Reba Hart sat down on the edge of her bed, and looked across her room into the mirror. She had just arrived home from her weekly family therapy session, which usually never included her family. Her eldest daughter, Cheyenne, always had drill team practice after school, seeing as how she was the team captain. Kyra, her younger daughter was twelve and had more interest in her friends than her family. And of course her five-year-old son Jake was too young to understand much of what was going on. So it was normal for Reba to attend family counseling alone.

Brock had only moved out two weeks before into his new condo. A silly argument over the placement of a toaster had finally pushed them both off the edge and prompted for a separation. Things had slowly been declining, but after one night of passionate love making, Reba was convinced that they would be able to work it all out; she was proven wrong. After he moved out, he never tried to make any contact with her, and never gave her more than a 'hello' when coming to get the kids on the weekends.

As much as she hated to admit it, it killed her. Reba always was the strong one who never liked to show her tears nor weakness, but this brought it out of her. There were many nights that she would cry herself to sleep and still cling to the shred of hope that he would be back soon. Brock, on the other hand, was out having a good time. He was meeting new people, and one in particular named Barbra Jean, was becoming a huge part of his life. Thought he acted as if he was still alone, Reba knew.

Reba stood up from the bed and walked across the bedroom. She picked up their family photo and put it into a drawer, face down. Even though she knew that she was equally to blame, she still could not bring herself to completely believe it. Anytime an issue would arise, she would go off and pout about it; they both lacked communication. Trying to pull herself together, she touched up her makeup and headed back downstairs so she could talk to Brock when he came to pick up the kids.

After a month of being sick, and not feeling well, she had decided to make an appointment with her doctor. She only confirmed what Reba was already sure of, and what she had been afraid of. The night they tried to make up did nothing but produce more problems and a child. She was eight weeks pregnant and knew she had to tell him. When the living room door opened, she took a deep breath, and stood up.

"Reba, I'm here to get the kids," he bluntly stated.

"Cheyenne and Van took them out to eat, but they'll be back in a few minutes."

"Oh, I'll wait outside," he said as he turned around.

"Wait! Brock, I need to talk to you."

He noticed the crack in Reba's voice, and came back just because he didn't want to tell her no for once. "What's going on?"

"Come back home."

"Reba, you know this isn't going to work out. You're a smart woman and you know that. Why bother trying to make us work when it won't?"

"Think about it. You could move back in and we could all be a family again. I know we were both hurt, but I want us to be a family again. We could try again for another baby…remember?"

He smiled somewhat, "Yeah, I miss that. I just don't think we even need to think of a baby. If we are going to try to fix us, a baby in the picture would be the worst possible thing to happen now. Reba, I love you and I always will, but we just need to move on with this."

"What are you saying," she said as she felt a lump in her throat.

"I want a divorce." The kids walked in at that moment, stopping the conversation. "Hey, ready to go?" he asked as they all went out the door. He followed, "I'm sorry, Reba."

Reba took a deep breath and sat there until she knew she was alone; she then broke down. Placing her hand on her flat stomach, she replayed the words they had just exchanged over and over inside her head. After Brock admitted he didn't want another baby, she knew nobody else would want to accept the fact that she was expecting, either.

She knew Brock would not be able to accept her pregnancy, nor did she want to know how he would react. Every option crossed her mind in that moment. It was in that moment, that she made the biggest decision of her life. She had been processing every situation that could be and every choice she could make. And she decided she would go through it.

She went into the kitchen and picked up the phone, and began searching through the phone book trying to find the number of a certain doctor she knew, "Hi, um, I was calling to make an appointment… my name is Reba Hart." She answered their numerous questions. "Yes, I'm about eight or nine weeks along. I was just curious about how the procedure will happen". Every word wrapped itself around her mind and she began to realize that this was about to happen; it was set for tomorrow morning at 9:45am.

Reba had never been so thankful to not have the kids at home with her that night. She was a complete mess, and didn't sleep a wink. Every hour or so, she'd turn over and look at the alarm clock, hoping time would pass by faster. With every second that went by, she became more attached to the child she carried within her. And that is what she didn't need, especially then.

Am I making the wrong decision? I want to keep her so bad. I know it's a her; I want another baby girl. I want her. I need her. "A baby in the picture would be the worst possible thing to happen." I love you, even though I'm going through with this. You're beautiful, but you just don't need to be here now. Maybe, sometime down the road, but not now.

The alarm snapped her out of the semi-trance she had been in. It took a total of thirty minutes to piece herself together, thought she would be broke down later on that morning.

Reba pulled into the abortion clinic ten minutes early, and took a deep breath. After today, nobody would ever know of this. She'd forget it, and never let her kids know.

END.