4: 4
4.
Three days later my mother called, saying she wanted to sit down and talk. At home. She said she knew she'd been wrong and wanted to apologize.
When I stood at my own front door, I could smell food cooking.
I pushed the door open and found the living room full of people. Both sets of parents, Clarence, Elaine, all of them there.
The table was covered with dishes, and in the middle sat a printed agreement.
Cassandra Simmons stood, smiling wide. "Martha's here. Come, sit."
My mother pressed me down into a chair, her voice light. "Stop scowling. You've cooled off now, haven't you? We've talked it over. You sign this, and we treat the whole thing like it never happened."
She slid the agreement in front of me.
I glanced down at it.
One. I was to publicly acknowledge Elaine as a "benefactor," and state that her pregnancy was "a decision we made together."
Two. After the child was born, I was to pay Elaine two million dollars in "nourishment" money.
Three. I was to remain childless for life, to guarantee this child's sole right of inheritance.
My mother explained beside me. "See? Mom's thought it all through for you. Once Elaine takes the money, she cuts all ties with the child. The baby is yours and Clarence's, the two of you marry, and everything's perfect."
Elaine rose sweetly and poured me a cup of tea.
"If you're still not at ease, Martha, I can write a written promise. The moment the baby's born, I'll sign him over to your family. I'll never come near you again."
I looked at Clarence. He sat there, silent.
I stood up. My voice was steady. "I won't sign."
"Martha—"
"I said, I won't sign."
I turned and left. No one came after me, because they were sure I'd give in sooner or later.
Back at the rental, before I could even get the door open, a wave of dizziness hit me and I passed out on the doorstep.
Thank God a neighbor called an ambulance.
When I woke, I was lying on a bed in the emergency room, and a doctor came over holding a stack of reports.
"You have severe anxiety disorder, with somatic symptoms."
He flipped to the pages behind, his tone softening into something like advice.
"There's one more thing. Your bloodwork shows traces of long-term use of a powerful contraceptive. The side effects of that kind of drug are severe."
"Because of it, you can no longer bear children. You've also developed breast cancer, though thankfully it's early-stage, still treatable."
I froze. And all at once I thought of the past seven years, of Clarence handing me a cup of warm milk every night, telling me to drink it before bed. To help me sleep, he'd said.
I picked up my phone and sent Clarence a message. "What did you put in the milk you gave me?"
About half an hour later, he replied. "You found out?"
Then a second message. "Contraceptives can fail and you could still get pregnant. I didn't want you to be scared, so I kept giving you the strong stuff."
"But I did it for your own good. I only wanted you to feel more at ease."
For your own good. That line again.
All I felt was nausea and despair, and after I'd cried myself out, the storm inside me slowly went quiet.
I checked out of the hospital and went back to the rental.
I pulled out my suitcase, packed everything, and left with it rolling behind me, without once looking back.
I was leaving this city. Going somewhere none of them would ever find me.
