Go to Jail After Getting Pregnant

Three months pregnant, and Will sent me to prison himself.
Before I signed the confession, I asked him one last time if there was any other way.
“You’re pregnant,” he said, his voice calm, rational. “You can apply for probation, serve your sentence outside. It won’t be so bad. But Quinn… she’s not like you. She’s fragile. Prison would kill her.”
He leaned in, his words a soft poison. “Think of it as an act of grace, for our child. I promise you, Sage, the moment you get out, we’ll get married.”
I looked him in the eye. “You once said I owed her a life. After this, are we even?”
Will nodded, swearing he would be grateful to me forever.
I signed the confession.
Before I went to prison, I terminated the pregnancy.
Later, Will went insane, screaming at me, demanding to know how I could have gotten rid of his child.
“I will not let my child have a mother in prison and a father who’s a monster. The past, right or wrong… I was just a fool. From this moment on, Will, we’re even.”

1
No one came to pick me up on the day of my release.
The prison guard walked me to the gate. She glanced at the empty street beyond and asked how I was getting home.
I didn’t have a cent to my name. The bag in my hand held the only clothes I owned, and it felt as light as a feather.
Just like my life. Weightless.
I squinted against the bright sunlight and managed a smile. “I’ll find a way. I may not have money, but I have feet.”
The guard hesitated, her hand moving toward her wallet.
“No, thank you. My place isn’t far. It’s a quick walk,” I said, refusing her kindness as I stepped onto the road home.
I’d known no one would come, so before I was incarcerated, I had studied a map. From the prison to my apartment was a two-hour, seventeen-minute walk.
Not too far, really.
The city hadn’t changed much in a year and a half. The stadium that was under construction when I went in was still only half-finished.
While waiting at a crosswalk, my eyes drifted to a baby stroller next to me. The mother noticed my gaze and offered a warm, friendly smile.
I smiled back. “How old is your little one?”
“One year.”
“So cute,” I said, bending down to make a silly face at the baby. The infant gurgled, waving tiny fists in the air.
The light turned green. I straightened up and disappeared into the surging crowd.
I finally reached my apartment just as night began to fall. The old security door was coated in a thick layer of dust. I found the spare key in the mailbox and let myself in.
On the shoe cabinet sat a framed photograph. I picked it up, used my sleeve to wipe away the grime, and allowed a faint smile to touch my lips.
“Mom,” I whispered. “I’m home.”

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.

3
No one looks good after wearing a helmet for hours.
The room was now utterly silent. Even the music had stopped.
I tried to smooth down my messy hair, then held out my hand to Will. “Are you done staring? Can I have my helmet back?”
“Sage? Is that you? You’re out of prison? So soon? I thought you were sentenced to three years.”
Someone in the room finally broke the silence.
I ignored them, my eyes fixed on Will.
“Sage,” Quinn said, grabbing my wrist. “Why didn’t you call me when you got out? There’s so much I want to tell you.”
I pulled my arm free, my only goal to retrieve my helmet. But Will wouldn’t let go. After a brief struggle, I finally wrenched it from his grasp.
“If you don’t mind, a five-star review would be appreciated,” I said, forcing a smile. I put my helmet back on and walked out.
“Sage,” Will’s voice stopped me at the door. “Don’t you have anything to say?”
I turned, my gaze falling on Quinn. My voice was flat. “Happy birthday, Quinn.”
On the way home, just as I’d feared, my e-bike died.
I got off and started the long, slow push home.
In the dead of night, luxury cars sped past me, but I kept my eyes on the road, carefully navigating around potholes, focused only on the task at hand.
It was past midnight when I finally got back.
I cooked myself a bowl of plain noodles and sat by the window, eating in the dim glow of the streetlights outside.
When I was done, I wasn’t sleepy. I took out my mother’s photograph and began to talk to her.
“Mom, are you doing okay over there? Did you get the money I sent you?
“Have you met my baby? Is he cute?
“Please, help him find a perfect mother next time. Don’t let him be so unlucky as to end up with me again.
“Mom… I miss you.”

