I've wondered too, about the enormous army of single mothers out there.
When I was pregnant, I was very, very sick and had to go for blood transfusions every two weeks. This entailed taking a bus to the University of Iowa hospital every two weeks. My son's dad a.k.a. "The Respondent" had a car and could take off from his job (he was an executive at an aeronautics company), but couldn't be bothered. Actually, the one time he did, he cornered my hematologist and started yammering about the services the doctor should get me. He mentioned that I lived in a third floor walkup and the doctor said the exercise would do me good. I could see the doctor just rolling his eyes.
Never mind, The Respondent doing anything, other than shooting his mouth off.
As these things go, The Respondent got laid off (this was the 80's) and fled town as fast as he could. One of my friends who worked at his company said he got a huge severance check, not that I saw a dime of it. He even owed me money. Money I earned leaving my apartment at 5 am to walk seven blocks downtown to catch the first of two buses to go to my part time job. The job I worked at despite huge pregnancy related migraine headaches.
I'm getting mad now...I do every time I talk about him.
He left in August, I was actually relieved. He said he'd come back, but that was 1983 and I haven't seen him since.
Anyways, I would go each day to my mailbox and look for a letter, just some sign that he acknowledged my presence in the world.
I called him when I went into labor and he called the hospital to ask about my progress. This call, he charged to my phone bill.
Anyways, after 17 days in the hospital (because of my illness), my friend came and took us home. At least I didn't have to take the bus this time.
I spent the first year going to my mailbox each day and coming back disappointed. Keep in mind, my son was one of those babies who screamed all day, every day. One night I just sat and cried because yesterday had been so bad, today was equally bad and tomorrow was going to be just as bad.
After 18 months there, my apartment building got sold and I couldn't afford the rent increase. By now I had reached the angry stage. No more Ms Nice Guy. I moved, rented a PO Box and went down and filed a paternity suit, using the PO Box number so he wouldn't know where we lived. Can you believe he fought it? He told lie after lie. The test came back 99.96 that he was the father. (If we had been on Maury, I'd have danced around the stage like the best of 'em)
Well, that was just the beginning, but I'm getting too angry to type.