A Woman's Scorn - Excerpts

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We arrived home about nine o’clock. The moon was full.

This bitch is going to have an abortion, I mused, hotly. I hated to kill another child, but what could I do? What were my choices? If I allowed the child to live, his mere existence would be a mirror, constantly reminding me of Shea’s horrific behavior.

If I saw a dent in the baby’s head, would I not think that it was a vestige of M’s presence? The psychological aspect of the entire ordeal would send me reeling into a vast abyss of insanity. No. I was getting rid of the baby and then Shea. Period!

I unlocked the door to my house and pushed inward.
Shea stepped inside.

“You’re going to have an abortion first thing in the morning,” I said, trailing her into the apartment.

“An abortion?”

“Yes, an abortion,” I said, slowly enunciating each syllable.

“I’m not murdering my child,” she spat. “You’re crazy.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “You’re crazy if you think that you’re keeping it,” I said, wide-eyed.

The faucet of her eyes began to drip slow, salty drops of water.

Hell no! Not tonight. I wasn’t falling for the fake tears. I averted my eyes upward to cancel the effect of her dramatic performance.

“Listen, Shea. You’re going to see a doctor in the morning,”
I stated, adamantly.

“I don’t care what you say,” she argued. “I’m keeping my child. I haven’t been pregnant in fourteen years. I may not have another chance.”

What a liar. Didn’t M say that he had impregnated Shea prior to his incarceration? And, didn’t he also allege that she had brewed some sort of mixture to abort the child?

An idea formed in my head. Shea didn’t know the information that M had given me. Why not force this rat into a corner? If faced with no other alternative, wouldn’t she concoct the same remedy that cured a previous calamity?

“Listen, you little lying bitch!” I raged. My face was a mask of fury. My teeth snarled like fangs in the semi-dark apartment. My nostrils flared. Both of my fists were balled into tight knots. Aggressively, I stepped toward Shea. “You’re going to abort the kid or I’m going to abort him.”

“Why are you doing this?” she babbled between forced tears and fictional sobs.

With my left hand, I slapped her in her slightly bloated belly.