4
That night, for the first time in a long time, I dreamed of the past.
The year and a half in prison had smoothed away the last of my sharp edges. I rarely thought about my life before. Prison was a routine: wake up, work, eat, sleep.
The beginning was hell. I would sit on my cot, eyes wide open in the dark, counting the seconds until dawn.
But eventually, I adapted.
And then, I stopped thinking at all.
It’s too painful to live with such clarity. It’s better to be numb. If you can’t feel happiness, at least you don’t feel too much pain.
But the girl in my dream was so vibrant, her smile so full of life. When I woke up, a wave of sadness washed over me. How had I become this person?
The woman in the mirror had empty, lifeless eyes. I tried to force a cheerful smile, but it felt alien on my face.
A knock at the door startled me. I was still wearing that strange, practiced smile when I opened it.
It was Will. The smile froze on my face.
He broke the silence. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“I’d rather not,” I said, my hand tight on the doorknob. “What do you want?”
He held out a business card. “Call this number. He’ll arrange a job for you.”
“Thank you, but I don’t need your help.”
He let out a short, condescending laugh. “Sage, don’t push your luck.”
I just stared at him, saying nothing.
He looked away. “I know you got rid of the baby without talking to me, but what I said back then still stands.”
It took me a moment to remember the promise he’d made before I went to prison.
The moment you get out, we’ll get married.
A real smile finally touched my lips.
Will visibly relaxed. “Stop being angry. Quinn said she’s grateful to you, too. We should all get together sometime…”
“Will, that was a one-sided promise. It doesn’t count,” I interrupted, watching the relief drain from his face. My voice was soft. “I’m not so pathetic that I would marry a man who doesn’t love me, a man who has never once respected me.
“All I ever wanted was for us to be even.
“Even if it meant sacrificing my future.”

5
Will left.
His parting words were, “Sage, don’t regret this.”
I soon understood what he meant.
During the dinner rush, I came out from a delivery to find my e-bike gone. Along with it, a dozen orders I hadn't yet delivered.
I stood on the sidewalk, clutching my phone, staring blankly at the street. People rushed past, their faces intent on their own lives.
I had to call each customer, one by one, to apologize and refund their money. Then I filed a police report. The officer told me the security camera on that block was broken. They would try to find my bike, but they couldn't make any promises.
I walked out of the station and looked at the string of one-star reviews and complaints on my delivery app. I took a deep, shaky breath and forced a weak smile.
I had enough money left to buy a new bike.
But what if that one was stolen, too?
I crouched on the sidewalk for a long time, lost in a daze, until a little girl with a backpack gently tapped my shoulder. “Miss, are you okay?”
I smiled at her. “I’m just a little tired, so I’m taking a rest.”
She thought for a moment, then pulled a piece of candy from her pocket and offered it to me. “Here, this will help.”
“Thank you.”
Fueled by that small act of kindness, I found the strength to go home and start working on my resume.
No reputable company would hire me, but there were always smaller businesses with lower standards.
But my criminal record was a constant barrier. In every interview, the question was inevitable.
“You’ve been to prison?”
I would nod. “Yes.”
“For a hit-and-run?”
“Yes.”
“But… you don’t have a driver’s license?”
“That’s correct.”
Then, the polite dismissal. The HR manager would hand back my resume and say they would "consider" my application.
I remembered Will telling me that Quinn was too weak for prison. He never considered that without a license, the charge of driving without a license would be added to my sentence, making it even longer.
But that was to be expected. You can’t ask someone who never cared about you to see things from your perspective.
Every application I submitted vanished into a black hole. To stop myself from burning through my savings, I started applying for waitress jobs.
I never imagined that even those doors would be closed to me.
As I left the last restaurant, a heavy rain began to fall. I stood under the awning for a moment, then walked out into the downpour. It wasn't hard enough to blur the world around me, but my vision clouded over anyway.
It was the kind of pain that comes when you’re drowning in misery, but there’s no one in the world you can tell.

6
Will was waiting for me under my apartment building, holding an umbrella.
I saw him from a distance and stopped, unwilling to get any closer. He spotted me and started walking in my direction, stopping a few feet away.
“Have you accepted reality yet?” he asked.
I looked at him, my voice steady. “Will, you said you’d be grateful to me for the rest of your life.”
“And?”
“This isn’t gratitude,” I said. “You can’t do this to me.”
The rain must have soaked my brain. My words were so weak, so powerless.
Of course he could do this to me.
I had nothing. No powerful family, no wealth, not even friends or relatives to support me. He could humiliate me, slander me, pin any crime he wanted on me.
I just never realized he hated me this much.
That he wouldn't even let me live.
He closed the distance between us. The umbrella blocked the pouring rain.
It also blocked out all the light.
In the sudden darkness, he reached out and touched my cheek. This, he told me, was the price I had to pay for wanting us to be even.
“So what do you want from me?” I whispered. “You don’t want my love, and you won’t let us be even. So… the only choice I have left is to die, isn’t it?”

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