Author's Note: You may have noticed what I've done recently. Started a bunch of stories and not updated many ones frequently. I have been very busy. However, I have not abandoned most of my stories. When I have a lot of time, I will try to update. This one will be updated quite frequently, though (possibly… haha), because I have a very distinct plan. I have a bit of an obsession with Bella stories that involve the life of Charlie and Renée…how they ended up where they are. I don't hate Renée. All of my stories about Bella's parents, believe it or not, are connected. This one will be through Renée's point of view. This will be updated, hopefully, frequently, and there will be a sequel. Don't lose faith in me, please. I will try to update the others. Both Harry Potter ones and Twilight ones. By the way, I'm pro-life. :)

No.

Absolutely not.

It can't be.

I don't want it to be.

It had better not be.

Why me?

Is this a punishment?

Don't do this to me.

Please.

"No!"

There it was. The little plus sign was there, probably getting a good laugh out of my prayers. The little bastard had the nerve to turn in to a nasty little plus sign and then, of course, it had the nerve to poke fun. It knew I couldn't punish it. It knew that no matter how hard I kicked it, I would still be pregnant.

And that was a fact.

Not necessarily, I guess. It could have been wrong.

But it knew—the little bastard—that it was correct. I was pregnant. I was going to have a baby. I was going to be a mother.

The whole wife thing wasn't bad enough?

"Renée?"

Crap.

"You here?"

"Yeah," I said loudly, tossing the pregnancy test out the window.

I walked out of the bathroom as quickly as possible, slamming the door closed behind me. "Hey," I said, greeting Charlie with a kiss. "You hungry?"

Charlie bit his lip. "Sure," he said reluctantly.

I smiled. "Don't worry. I'm feeling like normal pasta tonight."

I knew he hated my cooking. (He actually called my meals experiments.) But I also knew that if I made something terrible, he would eat it. He would never complain about anything I gave him. He was just wonderful that way.

"Sounds good."

Charlie settled into the living room while I went into the kitchen to cook. Cooking was honestly the best part of my day. I had my alone time to think, talk to myself, dance, sing… and anything else I wanted. No one bothered me during the hours of four to seven.

I looked forward to it.

Cooking would probably help me calm down. What was there to be upset about? "A mother," I muttered, shaking my head. It wasn't right. I wasn't created to be a mother.

"Garlic…"

As I searched for the ingredients, I realized I was less calm than before. If I couldn't find the garlic, I could just as easily lose my baby.

"Ridiculous," I said. I rolled my eyes. I was being silly. I would never lose my baby.

"Unless I wanted to."

Why was I saying these terrible things? What was wrong with me? I was never the mother type, but that didn't mean I wanted to "lose" my baby in a trash can.

Terrible. So sick.

I didn't have to have it, though. "I'd be doing you a favor, baby."

Life isn't exactly the best place for a baby. With disease and war and storms and pain…who would complain? Who would care?

More importantly: Who would know?

People all over the world would praise my wonderful decision to not bring a poor innocent baby into a world so complicated, so…dangerous. Anyone who knew me well knew I couldn't be trusted with a baby in my hands. I was careless and flighty and impulsive and hotheaded. I didn't even like children.

As I stirred the pasta sauce, I thought about how much of a choice I really had. There were ways out of this. I chose what went into my body, so I could certainly choose what would come out of my body, right? Didn't that make sense?

A tiny part of me told me that it wasn't the baby's fault that he or she was in there. It didn't ask to become a part of me. It probably wanted to be in there less than I wanted it to be in there. It probably already knew that it would hate me, that I would screw it up, that I would let it down.

And that sparked the sprinklers.

"Are you serious?"

I wasn't sure who I was talking to, but I hoped whoever it was would shut me up. I did not want Charlie to hear me crying.

Charlie.

Having a baby would probably make his life complete. He was so happy already. The baby would be the cherry on top of the freaking sundae of his life.

He loved me so much. I had no idea why.

"Renée?"

When did he develop such good freaking hearing? I didn't think he'd had such good freaking hearing when I asked him to help me clean the bathroom on Tuesday.

Charlie came right to me when he saw the tears. Why couldn't I make them stop?

He always knew just how to calm me down. What would I do without him? I gladly held onto him, pressing my face into his chest. He rubbed my book and whispered calming words to me. He told me that he loved me and that everything would be okay.

And then, of course, he asked me what was wrong.

"I don't know," I lied, laughing weakly. "I'm just so emotional. You know me."

He didn't seem to believe me. He raised an eyebrow. "Renée," he said, looking a bit worried.

I sighed. I was about to make his life freaking perfect.

"I have some good news."

Absolutely fantastic news.

"Oh?"

He looked so confused. He probably could not figure it out. If I waited…

No. He had a right to know.

"I'm pregnant."

Good-bye, Abortion.