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SEVENTY EIGHT

Amber washed her face and dried it with the back of her sleeves before looking down and pressing her stomach with both hands. Her eyebrows knitted together as she thought back to what the tattooed inmate said earlier.

Pregnant? She shook her head at the absurdity; her ponytail swinging along as she did. She was sure her bouts of nausea and vomiting were due to some kind of food poisoning.

But didn’t you miss taking the morning pills after consummating with Fabian? A little voice whispered in her mind.

And not just once. You missed the pill twice! The voice grew stronger, eating away her earlier assumption about food poisoning. Gently, her hand cradled her stomach as the possibility of carrying a life within her own body tugged at her heart. It was a strange feeling.

“Sweetheart, it’s time. If you want, we can have a doctor take a look at you after the trial,” the police officer hurried her, snapping Amber

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