XVII. August 12th, 1986

Mira's POV:

I walk out of the clinic with a pamphlet and a picture in my hand.

When I reached the car, I got inside and slammed the door shut.

I screamed.

With all the anxiety and frustration inside of me released, I exhaled and then started the car. The car ride home gave me some time to think about the mistake I made.

My hand rests on the stomach.

I decided to keep the baby.

My hand reached for the sonogram photo, and I couldn't help but smile at the black-and-white blob.

I place the picture down and steer into the freeway. "Ugh. You idiot."

The farther I got away from the clinic, the lighter my body felt. The tears rushed down my cheeks, "How are you supposed to raise a baby by yourself?"

On the other side of the lane, I noticed how a car was going extremely slow, and there was a line of cars behind them. I glanced behind me to make sure I wasn't going slow, but the sun made it difficult to see.

By the time I looked forward, a blue car appeared.

Now, the wheels are burnt against the cement.

Unconsciously, I steered the wheel, and they did too.

Bang.

My forehead crashed against the window, and I could hear an obnoxious ring in my ear. When I felt a painful sensation in the pit of my stomach, I lay a hand on it.

No.

Not my baby.

My bloody fingers curled inward as I desperately fought the tears.

When I manage to open my eyes again, I can hear the sound of sirens and screams. The paramedics pulled a mask over my face and told me everything would be okay.

They rolled me into the ambulance, and off like a light I went.

The whole chaotic ride had been on and off for me. Finally, when I managed to gather enough energy, I grabbed one of the paramedics' arms, "My...baby."

She smiled at me, "Don't worry, ma'am. Everything will be alright." They continued to repeat the same line as if that was all they were taught to say.

They rolled me out of the ambulance and into the emergency hospital. Without a second thought, I was in surgery. They said I had shattered glass inside my head.

The doctor pushed the light on me and asked me a question, but I couldn't respond.

When they pulled a new mask on me, I was out again.

Inside my mind, there was nothing but darkness. I'd assume that since there was a broken glass inside, I might have something, but nope—nothing.

One step after another, I walked to what felt like nowhere.

"Don't worry mom. I'll protect you."

"Wait- what?"

A small beam of light reached my sight, and when I woke up, I could hear someone's muffled scream: "She's awake. She's awake!"

"I'll get the doctor." Dad leaves the room.

I smacked my dried lips a few times and attempted to get up. "Careful," Steven says. With his arms around my sore body, he guided me up.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Some idiot drove to your lane to try to pass another driver." Steven doesn't look happy.

I grabbed his arm, "How's the baby?"

Steven and Mom stare at me.

"My baby? Is my baby okay?" I place a hand on my flat stomach.

"Baby?" Mom stepped forward, "What are you talking about?"

The doctor walked in and interrupted the tense atmosphere. He said I was doing well and was on track for recovery.

The baby is okay, too.

When he left, three sets of eyes were on me. Steven was on one side of the wall with his nails in his mouth, an old habit he desperately tried to quit. His eyes peer around the room. Dad was on the other side, adjusting his glasses once in a while. His movements were endless, as if he couldn't figure out what position to take. Mom stood in front with her arms crossed.

"What do you mean by...baby?" She asked.

My lips parted, but nothing came out.

You'd think by now, at the age of 21, I'd be brave enough to confront my own parents.

"I told you the vacation was a bad idea," Dad says.

Mom turned around, "Excuse me?"

"I told you not to let her go."

"She's 21! What am I supposed to do?"

"You're supposed to be her mother!"

Now, they're blaming each other for their young daughter's unplanned pregnancy. Two doctors bickering inside a hospital. It seems like they're working even while their daughter is injured.

My fingers curled inward.

Not once did either of them ask if I was okay.

My head dropped, and I stared at the thin white blanket that covered me. I know these blankets well. The thinness reduces the difficulties of patients handling heavy blankets, and the special textual materials keep the bond lasting. The compound layers still keep you warm. That's why they decided to go with these types of blankets.

The longer I stared at the blanket, the more the voices faded in the background, and soon, they became static sounds.

"What did you say?" Dad asked.

