The Choice
H ello Lucie, it’s been three weeks now that we’ve been apart. I know you’re probably working a lot, but try to take some time for yourself as well. Swing by my office today, I left you a surprise there. Hope it puts a smile on your beautiful face. Love always, Julian.
I started my day by reading a new note from Julian. They had become a reminder that, despite our challenges, he was stubborn enough to fight for our love. And that felt good, knowing that he was determined to get back to himself.
My first pregnancy test came back with a positive, and so did my second one. Getting up each day was becoming more difficult as my body adjusted to make room for new life. I longed to tell him, but I knew what would happen if I did—he’d leave Palm Springs and come back home, a choice he couldn’t afford to make. Every time I called the rehab facility, they gave me updates, but always recommended against connecting us for a conversation anyway.
I also needed to do a lot of thinking separately from his emotions. Still lying in bed, a disappointingly weak coffee on my nightstand, I browsed Google for information, the one thing that doctors usually warned against. I typed “Father using cocaine upon conception,” into Chrome, and immediately a handful of articles popped up, each with a warning. The headlines were a blur of alarming statistics, medical studies, and personal stories about the potential risks of drug use during conception. Most of the articles discussed the long-term effects of drugs on a developing baby, from birth defects to developmental delays. The grim statistics left a sour taste in my mouth and echoed in my mind. Did my life’s decisions already make me a terrible mother already?
I placed my hand on my stomach, feeling the faint, comforting warmth where our baby was growing. The baby I loved already, the baby I had wanted with all my heart. But as I thought about the circumstances, the timing, and the conditions surrounding this moment, doubt crept in. Everything felt so wrong—the way things had unfolded, the choices made, and the uncertainty that loomed over us. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t how it was supposed to be, that the foundation we were building for this little life wasn’t solid enough. And yet, I couldn’t help but love this baby with every fiber of my being, even as the world around us seemed to be unraveling.
The sound of a notification stopped my train of thought.
Hey, Lucie,
It was Bradley. Part of me was relieved he’d finally texted, but I was still lost in my own head, in a world that didn’t have room for anyone else right now. Except for Sophie. She’d been my constant through all of it.
Hey, I replied back, mostly out of politeness. Bradley had always had my back, so I should return the sentiment.
Got a moment to talk?
Sure, I responded, trying to shake off the fog I was in.
I’m leaving for Kauai soon , he texted, like he was preparing me for something. It seemed like he’d wrapped up his project in San Diego and was heading back to the islands. I wanted to say goodbye in person, but after all the news articles, I don’t want to make it worse for you .
While I felt the sting of him leaving again, Hawaii was the place where he belonged, it was his one true home. I couldn’t be selfish toward him. And I most definitely understood his reasoning with that. I’ll miss you, Bradley. But I feel genuinely happy you’ve found your place . By that, I was referring to the stunning house he’d been renting there, that he’d showed me in the pictures.
About Valentina, he continued. I know you two are no longer on good terms, Lucie. I hate to hear about it.
Yeah, to say the least, we had a falling out. But I guess I played my role too . I downplayed the role she had in all of this.
It’s about me, isn’t it?
I hesitated. I didn’t want to go too deep in my explanation. What could I say anyway? She likes you a lot, Bradley, I noted instead, knowing that he probably already knew that much.
Maybe I’ve given her the wrong impression, Lucie. She’s got a great sense of humor, and we connect when we talk . She was just right there, and things progressed a bit further than I should have let them.
He didn’t need to explain more. A guy who was really into a girl wouldn’t casually admit to leading her on.
It’s fine. Don’t worry, she’ll shake it off in no time. Val as you know, she always has suitors. Do you like her enough to consider a relationship eventually? I didn’t want to give up hope.
It’s more about me and what feels right. I’m planning to stay single for a while.
This usually meant that there was a lack of feelings involved. Bradley, to some extent, could be a lonely wolf, and I respected that.
About us, he continued.
Us? If that was true, I’d buried it so far in the past that it might as well have been in another lifetime. We’d built an ironclad friendship over the one year we’ve known each other, though. Don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything . He reminded me.
It was a kind offer and one that made me want to reach out to him more, but I held back. Still, in my mind, it would have been so easy to tell him.
Bradley?
Yes, Lucie?
