A Message From My Future Self

3: 3

I stared at those two red lines, cold to my fingers and toes.

There was no joy. Only a crawling, bone-deep dread.

If Samuel knew this child existed, he would never let it live.

I wrapped the test up tight, layer over layer.

I carried it out to the balcony, dug into the soil around the money tree, and buried it there.

After washing my hands, I stood at the mirror, rubbed my face, and pulled the blank, hollow look back on.

When I pushed the bathroom door open, Serena was standing right outside, holding a bowl of soup.

"Bren, all done?"

Her face was full of concern.

"Drink it while it's hot. I simmered it for three hours."

I looked at the film of grease floating on top and my stomach turned.

There were probably those drugs in this bowl too, the ones eating away at my nerves.

I took the bowl, dull and slow.

"Thank you."

I drank two mouthfuls in front of her.

"Rena."

I set the bowl down and stared at the floor, unfocused.

"I want to go back home for a while."

"I keep feeling like my mother is calling me."

Serena's expression shifted. She snatched the bowl away and set it on the table.

"Go home for what? In your condition, how could you be out of our sight?"

Samuel happened to come out of the study just then, his eyes going cold.

"Bren, don't be difficult."

He looked down at me, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"You're getting worse and worse. The medical care back home would only put you in more danger."

"I'll arrange the best sanatorium for you."

I kept my head down and didn't argue.

"Okay."

My meek answer made them both breathe easier at the same time.

Late that night, I lay in bed pretending to sleep.

The study door next door hadn't shut all the way, leaking out a thread of light and low fragments of conversation.

Barefoot, I pressed myself against the wall.

"Is everything set with Switzerland?"

Serena's voice was urgent.

"Early next month. We take her over there under the pretense of seeing the snow mountains."

Samuel's voice was cold.

"That place is completely locked down. Once you're in, you don't come out."

"Isn't that too cruel?"

Serena pouted the words, and inside the room came the rustle of clothing.

"She's still a person, after all."

Samuel gave a cold laugh.

"Only when she's completely mad, locked away for good, can the two of us be together clean and free."

"Or would you rather stay in the dark your whole life?"

"Stop it..."

Then came the sickening sound of their breathing from the other side of the wall.

I slid down the wall to the floor, both hands over my belly, nails digging into my palms.

The phone screen lit up in the dark.

The future me had sent another video.

The woman on the screen was already terribly frail, lying in a bed, her right leg bent at a grotesque angle.

"After they sent me to the madhouse..."

Every single word cost her a long, dragging breath.

"They aborted the baby..."

"I fought back, so they broke my legs..."

I clamped a hand over my mouth so no sound could escape.

"Don't cling to anything."

The future me fixed her eyes on the lens, the last of the light flaring in them.

"Stage the most brutal death you can."

"It's your only way out."

"Use it well..."

The video cut to black.

A few seconds later, a sealed black suitcase dropped beside the bed.

I stayed frozen for a long time before I pulled the zipper open.

Inside lay a body, already stiff.

It was me, eight years from now.

I sat in the dark, and the tears slowly dried.

I laid my palm over my belly, and my eyes settled, little by little, into calm.

I would never cry again.