Chapter 6

Author's Note: This chapter is dark. It includes thought about a controversial subject, abortion, which could possibly be a trigger warning. While, obviously, the character did not go through with it, there was deep consideration given the state of her life and marriage at the time of discovering she was pregnant.

After they arrived back at the cabin, Daryl pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol and showed Carol how to clean her knife. It took a while, but the dried walker muck began to give, and after a little while, her blade shined like new. He'd taken the opportunity to go outside and try and draw some water from the well to boil and start cleaning a rabbit for dinner, while Carol retired to Daryl's room. He'd assured her on their way back that he'd get the other room cleared out for her if she decided to stay, which she'd told him she hadn't decided on yet.

But she had. She had no choice. It was stay here with a roof over her head, weapons, some food, or go out there alone where death was an almost certainty. She had more than just herself to think about now.

She shut the door behind herself and leaned against it for a moment, her hand reaching behind her to click the lock into place. Her hand smoothed down the front of her shirt, pressing against the slight swell of her belly.

She moved to the bed and rifled through her pack, taking out items she'd collected and the old campsite that afternoon. When she retrieved the small bottle of prenatal vitamins, she sat down on the edge of her bed and retrieved a pill, swallowing it down and chasing it with a swig from her water bottle. She sighed and wiped her mouth, turning the vitamin bottle over and over in her hand. She wasn't sure how much time had passed since the turn, but judging by her best guess and by how long she'd known before the turn, she guessed she was a couple of months along. She couldn't hide this forever, but she still hadn't fully come to terms with herself. She wasn't ready to share it with anyone else, least of all a total stranger.

She'd found out early. She'd gone to the doctor for what she'd thought was the flu, having never had a thought in her mind that she'd be pregnant. She'd been secretly on birth control for the past couple of years, doing her best not to bring a child into a marriage that was so volatile and cruel. She'd had nowhere to go. No parents. No family to turn to. It was just Ed. And then the doctor lowered the boom on her, telling her she was pregnant.

When she'd begun to sob uncontrollably and hyperventilate, the doctor hadn't flinched. Instead, a deep frown had creased his face, and he'd given her a pamphlet on options. Abortion. Adoption. Anything other than keeping the child herself, because even though she'd never revealed Ed's abuse, well, he was a doctor, and she wasn't the first abuse victim he'd encountered in his career.

"How could I let this happen?" she'd asked, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief as she clutched the pamphlets in her other hand. "I've been careful, taking the pill every morning and…"

"These things happen, Mrs. Peletier," the doctor had explained softly, sitting on his stool in front of her.

"I can't have this baby," she'd sobbed. "I can't. It's…it's not fair. I'm not…" She'd hung her head and let the pamphlets flutter to the floor, covering her face in her hands. Ashamed.

"We can discuss your options."

"I don't have any options," she sniffled. "I can't have this baby." She shook her head. "You have to help me."

"It's not that simple, Mrs. Peletier. We have strict laws…"

"I don't care what the law is," Carol sobbed. "There are worse things in life than not being born." The doctor had balked at that, but Carol shook her head. "I can't give this baby a good life. A happy one. Please. Please, you have to understand."

Carol choked back a sob at the memory, pulling her hand over her mouth. Growing up, she'd sworn she'd never get rid of a baby that didn't ask to be created, but she'd been so careful. She'd taken all the precautions aside from using a diaphragm, which she'd tried once, only for him to find out and beat her bloody for it.

Her resources had been limited, and the more she thought about it, the more she realized he'd kept her from having much money of her own, many friends of her own, because he'd needed her to be solely dependent on him, another reason he'd tried so hard to get her pregnant. What had surprised her was that he'd never beaten her those times her period came around, announcing that she was, once again, not carrying his child.

She felt sick to think back on it. He'd given her no other choice but to plan to end her pregnancy, because bringing a child into that marriage was the cruelest thing she could imagine. She'd fantasized about getting up and running in the night and never looking back, but it wasn't realistic. Sure, she could run off and start over, but she was still his wife. She was still connected to him. And with a baby?

She'd cried for hours, curled up on their bed, her mind squarely focused on the idea of not being able to see that innocent life, hold it in her arms, all because she was too fucking weak to leave Ed. She'd hated herself. She'd lain awake at night for days after finding out about the pregnancy, praying to God for the strength to leave him. But every prayer went unanswered, and she'd lay there, frown in fear, seeing no other option but discretely taking care of it so he'd never know, so he'd never have the chance to hurt this child.

