There was another exam, the feeling of the doctor’s hands on Naomi’s belly, between her legs. As the medicine took hold, all grew fuzzier. Naomi floated away as the doctor opened her up, reached within, and withdrew a tiny cluster of cells that were already dead. In five minutes, it was gone. Naomi’s life trajectory had been realigned to where it was seven weeks earlier.

Naomi came to gradually. Valerie had paid for a private room, and Naomi was absurdly grateful. She lay there, a heating pad on her belly, her eyes on the ceiling.

She would have gone through with the original abortion. She knew that. She wouldn’t have regretted it. Nevertheless, she was oddly relieved the choice had been taken from her. What had happened to her seemed selfish and not at the same time. If the condom hadn’t broken, she never would have had to ask herself these questions. But it had.

Naomi never asked Valerie how much it cost to have Dr. Pillai come to her house. Or how much the visit to the hospital cost, paid out of pocket so Naomi wouldn’t have to go through NASA healthcare and potentially answer questions she didn’t wish to. Naomi was all too aware that most women didn’t have the access or resources she did. Some of the financially privileged ones, if they needed an abortion, could go up to Canada, or down to Mexico. Or fly to Europe and pretend they were having a restful holiday near Lake Como. For so many, it was out of reach. Child number one, then an IUD, and that would be that.

Dr. Pillai came to her, first thing the next morning, alone. She said that the blood tests indicated that she had previously undiagnosed polycystic ovarian syndrome, or PCOS. That explained the irregular periods that often disappeared for months at a time. Naomi had always put it down to stress and the amount of exercise she did, but it turned out her hormones were off-kilter. Slightly higher androgens. It’d been surprising she’d fallen pregnant in the first place—often women with PCOS had fertility issues. Dr. Pillai told her to keep using contraceptives, but with her symptoms, there was a low chance it would happen again without treatment. She probably only ovulated once or twice a year, at most. There were pills she could take, to regulate her cycle and hormones. IVF would be an option if, down the line, she changed her mind, though there were no guarantees.

Naomi pressed her lips and nodded, taking it all in. She hadn’t wanted a child, not then. It was strange, to know the choice could be taken away from her. A pity Haven had been shut down. Having the knowledge that she could have grown a baby outside her own body would have been reassuring.