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I was sixteen when I first met my girlfriend. We dated for almost a year before we had sex for the first time. I was a junior in high school and I was having the time of my life. I was a member of the math team, drama club president, a football captain, and I was recently inducted into the National Honor Society. My girlfriend, who was class president, a cheerleader, yearbook editor, and another NHS member, was my best friend and my life.

She started to act a little strange in March of our junior year. Prom was around the corner and it was the highlight of junior year. She was supposed to be having the time of her life, but nothing could make her happy. Then she began to get tired and weak and she felt sick all the time. I was just too dense to pick up the signs.

One Saturday she canceled our plans and told me that she had to head into Boston with her mom for the day. She refused to tell me why and none of her friends would answer my questions. I knew that something was wrong by the secretive way she was acting, but I never expected she was pregnant. It just didn't happen to people like us.

I tried calling her house that night, but she wouldn't talk to me and her mom and sister refused to take my messages. Finally she called me that Sunday. "I did something horrible," she told me as she cried. "I killed my baby. I killed our baby."

I'm not sure that either one of us will ever forget that weekend. We broke up a few weeks later. I just couldn't deal with the fact that she went ahead and had the abortion without even telling me she was pregnant.

It is eleven years later, and we are both married. She has a beautiful daughter and my wife is expecting our first child. I am very much in love with my wife and I can't wait for the baby, my first son, to be born this summer. Despite how much I love her and the baby, I always drift back to that first relationship and that baby that never got a chance.