Small disclaimer here: Nothing in this story is intended to support any particular political or moral position. Having an abortion struck me as a realistic choice Skye might make in this situation, but as for what I imagine her thought process might be . . . well, you'll have to read the chapter below. (Please leave reviews, too).
Skye called a clinic and made an appointment for Monday under her most convincing alias. She consulted travel sites and user reviews to find a suitably clean and discreet motel not too far away. She packed her bag—just the essentials plus three loose outfits and a plethora of sanitary napkins. She explained the plan to Jemma and accepted a hug and encouragement. Then, on Sunday morning she tossed her bag into the back and climbed into the van she'd once called home. She drove the first two and a half hours, then switched with May and tried to read the book she'd brought along on her tablet.
It was assigned reading, something about wilderness survival tactics specific to the Australian outback, which rather quickly degenerated into a list of every poisonous thing in Australia. Her eyes were swimming before half an hour passed.
She shut off the tablet and looked out the window instead. There wasn't much in the way of scenery to admire. They were passing through a village that had, from the looks of it, seen better days. There were a bunch of children playing in the street, whom May had to slow down and swerve to avoid. Skye found herself tearing up at the sight.
As a teenager she'd wondered what it would be like to be pregnant. She'd had friends who were already mothers at fourteen and she'd listened to all their stories—their child's kicking, the crazy appetite changes, the uncomfortable aspects, and the strange knowledge that they were growing a tiny human inside them. Even some of the girls who were too young to keep their kids had taken a certain pride in the experience, though none of them were as happy as the foster mother she'd had when she was eight. Mrs. Wilson had let Skye lay a hand against her stomach anytime she wanted to feel her future foster sibling moving around. There had been a baby shower, visits from relatives, so much joy and hope surrounding the birth. Skye had stayed with a neighbor while the Wilsons went to the hospital, and the next day she'd been invited to come and hold the precious, tiny daughter.
Of course, Skye had been reassigned once the Wilsons had a child of their own to care for.
Once or twice, when she was hoping to find a family that would keep her, she'd started wishing for a baby she could keep. Now here one was, inside her, growing, and she couldn't keep it. Not that keeping it hadn't crossed her mind, briefly, when she realized that she might be pregnant. I could finally have a family member, a blood relation, she had thought. Then she had realized it wouldn't only be her blood relation, but Ward's too. She'd had a sudden image of a little baby with his brown eyes, and felt so sick she wanted to throw something at a wall. And then the decision was made.
Yet even now, as the van reached the outskirts of that crummy little village and accelerated to full speed again, there was a niggling voice at the back of her mind. The voice protested, it isn't fair to blame your kid for who his father is.
Life isn't fair, she thought bitterly as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
I tried to do the right thing with Rising Tide, and my closest friend got bought off by the bad guys. I formed a family for the first time, and everything we stood for crumbled to dust eight months later. I fell for a big damn hero with gorgeous eyes, and he was really a Nazi serial killer. And that was just in the last year.
Living with all that over your head would be worse than never being born.
The little voice didn't shut up. The tears didn't stop. But the van drove on.