I had been married for less than two years and was carrying our first child- A girl. I loved my husband more than I had ever loved anyone, but he didn't love me the same. In fact, he seemed to dislike me more and more each day although I considered him my best friend. We met in college when I was 18 and he was 21. I enjoyed giving him little gifts. But when he would toss it to the side and say, "save your money!" I would simply walk away and sulk in silence.

When I went into labor, my sister and my best friend were by my side. They spent the night with me while he worked as an overnight counselor. After several calls, he refused to leave his job to be with me. The next morning, he arrived at the hospital unapologetically.

He sat away from me on the other side of the room pretending to read a book while I suffered in pain. I noticed a bracelet on his wrist that I didn't recognize. I later learned that the bracelet belonged to his girlfriend. He had been cheating on me with a young lady who worked with him and the news devastated me. After learning of this fact, his demeanor made sense to me. Someone else had his attention.

Although his misstep was more like a missile to my heart, I forgave and I stayed with him. I didn't want my baby girl to grow up the victim of a broken family the way that I had grown up. Less than a year later, I couldn't fake it. My hurt manifested into hatred as my husband's arrogance grew. He was cocky because he had won. He cheated and I stayed, giving him the green light. I couldn't fake it; I took my baby and ran.

I accepted a job as an overnight counselor five hours away and let my mother take care of my daughter when I was at work. I worked with a group of at-risk youth and I loved the job. I did the job very well. But one day, after eating breakfast, I vomited. I had 'that taste' in my mouth that I had when I was pregnant with my daughter. "Ooooh know!" I thought. I had plans to stay in NY once the summer job was over and reside with my mother and go back to school to get my master's degree and get on with my life.

When I went to the clinic to be sure, the nurse confirmed my fears.

"Your test was positive," the nurse said.

In complete denial, I asked the dumbest question.

"What does that mean?"

"It means you're pregnant."

I left that clinic and walked straight in the direction of the clinic where I had heard that abortions were being performed. I walked in a daze because I didn't believe in abortions, but I absolutely didn't want to be bothered with being the mother of another child by that same man. I wanted to get on with my life. I knew that God would not be happy with me, but I was determined to end my pregnancy. I only wanted my one-year-old baby girl and no more.

I stood on the corner and I stared at the clinic. From out of seemingly nowhere, a little boy with dirty blonde hair stood in front of me. He looked to be about eight years old. There was no one else nearby. Just him and me. He walked up to me and put his little hand not on my tummy, but on my pelvic area. He placed it there and simply stared up at me. He said not a word. I didn't ask him any questions and I was not offended that his little hand was resting on my private area. We just stared at each other as though we had an understanding for about a minute. Then he was gone! To this day, I don't know where he came from or where he went. I cannot explain it any other way except that he was sent to me from above to beg me, without words, not to abort and to remind me that the little girl that I was carrying inside of me would grow up to be someone very special.

Today, my daughter is 37 years old, and she is who I go to for spiritual upliftment. Although she isn't a churchgoer, she is a calm, soft-spoken, sweetheart who is inspirational and organically spiritual. She is a wonderful example of a woman of God who shares her wisdom with others through blogging. I am so glad that she is here on this earth with me and that I am blessed to be her mother.