I glance over.

Did I say something?

"I said: I need you two to leave the room, please," Steven said.

"Steven! We're your parents. You don't talk to your parents that way."

"It's because you're our parents, that's why I said: please."

Dad paces towards him, "Steven-" His phone buzzes. We all stared at the vibrating device until he exhaled and picked it up, "Dr.Liu speaking-"

He leaves the room.

"Mira-"

"Mom-" Steven intervenes, "I need a moment with Mira, please."

Mom curled her hands into fists and glanced at me. "Okay. I'll be back." She leaves the room.

Now, it's only Steven and I.

After a few minutes, he stood up straight and grabbed a chair. With the chair placed in front of me, he sat down and asked: "How are you feeling?"

My gaze returned to my folded hands, "I'm fine."

"That's good." He nodded, his jaw moving around. "When were you going to tell us?"

Never.

Steven exhaled before he stood up and went to the other side of the room. He searched inside his bag and came back with the pamphlet and sonogram. Quickly, I grabbed it.

"I assume you weren't going to say anything," he said. "Were you planning to get an abortion?"

My fingers moved across the sonogram photo, and I nodded.

"Why didn't you come to me?"

"And tell you what?" I look at him with teary eyes, "That I was stupid and got knocked up by a guy I don't know in a different country?

"Mira, you know I'd support you with whatever you decide to do."

I hold the sonogram close to my stomach, "I thought...I thought, if I just go and get an abortion, then everything will be okay. But, when I went to the clinic, they did me dirty and made me listen to the baby's heartbeat," I cried.

Steven exhaled and hugged my body, "I assume you want to keep the baby?"

"I don't know what I want to do."

"Well, whatever it is, I'll try my best to help. Okay?" When I looked up, he smiled, "So, no more crying."

I didn't stop. Instead, I continued to cry until I fell asleep.

I stayed in the hospital for a week before I got approved for a discharge. While I was hospitalized, Steven handled all the accident's insurance. The other party paid for the car and my medical bills. Plus, extra compensation for the physical and mental toll the accident put me in.

Two days after my discharge, I had my first dinner with a complete family. The utensils clinked against the plates as we forced small talk around the table.

"How are you feeling?" Mom asked.

I smiled, "I'm okay. The doctor says I'm recovering at a good rate."

"From what it looks like, you'll be fully recovered in six weeks," Dad says.

For as long as I can remember, my family has always discussed normal topics during dinner time. Topics can vary from school to medical cases. Even when my parents are clocked out, they never seem to check out from work mentally. That's probably why biology has always come easy to me. My life is a textbook.

"You're still early in the pregnancy stage," Dad says. "So, they'll prescribe mifepristone and misoprostol."

I stop moving the fork and look up, "Are you telling me to get an abortion?"

Dad looked at me past his glasses before he glanced at Mom.

Mom placed down her fork and exhaled, "Your dad and I talked about it. It's best if you get an abortion."

"Where was I in this talk?"

"This is for your future, Mira," Dad says.

"What about the baby?" I asked.

"It's not a baby," he responded. "At your current stage, it's an embryo."

"My baby has a heartbeat!"

"What you heard are pulsing cells. Embryos don't have heart."

"And neither do you." I threw the fork down and walked away from the dining table.

While I walked upstairs, I heard Steven say: "I hope you two are happy."

I slammed the door shut and threw myself on the bed. Less than a week ago, I had the same thinking as my parents. Get rid of the baby, and life will return to normal. My sight is set on the framed sonogram. But, now it's different.

"Mira?" Steven knocked on the door. "Can I come in?"

Despite my lack of response, Steven opened the door and walked inside. Softly, he closed the door and then sat beside me on the bed. "They didn't mean that."

"You know they do."

For as long as I can remember, reputation and status have meant everything to my parents, which is probably the reason why they haven't divorced despite cheating on each other.

From an outsider's perspective, we have it all.

Career.

Love.

Family.

But, at the end of the day, Steven and I are no more than the house decorations —decorations for my parents to further conform to social norms.

They taught us that mistakes aren't easily forgiven and that we should never make any, at least not ones that are too big.