Julian’s in rehab, I wanted to text, the words feeling heavier with each thought. I found out only a few weeks ago that he’s addicted to cocaine. And I think I’m scared. I am scared because we’re expecting a baby. And I feel so lost. I am considering an abortion . But this wasn’t the kind of thing you just dropped on someone out of the blue, so I never sent anything close to it. I knew it would make him angry, to see me so shattered.
Is there anything I can do for you? He checked as if he knew I was down in the dumps.
No, I am going to be good. I quickly assured him. Do you ever just feel like you’ve messed up and you can’t fix things anymore? ” I texted, letting the words flow out freely.
It took him a little while to message back. You may think that, but you’re just living your life the best way you know, Lucie .
Before I could stop myself, I was full-on sobbing. The weight of it all—Julian, the lies, the fear—broke me open, and I didn’t know how to keep it together anymore.
The following day, I had an early appointment at Planned Parenthood in El Cajon. I picked the East Country location, as it seemed like the least likely place where any journalist would find me. It wasn’t the kind of neighborhood where a billionaire’s girlfriend would ever be seen, and with my outfit—an oversized hoodie, baggy skater pants, and an N95 mask, a convenient relic from the Covid years—it was nearly impossible for anyone to recognize me. The hardest part, though, was getting past Will. He was practically living in front of my apartment now, his presence constant and suffocating. So, I had to get creative. The plan was simple: I’d sneak out and make it look like I was just taking out the trash. Slippers, robe—anything to look casual, like I had no agenda beyond the most mundane task. I stuffed everything I’d need to change into in a bag, holding my breath, hoping Will wouldn’t notice anything was off. The plan succeeded because he didn’t. Once I made it down to the parking garage I was in the clear.
The moment I was on the freeway, I sent Will a message there was a sudden change of plans and I needed to run an errand.
“Miss Benton, please inform me of your destination, as I have orders to follow you without exception,” the automated voice from my hands-free device announced.
“Will, I’m sorry, but I’m going to undertake this trip alone,” I spoke clearly to the speaker to answer. I knew he wouldn’t like it, but I had no choice. I couldn’t have him tagging along, not today. “It’s personal.”
Then, I put my phone on silent and drove to my destination. I parked the car a few streets away in a quiet residential area, far enough from the clinic to avoid suspicion. Even if Will tracked my location because of a device in the car, he’d never figure out where I was going. The last thing I needed was for him to show up and inform Julian. The fear that Julian would quit the rehab loomed large.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. This was the only way I could do it—by staying a step ahead. Thus, I walked several stories up a dilapidated orange building, the lack of signage making it hard to find the entrance. Thankfully a woman who was just leaving pointed me in the right direction.
The waiting room was empty, which was a relief. I didn’t want to risk running into anyone I knew—or worse, someone who might recognize me. I quickly checked in for my appointment, handed over the insurance copay in cash—more discreet that way—and then took a seat, attempting to calm my rattling nerves.
The silence in the room felt heavy, and my mind kept drifting to all the things I was trying to outrun. I felt like crap —depressed, disgusting, and guilty, now wondering about the little human inside of me. A boy or a girl? How could I have let things get this far?
Meanwhile, a young man in his twenties wandered in, asking about free STD testing. The check-in assistant at the front desk gave him a reassuring response and confirmed that it was available.
Within minutes, a nurse called my name. She greeted me with a polite smile, but there was something in her eyes that made me think she recognized me. I couldn’t quite place it, but the feeling was there—like she knew me from somewhere. At this point, it could have been just about any tabloid.
The main RN arrived shortly after, and I immediately took a liking to her. She was Black, her hair braided and dotted with orange spangles that caught the fluorescent light of our room. I couldn’t help but ask, even if just for a moment, what had inspired her to work at this particular clinic. She paused for a brief moment before sharing that, when she was younger, Planned Parenthood had been there for her during a difficult time. The care and support they had offered her then had made a lasting impression, and it was that experience that now motivated her to give back by working there.
We then switched the conversation to me. The initial consultation took about one hour. First, she wanted to know if I was certain about my decision, which I wasn’t—but I tried to make it seem like it, knowing well they wouldn’t proceed if I had doubts. They ran a blood test, then pricked my finger to check for anemia. Everything seemed satisfactory.
“Honey, do you want to see pictures?” the nurse asked gently, as she continued with the ultrasound.
“Yes, why not,” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant, though inside, I was falling apart. Would I see my baby? Would Julian want to be a father? I was certain he’d want us to keep it, despite all the risks. But that was exactly why I couldn’t bring myself to tell him.
