I have always believed.
Ever since I was a girl sitting in my mother's kitchen with curly pig tails and lace-frilled socks, I knew that God was right in all things. He created us, and watched us as we went along with our lives. I prayed every night, and praised every Sunday morning with the rest of the congregation. I felt blessed, touched by God himself. It was a time when questions could be answered by looking to the church and never second-guessed.
When I turned seventeen, I fell in love. The boy had hair of gold, and eyes like the ocean. We held hands and helped each other with homework. The next year, he asked me to marry him. It was a dream come true. I never thought I could be happier. I never thought it would end.
We finished college and began to work. Our house was beautiful, and everything I had ever wanted. God was smiling down on us, he was happy with us. It wasn't until we had been married for five years that things began to change.
I had never been interested in politics much, so I had never visited a voting booth. God would protect us, he was in all things after all. My husband, however, believed his voice should be heard. So he voted for those of faith, because who else could we trust more? That year, my husband voted for a person named Robert Franks who was widely known as an active member of his church and knew the bible from cover to cover. I thought my husband had made the right choice.
During his term, Robert Franks set into motion several laws that seemed quite ordinary in their nature. We were happy with him, God was happy with us all.
When spring came and the tulips began to bloom, my husband and I tried to start a family. It was the same spring that Robert Franks put forth a piece of legislation called "Prenatal Care and Defense of Children". It sounded like he was doing the right thing once more, God's work. My husband and I went along with our lives as we always had. When we heard that there were some people in the state who were unhappy with the legislation, we dismissed it as those who did not believe.
I conceived the next fall. It was the happiest day of my life when I saw the look of pure joy on my husband's face.God had once again smiled down on us. I read every book I could find and did anything to ensure the health of my baby.
But it wasn't enough.
I woke up one morning to the feeling of wetness underneath the sheets. Blood had pooled between my legs, and soaked through to the mattress. My husband rushed me to the hospital. They told me it was too late, and that the baby had been lost. Miscarried.
The sadness was incomprehensible. It felt as if the world was crushing in around us. I asked God why it had happened. I looked to the church, but could not find an answer.
The answer came the night I was to be released from the hospital.
A sheriff walked into my room as my husband held my hand for the fifth continuous hour.
"Ma'am," the sheriff said, "I'm going to have to ask you to come with me."
My husband stood up, placing himself between the sheriff and I. "What is this about?"
"Your wife is a suspect in a murder investigation, and I need to take her back to the station for questioning," the sheriff stated plainly.
Confusion spread like disease.
"Murder?" My husband repeated.
"Yes. Of your unborn child."
Never had I thought I would hear those words. But they rang in my ears like gunshots.
I went to the station and answered their questions truthfully.
But it wasn't enough.
Now I wake up every morning in a small damp cell to the feeling that God no longer loves me. My husband has read the legislation "Prenatal Care and Defense of Children" dozens of times, and curses the day he voted for Robert Franks.
Because it was labeled 'miscarriage', I was able to be prosecuted to the full extent of the law for prenatal murder.
I know I didn't kill my baby, but Robert Franks thinks I did.
Yes, I have always believed. But I do not believe that Robert Franks and I have faith in the same god.
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If you think this story is ridiculous. Read this
::head shake of shame::
