She’s on the floor in the corner of the room, her back against the wall, and her stomach is huge, swollen with pregnancy. Her face is twisted in agony, and there’s blood. So much blood. She is crying, tears streaming down her face as she looks up at the front door.
“Please,” she gasps, her voice broken with desperation. “Please don’t do this. I’m begging you.”
A shadow falls across the room, and I turn to see a figure in the doorway. But the face is obscured, hidden in darkness that seems to shift and move.
“Choose,” the figure says, and there is something familiar about the voice, something that tugs at the edges of my memory, but I can’t quite place it.
Suddenly, rough hands grab my shoulders and shake me violently. I try to scream, try to run to my mother, but the darkness is pullin
