Go to Jail After Getting Pregnant Chapter 2

It took me some time to reintegrate.

With a criminal record, finding a job was a nightmare. To make ends meet, I took a position sorting packages at a delivery warehouse.

A week later, I collapsed on the warehouse floor and was rushed to the hospital by my coworkers.

The abortion, followed by the harsh realities of prison life, had taken a toll. I hadn’t been able to recover properly, and my body was wrecked. The days of pushing myself to the limit were over.

I had to quit. I registered as a food delivery driver, planning to save up for a couple of years and maybe start a small business.

A college degree isn’t worth much these days. A college degree with a prison record is worth even less.

The delivery job was grueling, but it was better than the warehouse. The freedom of being on the road suited me.

I’d had a good day, and just before signing off, a big order came through with a high delivery fee. It was far, and I glanced nervously at my e-bike’s battery indicator. But I couldn't bring myself to pass up the money. I accepted the job.

The address was an exclusive, notoriously expensive private club. I called the client upon arrival, and he told me to bring it directly to his private room.

The delivery box was huge. I struggled with it down the hallway, found the room, and knocked.

“Hello, your delivery. Please sign here.”

“Just leave it there.”

The voice was familiar. My eyelashes trembled. I silently did as I was told, placing the box in a corner.

The room was alive with the boisterous energy of a dozen men and women. The corner was piled high with shopping bags from luxury brands. In the center of the room, a magnificent three-tiered cake sat on a table.

I was about to leave when a voice stopped me. “Hey, delivery girl, wait a second.”

I froze.

“It’s my birthday today,” the woman said, smiling. “Please, have a slice of cake. Thanks for bringing this all the way out here so late.”

I looked up. My face was mostly hidden by my helmet, so no one recognized me. The woman standing before me had a delicate, captivating face. She held out a slice of cake.

Her name was Quinn. She had once been my friend.

A sharp pain, hot and piercing, shot through me, so intense it almost stole my voice.

I took the cake, my voice raspy. “Thank you.”

As I turned to leave, I didn’t see the figure that had appeared behind me. It was too late to dodge. I could only watch as the slice of cake splattered across his chest, smearing cream all over his pristine white shirt.

Will looked down at the mess, then up at me. He didn’t say a word.

The room had fallen silent. Someone snickered. “Well, that shirt’s a goner. It’s a ten-thousand-dollar shirt. Think you can afford to replace it?”

“It’s okay, don’t be scared,” Quinn said, rushing over. She soothed me with a gentle voice while grabbing napkins to wipe Will’s shirt. “It was an accident. We won’t make you pay. You can go.”

Will didn’t move. His eyes were locked on me.

Then, he reached out and yanked the helmet from my head.