Updated Mar 22, 2026 • ~11 min read
Chapter 18: The Father
SLOANE
The envelope sits on Rebecca’s desk.
Sealed.
Official.
Contains the answer I’ve been dreading.
“Are you ready?” Rebecca asks.
“No. But open it anyway.”
She breaks the seal.
Reads silently.
Her face gives nothing away.
Finally: “The biological father is Everett Cole.”
The room spins.
Everett.
My rapist.
I’m carrying my rapist’s baby.
“Sloane? Are you okay?”
I can’t breathe.
Can’t think.
Can’t process.
“Sloane, breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”
I try.
Fail.
Panic attack.
Full-blown, can’t-breathe, world-ending panic attack.
Rebecca calls for help.
Someone brings water.
Someone else calls Dr. Morgan.
I’m drowning.
In air.
In information.
In the knowledge that a rapist’s baby is growing inside me.
Twenty minutes later, I can breathe again.
Barely.
“What do you want to do?” Rebecca asks gently.
“I don’t know.”
“You have options—”
“I know I have options! Everyone keeps telling me I have options! But none of them are GOOD options!”
I’m shouting now.
Don’t care.
“If I terminate, I’m killing an innocent baby. If I keep it, I’m raising my rapist’s child. If I adopt it out, I carry it for nine months knowing whose it is. There are no good options!”
Rebecca waits for me to calm down.
“You’re right. There aren’t any good options. Only the option that you can live with.”
“What if I can’t live with any of them?”
“Then we find a way to make one bearable.”
I go home—to Jade’s.
Tell her the results.
She holds me while I cry.
“I can’t do this,” I sob. “I can’t carry his baby. I can’t look at it for nine months knowing what he did to me.”
“So you terminate?”
“I don’t know! Part of me wants to. Wants to erase every trace of him from my body. But part of me feels like that’s letting him win. Like he’s taking even more from me.”
“This isn’t about him. It’s about you. What do YOU want?”
“I want to not be pregnant!”
“Okay. Then let’s make an appointment.”
“But what if I regret it?”
“What if you regret keeping it?”
“Either way I lose.”
“No. Either way you make a choice that’s right for you in this moment. And you live with it. That’s not losing. That’s surviving.”
That night, I make a list.
Pros and cons.
**TERMINATE:**
Pros:
– Not carrying rapist’s baby
– Not tied to Everett forever
– Can move on faster
– Don’t have to see his face in a child
Cons:
– Might regret it
– Feels like letting him take more from me
– Permanent decision
– Grief
**KEEP:**
Pros:
– Baby is innocent
– Could be healing?
– Proves I’m stronger than trauma
– Part of me wants to be a mother
Cons:
– Tied to Everett for 18 years
– Might see him in the child
– Single motherhood is hard
– Child will have rapist’s DNA
**ADOPT OUT:**
Pros:
– Baby gets a good home
– I don’t have to raise it
– Middle ground
Cons:
– 9 months of pregnancy
– Knowing whose it is the whole time
– Giving up a child
– Still trauma
No matter how I arrange it, every option hurts.
I call Dr. Morgan.
“I got the results. It’s Everett’s.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I want to rip my own skin off.”
“That’s understandable. Have you thought about what you want to do?”
“I can’t stop thinking about it. But I can’t decide.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“Fear. Guilt. Shame. Everything.”
“Let me ask you something. If you woke up tomorrow and the pregnancy was just… gone. Magically, painlessly gone. How would you feel?”
I think about it.
“Relieved.”
“Okay. And if you woke up tomorrow and the pregnancy was guaranteed to be easy, healthy, and result in a baby you’d love unconditionally—how would you feel?”
“Terrified.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know if I CAN love a child that’s half Everett. I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”
“That’s the answer, Sloane.”
“What is?”
“You feel relieved at the thought of it being gone. And terrified at the thought of keeping it. Your body already knows what it wants. You just have to listen.”
I make an appointment.
Planned Parenthood.
Friday.
Three days away.
Medication abortion.
Two pills.
Then it’s over.
Simple.
Clinical.
Final.
I tell Jade.
“Are you sure?”
“No. But I’m doing it anyway.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“Please.”
