Go to Jail After Getting Pregnant Chapter 1

Three months pregnant, and Will sent me to prison himself.

Before I signed the confession, I asked him one last time if there was any other way.

“You’re pregnant,” he said, his voice calm, rational. “You can apply for probation, serve your sentence outside. It won’t be so bad. But Quinn… she’s not like you. She’s fragile. Prison would kill her.”

He leaned in, his words a soft poison. “Think of it as an act of grace, for our child. I promise you, Sage, the moment you get out, we’ll get married.”

I looked him in the eye. “You once said I owed her a life. After this, are we even?”

Will nodded, swearing he would be grateful to me forever.

I signed the confession.

Before I went to prison, I terminated the pregnancy.

Later, Will went insane, screaming at me, demanding to know how I could have gotten rid of his child.

“I will not let my child have a mother in prison and a father who’s a monster. The past, right or wrong… I was just a fool. From this moment on, Will, we’re even.”

* * *

No one came to pick me up on the day of my release.

The prison guard walked me to the gate. She glanced at the empty street beyond and asked how I was getting home.

I didn’t have a cent to my name. The bag in my hand held the only clothes I owned, and it felt as light as a feather.

Just like my life. Weightless.

I squinted against the bright sunlight and managed a smile. “I’ll find a way. I may not have money, but I have feet.”

The guard hesitated, her hand moving toward her wallet.

“No, thank you. My place isn’t far. It’s a quick walk,” I said, refusing her kindness as I stepped onto the road home.

I’d known no one would come, so before I was incarcerated, I had studied a map. From the prison to my apartment was a two-hour, seventeen-minute walk.

Not too far, really.

The city hadn’t changed much in a year and a half. The stadium that was under construction when I went in was still only half-finished.

While waiting at a crosswalk, my eyes drifted to a baby stroller next to me. The mother noticed my gaze and offered a warm, friendly smile.

I smiled back. “How old is your little one?”

“One year.”

“So cute,” I said, bending down to make a silly face at the baby. The infant gurgled, waving tiny fists in the air.

The light turned green. I straightened up and disappeared into the surging crowd.

I finally reached my apartment just as night began to fall. The old security door was coated in a thick layer of dust. I found the spare key in the mailbox and let myself in.

On the shoe cabinet sat a framed photograph. I picked it up, used my sleeve to wipe away the grime, and allowed a faint smile to touch my lips.

“Mom,” I whispered. “I’m home.”