And then Ed had forced her to go camping with him, spewing some vile about how all they needed was to relax a little. If they relaxed and took some time away, they could stop thinking about getting pregnant, and it would happen. She'd hated him even more for that, for thinking she would ever want to give him a child.

Without even thinking, she had packed the prenatal vitamins the doctor had given her while she took some time to think it over. She'd known she couldn't have this baby, but still, she'd taken the vitamins with her, thinking maybe having them along might summon up her courage to leave him in the middle of the woods and never look back, give her something to strive for, some sort of hope that she could be stronger, be better.

But she hadn't. She had nowhere to turn. Ed had been her life, and when the abuse had started, she'd promised herself that she could take it, that even as weak as she was, she could be strong enough to take it. But she would never, ever let him hurt a child.

She'd taken the vitamins. In the middle of the night, she'd feel a tugging at her heart, feel a flutter in her stomach that she knew was nerves, but her heart plead with her to reconsider. And she'd take them, because her baby was still alive, even if she couldn't keep it. As soon as they got home, she was going to convince her doctor to let her go through with it, and if she couldn't convince him, she'd go somewhere that would do it, because no way in Hell was she giving Ed the chance to make someone else a victim.

When the turn had happened, she'd prayed for death. She'd prayed that they'd come in the middle of the night and kill them both and make it quick. But Ed had fought them off, built up a perimeter. It was only the night that he'd beat the hell out of her that that last shred of self-preservation had kicked in, and she'd told him about the baby, only for him to be killed moments later, freeing her to escape. Her life had changed forever that night. Her heart had made a choice.

"Carol?" A knock came to the door, and she startled, looking over toward the locked door.

"Yeah?"

"Supper's ready. You hungry?" She wasn't hungry, but she'd eat. She owed it to this baby, this baby she'd almost killed, because she was too weak to leave Ed Peletier.

"I'll be out in a minute," she called. She waited until his footsteps retreated, and she got up, moving to the dresser by the bed, looking in the mirror, lifting her shirt to expose her bruises. She gently brushed her fingers over the swell and blinked back the tears. "I'll do whatever it takes to make it right. I'll keep you safe. I swear to God."

Daryl watched the way Carol poked around at the food on her plate, taking a bite here and there, but pretty much leaving most of the food where it lay. She drank water more than anything else, and every once in a while, her gaze would fly up to his, and she'd look away, flinching as if she'd been burned.

"You ok?" he asked after a few quiet minutes.

"I'm fine."

"Need somethin' for the pain?"

"No. No more. I'm fine. The pain's not that bad." She rubbed at her wrist. "A little ache never hurt anybody." She gave a little shrug and took a bite of food.

"Taste alright?" he asked. She gave him a look, and he smirked. "Yeah. I know. Tastes like shit, but it's food."

"It's fine," she assured him. "Best meal I've had in a while." She wasn't lying. Ed had caught a couple of rabbits in camp, but he'd always blackened them, taking away every bit of juice and flavor. Daryl's rabbits weren't dry, anyway.

She thought back to their conversation that morning.

"You have kids?"

"Nah. Never wanted kids."

"Me neither. Maybe before."

"Before everything changed."

"There's too much evil in the world. Why bring a child into that? And now? Now you risk your life walking out the front door. It's not worth it. It's not."

He'd assumed she meant before the world went to Hell, but really, what she'd meant was before Ed; before her life had spun so far out of her grasp that she couldn't recognize herself in the mirror anymore.

But she was honest. It was wrong to bring a child into this world. But it was coming, and there was no changing it, unless nature had other plans. It was a cruel world. Cruel before with Ed, cruel now. Ed was no longer there, but the walkers were. The sickness was. It was only a matter of time before it got her, before it got her child.

She put her hand to her stomach and flinched.

"You alright?" Daryl asked.

"I'm fine. I'm not…I'm finished here." Daryl nodded, keeping his eyes on her as she stood up from the table. "I'm going to sleep." She was out of the room before he could even tell her good night.

It wasn't long before he heard the crying again, and he put his fork down, his appetite run dry.