“Okay. I’ll be there.”
I tell Heath.
He doesn’t judge.
Just asks: “Is this what you want?”
“I think so.”
“Then I support you.”
“You don’t think I’m a monster?”
“A monster? Sloane, you’re a survivor. Making an impossible choice in an impossible situation. That’s not monstrous. That’s human.”
I don’t tell Vivian.
Don’t tell Rebecca.
Don’t tell anyone else.
Because I don’t want opinions.
Don’t want guilt.
Don’t want anyone trying to change my mind.
This is my choice.
Mine alone.
Wednesday night, two days before the appointment, I have a dream.
I’m holding a baby.
Dark hair. Blue eyes.
Everett’s face staring up at me.
He’s crying.
I try to comfort him.
But every time I touch him, he cries harder.
Like he knows.
Knows I don’t want him.
Knows I can’t love him.
Knows he’s the product of violence.
I wake up in tears.
Thursday, one day before the appointment, I almost cancel.
Almost.
Because what if I’m wrong?
What if I regret this for the rest of my life?
What if this baby could’ve been the one good thing to come from all the bad?
But then I remember.
The violation.
The gaslighting.
The terror.
The fact that Everett would have parental rights.
Would be able to see this child.
Touch this child.
Manipulate this child the way he manipulated me.
And I can’t.
I can’t give him that power.
Friday morning.
Jade drives me to the clinic.
There are protesters outside.
Holding signs.
Shouting.
“Murderer!”
“Baby killer!”
“Choose life!”
I want to scream at them.
Tell them I didn’t choose this.
Tell them I was raped.
Tell them to fuck off.
But I don’t.
Just walk past them.
Head down.
Jade’s hand in mine.
Inside, the clinic is quiet.
Calm.
The counselor goes over everything.
“You’re sure about this?”
“Yes.”
“You understand it’s permanent?”
“Yes.”
“You have support at home?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Let’s proceed.”
They give me the first pill.
Mifepristone.
It blocks the pregnancy hormone.
“Take the second set of pills tomorrow. Misoprostol. They’ll cause cramping and bleeding. Like a heavy period, but more intense.”
“Will it hurt?”
“Probably. But we’ll give you pain medication.”
“Okay.”
I take the pill.
Swallow it with water.
It’s done.
Or it will be, after tomorrow.
No going back now.
That night, I feel nothing.
No cramps. No bleeding.
Just… nothing.
The baby—the embryo—is still there.
But it’s dying.
Slowly.
Because I chose to kill it.
I wait for guilt.
For regret.
For horror at what I’ve done.
But it doesn’t come.
Instead, I feel relief.
And that makes me feel worse.
Saturday morning, I take the second set of pills.
Within an hour, the cramping starts.
Intense.
Painful.
Worse than any period I’ve ever had.
Jade brings me a heating pad.
Pain medication.
Water.
“Do you need anything else?”
“Just… stay.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The bleeding starts.
Heavy.
The embryo passes.
I don’t look.
Can’t look.
Don’t want to see.
Just flush it away.
Gone.
Like it never existed.
By evening, the worst is over.
I’m exhausted.
Emotionally drained.
Physically wrecked.
But it’s done.
I’m not pregnant anymore.
Not carrying Everett’s baby.
Not tied to him forever.
Free.
Sort of.
Sunday, I rest.
Sleep most of the day.
When I’m awake, I just stare at the ceiling.
Thinking.
Did I make the right choice?
I don’t know.
But it’s the choice I made.
And I have to live with it.
Monday, Rebecca calls.
“The trial date is set. Three months from now.”
“Okay.”
“Are you alright? You sound… off.”
“I’m fine.”
“Sloane—”
“I said I’m fine. What else do you need?”
“Just wanted to update you. Both twins are still in custody. They tried to make bail again. Denied again.”
“Good.”
“And one more thing. Everett’s lawyer wants to meet. Says he has information you might want to hear.”
“What kind of information?”
“He wouldn’t say. But he claims Everett wants to confess. Fully. To everything.”
My heart stops.
“Why?”
“That’s what the lawyer wants to discuss.”
“When?”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
“I’ll never be ready. But set it up anyway.”
