Betsy gives a low moan, her shoulders slumping. “It’s awful. They have me down to two meals a day.”

“And whose fault is that?” Sammy adds. Her voice is high pitched and nasal. She picks up a checker and taps it on her thin lower lip. “You keep gaining and they’ll drop you down to liquid diet. They did it to Vandra.”

I haven’t eaten more than some mouthfuls of corn and dry cracked toast in days and these girls are whining over two square meals a day? I look down at my skin-and-bones frame. I’m all angles compared to their rounding bodies. For a moment I wonder if Clay would prefer a rounder woman. Then I remember he sold me to this hospital and I chase thoughts of him out of my head.

Sammy notices my confused expression. “Don’t worry, beanpole. They’ll fatten you up soon enough. Can’t knock you up until you put on a little weight.”

It feels like someone’s punched me in the stomach. I can’t be pregnant. I’m only sixteen.

Betsy—smile faded, hands worrying the front of her gown—plods away and leads me out of the lounge. My mind’s still clogged with the horrors of pregnancy. Being a woman is terrible. If you aren’t being used for one purpose, someone find another use for you. And what choice is there? The hard, painful fight for freedom. The fight I’ve lost. I look down at the silver cuffs on my hands. I’m so tired. Tired of running, tired of worrying and fighting. It would be so easy to give up, become cow-eyed like Betsy and be a walking incubator. I’d get three meals a day, I’d watch picture shows on that plush couch and then fall asleep to the sound of Betsy’s snoring. Easy.

A vision of Ethan swims up before me. Is Clay taking care of him right now? Is he eating, staying out of the sun? And my mother. Is she here right now behind one of these sealed doors? No, life here would not be easy. I’d be haunted by all the people I’d let down. I go back to counting tile squares as Betsy leads me out of the lounge and down another sterile white hallway.

We stop at four gigantic glass windows that overlook a large room. In the center is a rectangular concrete pond, sparkling with clear blue water. My nose crinkles at the strong chemical smell. That must be how they keep that water so clear. In it, half a dozen slack-faced pregnant girls bob up and down in large shapeless bathing suits, while one elderly woman in a blue swim cap directs their movements. The women spin and move to the beat of music that echoes from above.