Amy breathed a sigh of relief. Wrong room probably. There was another soft knock. She decided to ignore it. No point opening the door, getting into a conversation. She headed for the bathroom.

“I know you’re in there, Amy. Or should I call you Cindy?”

Amy froze. “Shit.”

She walked back to the door and looked through the peephole again. Realized the face partially obscured by the hooded top wasn’t that of a stranger after all.

“We need to talk about the baby, Amy. Find a way to sort out this mess. A solution that suits everyone. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

A tear slid down Amy’s cheek, and she brushed it away with trembling fingers. “Yes,” she whispered. It was exactly what she wanted.

She scraped aside the security chain and flipped the lock. Opened the door and stepped aside to allow her unexpected visitor into the room. Heard the door close behind her as she walked over to the pile of clothes on the chair.

“I want to get dressed first,” she said. “Then we can talk.”

For a split second, she mistook the fingers in her hair for a gesture of affection. Then the grip tightened, and her head was wrenched painfully to the side, her face smashing into the desk. White lights exploded in front of her eyes as her nostrils filled with blood.

She fell to the carpet and felt a gloved fist come down hard on her cheekbone. Then she was being dragged by strong hands from the floor onto the bed.

The first blow from the knife landed between her breasts, and she gasped for breath. Held her hands in front of her in what she knew was a futile gesture. Felt the blade slice through flesh and bone. The knife sank deep again and again, and blood exploded in her mouth.

Amy’s eyes closed. Her breathing slowed, wet and wheezy.

She thought of her mom and dad. She thought of her younger sisters.

And she thought of the life that had been growing inside of her.

Her baby.

His baby.

The child she’d thought she didn’t want.

In those final moments, she knew she would have kept her baby. Knew in her heart she would have loved it if she had only been given the chance.

28 JESSICA

28

JESSICA

Matt Connor closed the motel room door, and Jessica immediately withdrew the gun from the waistband of her pants. She kept her hand down by her side, not pointing the weapon at him.

Not yet, anyway.

“Relax, Jessica. I’m not going to hurt you.”