"Can you slow down?" she asked, her voice tight. "The roads are slick."
Beside her, the driver—a man whose face was etched with the kind of frantic exhaustion that comes from a life of bad choices—didn't respond. He just gripped the wheel harder.
Natsuki gasped for air, the pressure in her abdomen sharp and terrifying. She didn't look at the driver. She didn't care if he ran. She kicked her door open, stumbling out into the humid night air.
The blue and red lights appeared in the rearview mirror like a sudden, violent heartbeat. "Pull over," Natsuki whispered. "Please." He didn't pull over. He hit the gas.
She realized then that being "better" wasn't about erasing the past or the dangerous ride that had brought her here. It was about ensuring that Part 2 of her life—and the first part of her child's—would never involve looking back in a rearview mirror at the mistakes of someone else. in the months following the incident?
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"I'm pregnant!" she shouted as the officers approached, their flashlights cutting through the dark. "Please, just help the baby."