The Right Time
This isn’t the right time.
This isn’t the right time.
Among all the thoughts raging on through her ravaged senses, this was the sole coherent sentence she could make sense of. Her heart was in her throat, her breath caught in a gasp and her mouth was dry as paper.
With shaking fingers, she held the plastic strip in her hands and stared down at it: two pink lines — bright and distinct.
There was no doubt about it: she was carrying Sam’s baby.
In an instant, the future she had envisaged with him flashed in front of her eyes. They had to work hard to bring their impossible dreams within reach, travel the world together, learn dancing, cooking and sewing — there was so much to do; they had yet to live.
Both of them were still in college. There were so many milestones to cross before they could even consider starting a family together.
She had been feeling unwell and unusually tired all throughout the day — the pregnancy explained most of it. That was a relief. In spite of herself, she couldn’t help but let a tiny smile trace a curve on her lips.
She shared the news with Sam, and to her surpirse, he was elated. Poor, young, naive Sam — getting happy at the prospect of being a father without even considering the full implications.
Yet, why did she find his happiness so infectious?
Arms entwined, they smiled into each other’s shoulders for a full minute before either of them broke off.
She was strangely content, yet at the same time worried about how to go about living a normal life again. And in the welter of tangled emotions in her head, one tiny thought screamed out crystal clear:
This isn’t the right time.
She had to terminate this pregnancy; there was no two ways about it. With a sinking feeling, she realized the baby, whose existence she had only just been aware of, had to die.
She had to kill it. Because this wasn’t the right time.
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