I regarded it as one of the most terrible mistakes I ever made. Top on the list, actually.

They say that you make mistakes to learn from them. And I definitely did.

My son was born in the spring of what should have been the end of my freshman year at Princeton. But unlike my friends who was enjoying the first freedoms of college life, I spent the year cooped up in my room, and in the end, not even able to move.

I named him Edward- the only piece of information I knew about his father. No last name. No address. No school.

Only a “Hi, I’m Ed,” with a brilliant smile.

He had the prettiest emerald eyes, and I instantly, and foolishly, fell straight in love with them. The oh-so-popular “summer love at the beach” lasted for a week, and it ended with somewhat of a regret that was not enough to break the promise to not stalk each other afterwards.

But I never thought then, that something like this would happen. Sometimes, I wonder if I named him Edward just to punish myself every time I called him.

I didn’t even know if I could love the small, frail blonde whose eyes and smile reflected his father’s. The most gorgeous baby in the world, and the scarlet letter of the biggest mistake of my life.