Pregnancy makes the big list.

"Give them some time; they'll realize the mistake they made."

Steven should know better than to say those words. Our parents were nurtured to be the best in their class, and the best are never wrong. And even when they are, they aren't.

These days, it has become harder and harder to breathe in the house.

I dreaded dinner with them.

"How will you go to school while pregnant?"

"Who will watch the baby?"

"You're not living with us; don't expect us to help."

"We've helped enough with tuition and housing."

The questions and statements piled up each day. Each sentence that came out of their mouths was a reminder that I'm nothing more than a child myself who still depends on her parents.

How can a child take care of another child?

"I talked to the dean," Dad says one night. You'll take a year break before attending medical school."

I sat up from the couch, "What? You did what?"

When he didn't respond, I rushed out of the room.

"There she goes again."

To my dad, I'm throwing a tantrum.

Eventually, I'll see it his way and follow his recommendation.

It's always been like that.

Inside the bedroom, I was in a pool of tears. I didn't expect my parents to support me, but it doesn't mean they have to treat me like a child who can't make her own decisions.

I got up and grabbed the luggage. Quickly, I throw all the clothes inside the case. I'm not sure where I'll go, but I'm not staying here.

The door opened, "What are you doing?" Steven asked.

"I can't do it anymore," I cried. "He pushed back my first year of college without my permission! He basically threatened me to get an abortion, Steven!"

"Where are you going to go?"

"Anywhere but here."

"Mira-"

"I'll just move over there, talk to the dean, and-"

"Mom cancelled your apartment lease."

I dropped the shirt in my hands, "What?"

"She withdraws the deposit."

In the quietness, a light laugh erupted.

Both my parents are blackmailing me. Without having to say it, they're indirectly telling me they will cut me off until I stop my rebellion.

Fine.

If they want to see a rebellion, I'll show them one.

I zipped up the suitcase.

"Mira-" Steven grabbed the suitcase from my hands.

"Steven, I swear to God, if you try to stop me-"

"I'm not trying to stop you." He walked over and closed the door, "I understand why you're upset. But, you need to come up with a better plan than pack up your suitcase and leave with nowhere to go."

"I'll hit a friend's house."

"And then what? Couch hopping?"

"If I have to."

"That worked when you were 16," he said. "It won't work when you're 21 and pregnant."

"I'm not going to stay here and take their bullshit."

"And I'm not saying you have to." He exhaled, "Look-" Steven placed his weight on his waist, "I...I'm going to move out soon."

It's terrible enough for me to face my parents, but to face them with my main supporter?

I'm couch-hopping until I find a better solution.

"I'm going to move in with a friend," he says. "Why don't you come with me?"

"What?"

"The place is a bit of a drive from your school, but it's doable. I can also help you talk to the dean and sort something out with your tui-"

Immediately, I hugged him. "Thank you. Thank you!"

He hugged me back. "Just so you know, this isn't free," he said. You're going to have to find a job to pay for your portion."

I nodded, "Of course."

Anything to get our parents off my back.

Steven and I broke the news about moving out with my parents during dinner. I thought dinner was unpleasant before, but now, it's even worse.

Day and night, our parents argue about who is to blame for both children—who are no longer children—moving out.

It always ends up with Dad storming out of the house and Mom cracking another bottle of alcohol.

At least the expensive alcohols aren't for decorations.

"Don't you still work with Dad?" I asked. "Wouldn't it be awkward?"

"We'll sort something out," he says. "All packed up?"

I zipped up the nearly folded clothes, and Steven helped me carry them downstairs. Miswas downstairs holding a glass of wine, "It seems like you made up your mind," she says.

"I'll take this to the car." Steven carried my luggage out.

"Your house. Your rules. Right?" I said.

Mom exhaled before she placed the glass down, "It's going to be hard. Being a young single mother."

"I'll manage."

"I'll believe that when you're no longer making Steven carry your luggage."

I chuckled at her statement, "No need to be so discreet, Mom. Say it like you mean it. I'm riding off my brother's kindness."

"As long as you know."

I grabbed the front door knob.

"I'll see you soon."