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cleared his throat and looked at her as he put on his glasses. "The baby is with the adoptive parents."

Gina knew she wouldn't change her mind. How could she? She would have to return the money the adopting parents had given her. She would have to try and raise a child on her own, a child she hadn't wanted in the first place, a child that was the product of a coercive and abusive relationship.

Gina was back at her apartment, the one she shared with Martin, when the lawyer came. They sat at the kitchen table, glasses of ice tea in front of them, condensation dripping down the sides onto the Formica tabletop. She'd asked the lawyer, as the pen in her hand hovered over the paper in front of her, if the adoptive parents were nice people that would give the baby a good home.

"Oh, yes," the lawyer answered. "They have a nice home in a good part of town. He's an accountant, and she's a teacher, but she's going to stay home. Be a full-time parent."

Gina signed, and the lawyer handed her an envelope. In it was a check for $20,000.

Days later, in her room, Gina looked at her reflection in the mirror, at the scar across her belly, still red, still raw. It was what proved she'd given birth, proved that she'd carried a child within her body, proved that she'd given it away.

"Sold it," she told her reflection.

"No," she told herself. "Compensation for your time. You gave up your life for nine months. Now it's time to start again."

"To be reborn?" her reflection smirked.

"Yes," she answered. "I have to give birth to me now."

Learn more about this author, Shelly Mcrae.
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