Page 18 of Return To You

I flinch at the coldness in his words.

Abortion.

I’ve only just woke up from passing out, and instead of giving me a minute to process the fact I’m pregnant, despite being careful, he’s straight away bringing up abortions.

The doctor’s eyes widen before he clears his throat and states, “A termination is doable at this stage with it being early, but it would require coming back in for a full workup before we could give her the mifepristone.”

My father nods. “Okay, do that then, please, book the appointment. There’s a history of preeclampsia in the family; I won’t lose my daughter.”

Shivers run down my spine at his words.

Instead of speaking to me, both men start discussing appointment dates right before me without even looking my way.

Abortion, he’s expecting me to abort my baby, Jesus! He’s booking the appointment right now without even consulting me, like I’m not even in the room.

“Rose, let’s get going. The doctor will make your appointment tomorrow for next week,” my dad snaps, not making eye contact with me, but I can’t even make myself feel ashamed.

This is my body, and I gave it to the man I love, and despite using protection, I got pregnant.

Everything happens for a reason, right?

Doing as my father says, I gently climb out of bed, breathing through the sickness, and walk toward the curtain only one word floating in my head.

Abortion….

It takes us an hour before we get home, and not once does my father speak to me or even look at me.

It was the most painful and uncomfortable car ride of my life.

Dad doesn’t speak as he pulls up outside our home before getting out and slamming the door. Sighing, I unbuckle and get out, following him up the steps.

“I’ll be in my office, Rose,” he says as we walk through the door, “I need to rearrange my meetings next week; the doctor said once you take the pill, you’ll feel like you’re having a rough period but may need someone here with you. Call Noah and tell him I’ve surprised you with a getaway for the week. He doesn’t need to know about this. He’s getting ready to tour and hoping to get signed, and we both know he wants you with him. You don’t need a baby right now, especially at seven-fucking-teen.”

He doesn’t stop walking as he speaks before slamming his office door, and my tears fall.

This is my body, my baby, and yet he won’t even give me a chance….

Sniffling, I gently press my hand to my belly, contemplating the hardest decision I’ll ever make.

He’s my father, and I love him so much, but right now, he’s not only judging me despite mom being my age when she fell pregnant with Al, he’s arranging a termination on my behalf without even consulting with me.

He’s just disrespected me, using his wealth to get his own way.

With a deep breath, I head up the curved staircase, my heels clicking against the marble steps. I ignore all the pictures on the wall, and open the door to my room.

I look around the light pink room that’s been mine all my life, before going to my small closet. After changing into some sweats and putting Noah’s hoodie on over my T-shirt, I grab the largest duffel bag I own and grab all my clothes, ensuring I don’t miss any. Then, I go to my dresser, making sure to get all the things Noah bought me, including the dried rose from our first anniversary.

I grab the trinket box my mom left for me, and wrap it in Noah’s black button-down shirt, the one he wore at prom. I place it in the bag with the two stuffies he also bought me, before grabbing all the photos of us on my pin board, including the photo frames on my dresser. Then, I grab my purse and the second-hand laptop I bought last year.

It doesn’t take me long to ensure I have everything I need, and I triple-check around the room, before grabbing my duffel bag.

I look around one last time, my heart breaking, before shutting the door and slowly walking down the stairs. I notice my diploma on the glass table in front of the couch and quickly grab it, putting it in my bag, and then go to the garage. Carefully, I strap it to the back of Noah’s black and dark blue bike, and as quietly as I can, I roll it out of the garage, kicking the standout when I’m near my father’s car.

I pause for a couple of seconds, trying to breathe through the nausea that’s just hit, along with the panic. I take a deep breath, then turn and head back into the house and toward my father’s office. With shaking hands, I knock on the dark brown door and wait.

After a few minutes, I debate knocking again, but as soon as I lift my hand, he snaps, "Come in.”

With a lump in my throat, I turn the doorknob and open the door, but I don’t enter his room, I stay just out of it, looking at him.

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