People say a lot of things about death. That it reveals what matters. That it forgives all sins. That you should never let someone die with your last words between you unsaid. I understand why people say those things. I understand the impulse, from the outside, to tell me to get on a plane, to walk into that ICU, to hold the hand of the man who fathered my child. I understand why Lisa called me a monster. I know I sound like one. Maybe I am one. But sometimes, in the dark of a hospital delivery room, a man will say something so specific and so cruel that it closes a door forever. And you can tell yourself for six years that the door is still open, that you imagined the slam, that love can find its way through — but eventually, if you are paying attention to your own life, you will notice that the door is not open. It was never open. It was closed the moment he said the words. So tell me — would you get on a plane to say goodbye to the person who didn't want you in the first place, or would you stay exactly where you are?

* Story inspired by real-life situations. Names and details have been changed for privacy.