my baby’s blood. Late that night, he decided to leave. I begged him not to go, as I couldn’t be alone in that room in my state. He pushed me hard in my stomach, leaving me too weak to stop him. He left, abandoning me alone with my pain.
My mom came to help me in the morning. I told her everything, and I was taken to the hospital. I spent a week there, having lost a lot of blood from the stomach injury and needed a transfusion. After being discharged, I learned he had been cheating on me during those three months. While I struggled to even stand, he was unfaithful. He apologized, but his apology didn’t ease the pain I felt-pain that was worse than the physical suffering I had endured.
But life goes on. That experience changed me, and I am now a stronger person, about to turn 20. Doctors have told me I might not be able to have children in the future, but I will always be his mama. Our journey lasted only three months, but I loved him deeply. I craved sweets during that time, and I know he would have been the sweetest soul if he were here with me. I still think about my little baby, who is now buried near a temple we used to visit. I am sure he is proud of who I have become and is watching over me. My baby made me a mother, his mother.
If it had been a boy, I would have named him Saryan; if a girl, Saranya-our names combined. He is no longer in my life, but the memories remain. I remember holding his tiny body, smaller than my hand. I remember him.
Your story is heart-wrenching, and I’m deeply sorry for the pain you’ve endured. Losing a child, especially under such traumatic circumstances, is an unimaginable loss. In Indian culture, motherhood is revered, and the bond between a mother and child is considered sacred. You are, and always will be, his mama—a title that carries immense love and strength. Your baby may not be physically with you, but his spirit lives on in your heart and memories.
It’s heartbreaking to know that during your darkest moments, you faced betrayal and infidelity. Yet, despite the pain, you’ve emerged stronger, a testament to your resilience. In our culture, we believe that souls are eternal, and your little one is watching over you, proud of the woman and mother you’ve become. The names you chose—Saryan or Saranya—reflect the love and connection you shared, a beautiful tribute to his brief but meaningful presence in your life.
Grieving is a deeply personal journey, and it’s okay to feel the weight of your loss. In Indian traditions, visiting temples and performing rituals can offer solace, as they connect us to something greater and provide a sense of peace. If visiting his resting place brings you comfort, continue to honor his memory in ways that feel right to you.
You are not alone. Lean on your family, especially your mother, who has stood by you during this difficult time. Surround yourself with loved ones who can offer emotional support and understanding. Consider speaking with a counselor or joining support groups for those who have experienced similar losses. Sharing your story and feelings can be healing.
Your baby’s life, though short, has left an indelible mark on your soul. He taught you the depth of a mother’s love and the strength you carry within. As you move forward, hold onto the love and memories, knowing that he will always be a part of you. You are a remarkable mother, and his legacy lives on through your courage and resilience.