I had to be honest with myself. I wasn’t ready to be a mom—not with my career and school. Still, I could handle those, but not the fear for our child’s health. I’d read enough to know this might be the best decision.
The nurse set up the ultrasound machine, checking the settings and preparing the transducer. Next, she applied a generous amount of gel to my stomach. But we had to move to the transvaginal part to even see anything at all.
“For now, we can only see the gestational sac, Lucie, not the yolk yet. We’d like that you come in three days for another test, just to rule out ectopic pregnancy. However, we can still proceed with the abortion pill,” she informed me.
At 5 week, and 3 days, it was too soon to see anything, yet I dreaded the thought of having to come back here. “Sure,” I agreed as she turned off the device, and then had me clean myself.
And that’s when it hit me. What had seemed like a good idea at first had now triggered a full-blown panic. The one person I needed here, to help me get through this was Julian. Our separation at this point in time made things impossibly painful. How could I ever look at him keeping this trip a secret?
The nurse noticed my teary eyes. “You know you don’t have to make this decision today? You’re not that far along, so you still have about 4 weeks, if not more, to take the pill. And then there are additional options beyond that.” She took a seat on the stool in front of me. Unlike most doctors I’d met in the private hospital system, I realized that the nurses at Planned Parenthood seemed less in a rush. If they needed to take the time to listen, they would.
“I am sorry, I thought this was going to be easier. But I have to go through with this today because it’s just going to get harder.”
She looked at me intently, and I could tell she was thinking whether to turn me away. I certainly didn’t seem like someone who was sure. “Okay, I’ll go get the pills,” she nodded.
Next, she left me alone in the room for what felt like an eternity, and each passing minute only deepened my doubts. Was my baby going to die here? In this cold, sterile room under harsh fluorescent lights?
I knew many women probably came here seeking a sense of peace and their right to make decisions about their own bodies I respected. A storm of fury churned inside me at the thought of Roe v. Wade being overturned. It felt like such a violation, like a piece of my autonomy had been ripped away. The women working at Planned Parenthood were heroes, changing one life at a time. But for me, the situation was more complex. I was still engaged to the love of my life. Julian was capable of supporting a family, and I knew our child would never have to experience hardship.
Lucie, are you okay? Sophie texted. She was the only friend who knew where I was.
I welcomed the message because I felt so alone. I didn’t have anyone in my family with whom I could share my struggle.
Not really. Making this decision is harder than I’d thought.
Do you think you just need more time?
Maybe, Sophie. I feel guilty . Guilty about not making this decision with Julian . But he needs time to get better. And I am nowhere near ready to be a mom and do it in a way that puts a child at risk of health issues.
Her response arrived almost instantly. Love, maybe you’re underestimating him. Julian is a strong person, though he’s had his shortcomings. The fact, though, that he’s been in rehab this long tells me he’s serious about change. And it doesn’t sound like what you’re doing is working for you.
As I finished reading Sophie’s heartfelt message, a knock sounded, signaling the RN’s return. She gave me an empathetic look and set three bottles of medication on the silver platter in front of me.
“Still good to proceed?” She shot me a glance, almost amused as if she already knew the outcome of the appointment.
“Yes,” I gulped.
“You’ll take the first two to prevent cramping and nausea,” she explained, taking a seat in front of me. Then, she pulled another box from the bag she had brought along.
“And this is mifepristone, it will block any progesterone, stopping the pregnancy from growing. Once you take this, you need to go through with the whole regimen.”
Sweat accumulated in my palms. Yes, this felt like an execution. I had lived with this tiny human inside me for weeks, even talking to them. Now, I was condemning them to an eternity of darkness. It felt like whatever soul was living inside me was there for a reason. I felt selfish and disgusting.
The nurse approached me with the pill and noticed my pale face.
“Honey, you still have time to think things through. We don’t want anybody to have regrets.” Her words, meant to comfort, only deepened the turmoil inside me.
The floodgates had opened, and I couldn’t stop the rush of emotions that overwhelmed me, suffocating me in my own tears. Guilt, confusion, and sorrow swelled within me, leaving me frozen in a moment of utter paralysis. Would I regret this? The answer suddenly came into focus. With soft acknowledgment from the RN, I slowly walked out of the facility, my baby still growing inside me. Whether I was ready to admit it or not, a sense of relief began to course through my veins. I longed for the dream of Julian and me becoming parents, and it had only taken me this failed appointment to discover it.