My painful decision

Marrissa's point of view 

I could barely sleep throughout the night. Every time I closed my eyes, nightmares clawed their way into my mind, dark and fearful. Disturbed thoughts kept me tossing and turning, leaving me wide awake for most of the night. 

By the time morning came, I felt like a shell of myself. My head throbbed, the pounding headache so intense I thought it might split open. But I didn’t let it stop me. My mind was made up—there was no turning back now.

Bringing a child into this world without proper planning is a sin, I told myself over and over as I got ready. 

The words became my mantra, my only comfort. I convinced myself that I was doing the right thing, even though something deep inside me screamed otherwise. 

But I ignored it. I dressed quickly, pulling my jacket tighter around me as if it could shield me from the weight of my decision. Then, I stepped out into the brisk morning air, heading to the pharmacy a few blocks away. 

The pharmacy was small and familiar. I have been here countless times before, and the smell of antiseptic and neatly stocked shelves greeted me like an old friend. Mary, the saleswoman, stood behind the counter, her warm smile lighting up when she saw me walk in.

“Hey, Mary, good morning,” I said, trying to sound casual. My voice felt hollow, like it belonged to someone else.

“Hello, Mar. How are you today?” she asked cheerfully.

“I’m fine, thank you.” The lie came out too easily, but I avoided her eyes, pretending to look at the shelves.

My hands fidgeted as I walked aimlessly around the store, pretending I was looking for something important, something I was sure of.

How could I tell her? Tell her I was about to kill my own child. The thought of saying it out loud cut deep into my chest. I glanced at the rows of brightly labeled bottles, tables and capsules, but my vision blurred. I wasn’t really seeing anything.

After a while, Mary’s voice broke through the silence. “Do you need your usual painkillers, Mar?”

“Hmmm... not really.” My voice was faint, my gaze shifting to the floor. 

The store emptied slowly until it was just the two of us. My heart pounded in my chest as I hesitated near the counter. Finally, I leaned forward, lowering my voice to a whisper. “I need...”

The words wouldn’t come at first, but then I forced them out. I said the name of the medication I needed.

Mary’s eyes widened. She froze, the warmth in her face replaced by shock. “Mar...” she said softly, her voice almost pleading. She reached out and took my hand, her fingers cold against mine. “I’ve known you since you were a little girl. You aren’t this kind of person. Are you sure you want to—?”

“Yes,” I interrupted sharply, my voice trembling but firm. I wasn’t going to back down now.

She stared at me for a long moment, searching my face for something—hesitation, doubt, anything. 

But I kept my gaze firm, even though my hands were shaking. Finally, she sighed and turned away, walking to the back of the store. When she came back, she handed me a small box, holding on to it for just a second longer.

“Take this,” she said quietly, “but think it through. Please. And if anything feels wrong—if you feel any pain—call me immediately.”

I nodded stiffly, unable to meet her gaze as I slid the box into my bag, paid for it, and left without another word. 

The drive to work was filled with tears.

The city moved around me—cars honking, people rushing by—but it all felt distant, like I was watching it through a foggy window. By the time I walked into the office, my chest was tight, and my mind was racing. 

“Mar, what the hell happened to you?” Katty’s voice jolted me out of my haze. She was leaning over her desk, her eyes scanning my face with concern.

“Good morning,” I whispered, brushing past her without making eye contact. I needed to get to my desk— I needed to be alone.

I sat down and began clearing my desk, stacking papers neatly, removing personal items, and shoving them into a box. My hands moved steadily, but my mind was elsewhere.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Morgan’s sharp voice cut through the room like a knife. 

I turned to see him standing in the doorway, his tall frame leaning against the frame, arms crossed. His usual frown was etched deeper than normal, his piercing gaze locked onto me.

“I’m clearing my desk, sir,” I said, my voice calm despite the storm brewing inside me.

“Get to work,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Sir, I—”

“I said, get to work,” he snapped, stepping into the room. “There are ten emails that need responses, two more to send, and I need the paperwork that needs my signature on my desk by noon. Oh, and don’t forget my coffee. Black.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” I said, my voice firmer now, “but I don’t belong here anymore.”

My own words startled me. “What are you doing?” my inner voice screamed. “Shouldn’t you be grateful you still have a job?”

Morgan’s frown deepened. “You don’t get to decide that,” he said coolly. “That’s my job. And I say you’re staying.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but my words caught in my throat. I didn’t know what to say. 

My fingers tightened around the box I was holding, but as Morgan stepped closer, his cologne filling the air between us, I suddenly felt intense heat surge through my body, my adrenaline increasing.

The box slipped from my hands and hit the floor, my bag tumbling along with it. Its contents spilled everywhere—papers, pens, and the small box Mary had given me.

Morgan’s eyes flicked to the floor, narrowing as they landed on the box. He bent down, picked it up, and held it up between us.