I always thought I’d have a child at 27. That’s the age my mother had me, the age my grandmother was when she had my mother. But when I became pregnant at 27, it wasn’t the way I had seen it.

My husband at the time had begun an affair a few months prior, which at this point I was still unaware of. What I did know what that he was unhappy, I was unhappy. I had been using a nuva ring, but I had been late to put the new one in. In so many years I never considered I’d end up pregnant without having planned it. I was (am) OCD. I plan everything.

I was terrified to tell my husband of the pregnancy, more so because I was scared he’d want me to continue the pregnancy than anything else. But I needn’t be worried about that. After some awkward talk-around the issue I finally spat it out-I wasn’t ready for this. We weren’t ready for this. He agreed.

In fact, he wanted to leave for Florida for a month to “figure things out.” He made his arrangements, I made my arrangements and appointments. On the morning I took the series of pills at home, he left for Florida. Left me to do it on my own. I had no regrets.

And I made the right choice. It is no surprise to me that our marriage ended. That day, I took control back over my life from a child posing as a man. A man who didn’t work while I worked 40+ hours a week while disabled. A man who left for Florida that day to meet up with his girlfriend.

I am so grateful I had that choice to make.