Or so she hoped. Because there was something other than fear of a vague external threat to deal with right now. Certain bodily symptoms required her attention, and she was no longer sure she could just dismiss them as irregularity on the grounds of stress and misery.

Sandra took a deep breath as she sat down on the toilet. She was so nervous that her hand shook, although she was surprisingly relaxed given the situation. Things were the way they were, she reasoned, and the important thing was to find out what was going on. Only then could she could think over the possible consequences.

She stopped shaking at the very moment that the blue line appeared in the window on the piece of white plastic. She sighed as she threw the life-changing gadget into the bin, but that was all. She had to keep her head on, be objective and honest with herself and not act rashly.

She made a cup of tea, sat down at the kitchen table, and reviewed all the possible options. She soberly noted that she was almost thirty and wanted a child, that she had never had a long-term relationship and wasn’t becoming a hotter commodity on the market with the passing of time. She noted that the father of the tiny life growing inside her looked good and was self-confident. He was socially able and unafraid, and seemed intelligent, educated, and curious. But he also lacked a sense of what was right and wrong, which was no doubt to do with his upbringing. As a result of that, he committed criminal acts, which was his own choice. He lacked empathy and might even be a psychopath, but those qualities weren’t hereditary.

Sandra questioned what life would be like for a child born as the result of rape and concluded that the things you don’t know don’t hurt you. If the truth ever did come out, then her decision to keep the child in spite of the manner of its conception was proof of how welcome and loved the child was.

Sandra had made up her mind. Amongst the overwhelming joy that flooded through her once the decision was made there was also a dash of schadenfreude. That man was going to be the father of her child: a completely wonderful little person who would take on everything he or she encountered. And he wouldn’t have a clue about it. He would miss out on this wonderful thing, stuck staring at his reflection in the water lily pond until his pathetic, loveless life came to an end, without ever getting to meet his child.

That was how she intended to thank him for the lift.

My beloved

husband and friend.

Karl-Erik

Barbenius

Born 14 August 1965

has left me with

great sorrow and longing

Gotland

23 January 2014

KERSTIN

———

Memory tends to what in life

was possessed,

Loss tends to what was taken

by death

———

Private funeral.

Donations to

Läkarmissionen

appreciated

MAY