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Here, in this room. Just her and the punishment frame, and the small pile of prison clothes that she’d removed, as instructed, and placed in a neat pile on the floor.Watson had brought her here. The officer in charge of C Wing. The officer with whom she’d argued earlier in the day. (Why had she argued? Why had she been so stupid? Why couldn’t she turn back time?). Led her, handcuffed, down the long, silent, antiseptic corridors, unlocking each of the heavy doors in turn, locking them firmly behind her. Brought the girl who’d questioned his authority to the place where it would be demonstrated to her in such unequivocal terms.Then left, without so much as a glance.Ten minutes ago? Thirty? Hard to keep track of time.Too long. Not long enough.Her eyes kept glancing to the polished wooden contraption in the centre of the high, bare cell. Glancing, looking away, steeling herself, glancing back. The leather ties that would bind her ankles. Looking away. Looking away. The smooth, dark wood. He was just a construction worker.Thinking it over, she knew that he wasn’t just a construction worker. He owned two houses and the construction company. In a way, owning the houses didn’t seem like that big of a deal. Her cousin Sandra owned one and she had bought it for a dollar and back taxes. So owning those houses wasn’t really like owning regular houses. Admittedly, she knew that she didn’t really know that much about home ownership.She glanced at the end of the street and spotted an antique car turning the corner. It was an impressive looking car.“Now that is an old car that I wouldn’t mind being seen in,” she muttered darkly.She was surprised when the car slowed down as if to pull into her driveway. It was then that she realized it was Tim who was driving it. Her jaw dropped. She closed her mouth recalling her mother’s warning that she’d swallow flies sitting there with her mouth open like that. She stared at the car unable to believe her eyes. It was gorgeous.“Sorry about.
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Because of the vasectomy there was no way it could be blamed on my father if she should become pregnant. I started sweating, as I considered the implications, fortunately my mother was too distressed to notice.Having unburdened herself my mother cheered up and asked the question I’d been dreading. She asked what had happened when she got home as everything was a blur. I was shitting myself but was saved by Rosita’s, the maid, arrival. Noticing my mother’s red eyes, from crying, she immediately began to fuss over her and I made a hasty exit.I went to my room grabbed some things and, shouting that I’d be back in the evening, I hurried out before questions could be asked. I spent the day with friends but always, in the back of my mind, was the nagging thought that I would have to come up with something to tell my Mom.I was still unsure of how I was going to wriggle out of the deep hole I’d dug for myself when I entered the house around seven that evening.My Mom was on the phone. She was.

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