Her kids know girls who have slept around, gotten pregnant. Just out of high school. Didn’t allow themselves a chance to have some freedom. Trapped now by responsibility, job, rent, car payments, all that stuff. Doing by themselves, no father around.
That’s stupid, they tell her.
No, she says, that was a mistake. I was there. I overcame it. It was hard. But that was me.
People sometimes pause and stare when they notice Webster with her children. She can see they recognize the resemblance, and she watches as they silently calculate her age compared to her children.
Yeah, they’re mine, she says, interrupting their thoughts. I had them young.
She leaves it at that. Nothing more they need to know. Doesn’t mean she’s a bad person. Her kids were a life lesson — a hard lesson — she had to experience. Webster chose to do what it took to have children. They were born. It’s what fate, God or some other intangible intended. She made the best of it.
She thinks she did a pretty good job.
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