The premise of this series is that Samantha Wildman, designated madonna figure of Voyager, has an interior life. It isn't always pretty.

This story references miscarriage, abortion, and infant death.

I wasn't a writer, until Mia Cooper said I should be. Warmest thanks to her for opening that door and then beta-ing what emerged through it.

It's stupid, but even now, I can't stop thinking about how this wasn't in the plan.

I had a plan. Always. And I earned that plan. I worked for years to assemble all the essential elements of a secure and fulfilling life. I was careful, and disciplined, and patient. I got into Starfleet Academy. I established my career as a science officer, year by year. Yes, I was lucky to meet Greskrendtregk, but marrying someone like him - steady, family-minded, my equal in every sense - that was always the plan.

And I was very, very sure about this final step, our mutual decision to start our family.

I mean, given Human-Ktarian genetics, it's not like we could have gotten pregnant accidentally. (Does anyone in Starfleet, anymore? Between mandatory physicals and the reliability of contraceptive boosters, I have a hard time imagining how.) But I don't just mean that we planned getting pregnant. We planned parenthood , in totality, years into the future.

Once we knew Gres's work would be based on Deep Space Nine for the foreseeable future, it was easy to predict where we would live, what schools Naomi and then Nicholas (we chose names months before we started fertility treatments) would attend, when his parents would retire and move there so our children would have grandparents in their lives.

Yes, children - there was never any question that we would have two. I was an only child. I didn't want that for my own.

I didn't want that.

I didn't want ... this. This wasn't the plan.

Oh, Gres. I wasn't supposed to be a single mother, either. I never wanted to raise a child alone.

I should be more concerned with how you are coping, my beloved Gres. You knew I was pregnant; we just weren't sure it would stick, after the last time. I know you hoped just as hard as I did, that this time it would be okay. The risk of miscarriage would be highest during that three-week mission into the Badlands. We agreed the mission would keep my mind busy and keep us from driving each other crazy checking my hormone levels every hour.

Voyager's chief medical officer was briefed, and sickbay was prepared in case I miscarried. We were too realistic and too careful not to prepare for the worst. But "the worst" was supposed to be losing the baby. Not THIS. Not getting flung to the other side of the galaxy, and being stranded here for the rest of my life. Here, in the Delta Quadrant …. Here, on this barely-habitable planet of dust and volcanic ash and fucking MONSTERS.

Monster. I … Gres. Please, please understand. I waited months to inform the captain of my pregnancy. I told her I hadn't been sure at first. I let them all think I hadn't been sure I was pregnant.

But I knew I was pregnant when I left DS9. I wasn't sure I would stay pregnant.

I don't just mean the risk of miscarriage.

Gres, I'm sorry. I wasn't sure, for a long time, if I wanted this baby, here, by myself. I'm sorry. I just … I had never imagined doing this without you, without a partner and co-parent. And you don't know what it's like out here in the Delta Quadrant. We are not safe here. We will never BE safe here. I couldn't imagine, at first, having a baby and raising a child, alone, on an Intrepid class starship, for the rest of my life. It seemed rational to at least … consider termination.

And I am not ashamed of those thoughts. I'm not. Those doubts don't make me a monster. I just … would be so very sad, and sorry, to have to tell you, Gres, that the pregnancy stuck, but by then everything had changed so fast, and so completely, that suddenly I wasn't sure . I don't know how to live unsure of things, Gres. I don't know how to do this.

I can't keep Naomi hydrated. She stopped nursing during the night; she's too sick and weak now. She's coughing and wheezing, and we have nothing , Gres, no medicine to help her, we can barely stay warm at night or find water for ourselves.

I have brought a baby into being just to watch her die - twice, Gres, damn it, where are you ? - and this … wasn't in the plan it can't be happening this way I cannot do this I can't bear it I can't I can't …

Oh, Gres, I am so, so sorry. I've failed our daughter and I've failed you and you will never even know you were a father. You'll never know that our Naomi existed beyond my careful plan, our careful dreams, more beautiful than we ever could have dreamed her. She and I will both die here and ... you will never even know.