Signed Away Her Own Life Chapter 2

I tried to tell myself it was just ten thousand dollars. A high price for a lesson, but worth it to finally see the rot in the foundation of my family. I moved on. I got married.

A year into my new life, I was eight months pregnant.

My husband was away on a business trip. When the door pounded, I thought he’d come home early. I opened it without checking.

My parents and Troy shoved their way in, pinning me against the hallway wall with the force of the door. I reflexively clutched my stomach, but the edge of the door caught me hard.

A white-hot spike of pain shot through my abdomen, radiating down to my thighs.

My parents didn't notice. They were too busy touring my apartment, scoffing at my furniture, calling me heartless for "living in luxury" while they "suffered" back home.

"Get out," I hissed, my teeth gritted against the mounting pain.

My father scoffed. "We came all this way to see you, and you’re giving us attitude? Give us the money. Troy’s car is too small; we had to take a Greyhound like peasants. You’re buying us an SUV."

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I felt a sudden, terrifying gush of warmth between my legs.

My father grabbed my ponytail, jerking my head back to force me to look at him. "Are you listening to me, you ungrateful—"

He stopped. They all looked down.

A puddle of clear fluid was spreading across the hardwood floor.

They recoiled as if I’d just sprung a leak of toxic waste.

"Don't look at us!" my mother shrieked, backing toward the door. "We just got here! You’re trying to pin this on us, aren't you? Trying to sue your own parents!"

I collapsed into a chair, fumbling for my phone to call 911. The dispatcher told me the ambulances were tied up with a multi-car pileup on the interstate. They told me if I could get halfway there in a private vehicle, a paramedic could meet us to save time.

"Troy! Get the car!" I screamed. "The baby is coming! I’m going into labor!"

My parents started stuttering excuses. I looked them dead in the eye. "My husband is an MMA coach. If anything happens to me or this baby, he will find you. And he will end you."

That got them moving. They grabbed my arms and hauled me toward the elevator.

But Troy was standing by the car in the parking garage, his face a mask of cold resolve. He blocked the door.

"No way. Look at her. She’s covered in fluid. She’ll ruin the seats. And what if the kid dies in the backseat? My car will be flagged as a death site. I’ll never be able to resell it."

"Clara," he said, leaning in with a sickening smirk. "Are you just jealous that I have a car and you don't? Are you trying to stage a miscarriage in my backseat just to ruin me?"

My parents dropped my arms like I was made of fire.

"I knew it!" my father yelled. "You’re trying to set us up! You want us to pay for a new kid, don't you?"

I felt the weight in my pelvis shifting. The pressure was unbearable. I couldn't fight them anymore. I crawled toward a neighbor’s door, pounding on the wood.

"Please! Help! I’m in labor! I need a hospital!"

A young woman opened the door, her face pale with shock. "Oh my god, yes! I have a car, let’s go!"

She started to help me up, but Troy stepped forward, his voice dripping with "concern."

"Hey, lady? I wouldn't do that if I were you. She’s my sister, and she’s already threatened to have her husband—a pro fighter—kill anyone who helps her if things go wrong. She’s looking for a payout. If she loses that baby in your car, your whole life is over."

I felt the neighbor’s grip loosen. I looked at her, pleading, but Troy kept talking, spinning a web of lies to the gathering crowd in the hallway.

"She told us inside that she was going to 'fix' her financial problems by suing a neighbor. Don't be her victim."

The neighbor jumped back as if I were a leper. The hallway, once full of people, became a gauntlet of suspicious stares. I tried to reach for someone, but they all retreated.

I dragged myself toward Troy’s car one last time, reaching for the handle. My father shoved me back into the concrete pillar.

"Fate is fate, Clara," my mother said, echoing the words from a year ago. "If you’re meant to lose it, you’ll lose it. If you die, it’s God’s will. But Troy shouldn't have to lose his car because you’re being selfish. Think about him."

I lay on the cold garage floor, the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears. Troy leaned down, whispering so only I could hear: "Maybe you shouldn't have married a guy people are afraid of. It makes you a liability nobody wants to touch."