This morning I decided to pee on a stick.

I was so certain I was pregnant again. I had all the symptoms of the first pregnancy: constant nausea, never-ending fatigue, irritability, and sore, swollen boobs.

Nevermind the late period.

Or the fact that J and I had been having consistent unprotected sex for the past two months.

So I peed on a stick. And I waited. And waited some more.

I gave it some extra time, just to make sure that the test would be ready.

I took the test in my hand and looked down, fully expecting to see two lines.

There was only one.

One single pink line, mocking me.

I broke down in tears.

I remember reading that women are extra-fertile in the few months just following a miscarriage.

I guess this is not true in my case. Rather, I want a baby so badly that my body seems to be producing phantom pregnancy symptoms.

It starts with a night out on the town with friends, drinks, and laughter.

We commence our drive back home. It is 4am. The roads are predictably clear and we cruise along at a carefree speed.

We exit the tunnel and continue on to the big curve ahead. We have made this drive hundreds of times before. Just one big curve on the road, adjacent to a magnificent cliff overlooking the Hudson River and the Manhattan skyline. Just one big curve before our exit.

I then realize that we are going too fast. Before I can warn J, inertia takes ahold of the car. We crash through the metal railing and fly off the side of the cliff.

This is it. We’re going to die,  I think.

Contrary to what I had believed, my life does not flash before my eyes. I am afraid for a split second before a sense of calm and acceptance overwhelms my being. I know I have lived an imperfect life, but I also am certain that I will soon be with God.

Most of all, I am happy. I am happy that my last moments here on earth will be spent with J.

I turn to him. We grasp each other’s hands. He opens his mouth as if to say “I’m sorry” but never gets a chance. Because at that moment, I decide to interrupt him once again. Except this time around, I am positive that what I have to say is more important any ‘sorry’s or ‘goodbye’s combined.

“I love you.”

We crash, and I open my eyes.

…starts today.

Happy birthday to me.