Wednesday, I meet with Everett’s lawyer.
Conference room.
Neutral location.
He’s young. Nervous. Clearly doesn’t want to be here.
“Thank you for coming, Ms. Mitchell.”
“What does he want?”
“My client would like to make a full confession. On record. In exchange for a reduced sentence.”
“Why?”
“He claims he’s… remorseful. That he wants to take responsibility.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m just relaying what he told me—”
“Everett doesn’t feel remorse. He’s a sociopath. He’s planning something.”
“Perhaps. But his confession could help your case. Could ensure conviction. Could give you closure.”
“I don’t want his confession. I want him in prison for the rest of his life.”
“This plea deal would guarantee fifteen years. Without it, he might get less. Or might be acquitted.”
“Acquitted? With all the evidence?”
“Juries are unpredictable. Especially with identical twins. Defense could argue reasonable doubt. Could claim you can’t be sure which twin did what.”
Fuck.
He’s right.
“What about Ethan?”
“Separate deal. Five years for accessory charges.”
“That’s nothing—”
“It’s something. More than he might get at trial.”
I hate this.
Hate that they have any power.
Any leverage.
But I also want certainty.
Want to know they’ll be punished.
“I need to think about it.”
“Of course. But decide soon. Offer expires in two weeks.”
That night, I call everyone.
Rebecca. Dr. Morgan. Jade. Heath.
Tell them about the plea deal.
“What should I do?”
Rebecca: “Take it. Guaranteed conviction. No risk of acquittal.”
Dr. Morgan: “Only if it gives you closure. Don’t do it for them.”
Jade: “Fifteen years is a long time. He’ll be middle-aged when he gets out.”
Heath: “I say we go to trial. Make them pay in full.”
Everyone has an opinion.
But it’s my decision.
Two days later, I decide.
I’m taking the deal.
Not because I forgive them.
Not because fifteen years is enough.
But because I’m tired.
Tired of fighting.
Tired of court.
Tired of them taking up space in my life.
I want it over.
And this is the fastest way to end it.
I tell Rebecca.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure I want this over. That’s close enough.”
“Okay. I’ll draw up the paperwork.”
“One condition.”
“What?”
“I want to be there when he confesses. I want to hear him say it. All of it. Every detail. On record.”
“That’s highly unusual—”
“I don’t care. That’s my condition. I get to witness the confession or no deal.”
She pauses.
Then nods.
“I’ll make it happen.”
One week later, I’m back in that conference room.
Everett is brought in.
Handcuffed.
Orange jumpsuit.
Lawyer beside him.
He looks at me.
Smiles.
“Hello, Sloane.”
I don’t respond.
The lawyer clears his throat.
“My client is prepared to make a full confession. For the record.”
The court reporter nods.
“Proceed.”
Everett leans forward.
Eyes locked on mine.
“I did it. All of it. The switching. The gaslighting. The rape. Everything you accused me of.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I could. Because you were there. Because my brother was weak. Because it was fun.”
“Fun?”
“At first. Then it became necessary. You were figuring it out. Couldn’t have that.”
“You destroyed my life.”
“I gave your life meaning. Before me, you were nobody. Now you’re a survivor. You’re welcome.”
I want to kill him.
Want to reach across the table and strangle him.
But I don’t.
Because he wants a reaction.
Wants to know he still has power.
And I won’t give him that.
“Is that everything?” the lawyer asks.
“Not quite,” Everett says. “There’s one more thing I want Sloane to know.”
“What?”
He leans in.
Whispers loud enough for everyone to hear.
“I’d do it all again. Every single bit. You were worth it.”
And there it is.
The truth.
He’s not remorseful.
He’s just strategic.
Taking the deal to get a lighter sentence.
Not because he’s sorry.
But because he’s calculating.
Always calculating.
I stand.
Walk out.
Don’t look back.
Behind me, I hear the lawyer scrambling.
“That wasn’t part of the agreement—”
“It’s still a confession,” Rebecca says coldly. “He admitted to everything. We’re taking it.”
Good.
Let them scramble.
Let Everett sit in that room knowing his smug confession just sealed his fate.
Fifteen years.
Not enough.
But it’s something.
END OF CHAPTER 18
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