My struggling, he announced, had wrecked the fetus's genes beyond repair. The child would be born deformed—and the condition could spread to Ruby if she stayed under the same roof.
Cecil grabbed a fistful of my tattered nightgown and ripped it the rest of the way apart. He jerked his chin toward the iron cot in the corner.
"Right here. Cut it out of her. Now. I don't want so much as a cell left behind."
Ruby pressed herself against Cecil's arm, lip trembling on cue, voice dripping with sweetness.
"Cecil, it's just so sad. After they take it out, I'll find the prettiest formaldehyde jar and float it inside—a little keepsake. I'll look at it every single day."
The anesthesia needle inched closer.
I didn't struggle. Not even a flinch. Instead, every taut muscle in my body went slack, and I lay flat on the iron cot.
Cecil's hand froze mid-air, his brow knotting tight.
His voice turned harsh.
"Why aren't you on your knees begging me to hit you this time? Putting on another act? What's the trick this time?"
I turned my face away and didn't look at him again.
That was when the countdown in my mind hit zero.
00:00:00.
A cold electronic tone cut through everything—forced elimination, activated.
Countdown: zero.
Forced erasure protocol engaged.
Execution method: gas pipeline explosion.
The blast ripped through the basement gas line with a deafening roar.
A wall of fire swallowed the iron bed in an instant, wrapping me and my unborn child in flames.
Heat rolled over everything.
But I felt no pain. Only a strange, weightless relief.
It was finally over.
I closed my eyes.
Goodbye.
Cecil.
May we never meet again, in this life or any other.
