Perhaps because she was trapped?
The man held her down, his breath stinking of alcohol. It made her eyes burn as he panted and grunted so close to her face. She had no more fight left. So she let him do what he had to do. When he passed out she locked herself in the bathroom and cried. Her hands shook as she tried to clean his seed out of her.
But her mother always told her that God does not listen to harlots. A month later there was a thin blue line next to a pink one.
What is more shameful? Carrying the child of a man you did not love or carrying a child conceived in such a way?
She lay next to him in the dim light of evening and wove her words around the lengthening shadows. She rewrote her story. She lied to the man she did love. She lied about what had happened that night.
She had too much to drink and drowned her sorrows in another. It was a bad choice, a wrong choice, but it was her choice.
The instant she said it to him, she wished she could take it back. His eyes flashed with pain that lived there from that moment on.
She expected him to leave her.
But he did not.
She wanted him to know that she had imagined her body as a temple, a shrine to him, but it had been desecrated and defiled. The words never came. She buried them deeper.
And then she lied to herself. She lied so often that she started to believe it…
You don’t deserve happiness. You don’t deserve joy. You don’t deserve love.
Sometimes, she found, you are so far down the path of fiction it feels there is no possible way to redeem yourself. How do you find the truth again?
But in that baby’s eyes she found it.
Babies transcend all evil. They are the hope of love, our rebirth from the ashes. They have the power to save us all.
Then she knew….
With every truth there is pain, with every lie there is a price that must be paid, and by its nature death always follows after life.
The truth was she had something else to live for now.