Chapter 1:

I've never understood depression but up until recently, I've never had a reason to be depressed—not really, at least. I'm sure the death of a parent makes some people depressed but instead, I chose anger. It welled inside of me for months and I can't honestly say that I don't still harvest it. I'm also sure being sentenced to life on a dangerous planet with limited hopes of continuous survival might make some people depressed—actually, I know it makes some people depressed. I have watched the mania overtake multiple desperate adults that have lost too much and even witnessing the sight of their cold, limp bodies never triggered any sort of depression. But now I feel it clawing at my soul like an untamed animal that I should have trained a long time ago rather than sending it away.

I probably shouldn't use the word soul so loosely. I'm not even sure I have a soul anymore. The burning emptiness in my stomach that reached to my back all the way up my throat was proof that I was soulless. What type of person chooses to starve herself? What type of person chooses to starve their unborn child at hopes that it will die in her? That would be me…

A normal, sane person would naturally ask the question "Why?" because it is such a horrible thing to do. I will explain why, though, and maybe that person will understand. From the second I was locked up on the Ark, I knew that my life was over. I knew that I wasn't ever going to be the same person and that meant all the dreams of being married and living out the rest of my life in the metal box I once called home were shattered. The images of a little child running around and exploring the air ducts and being taught how to read a map by their grandfather were almost bittersweet. Almost—more often than not, they were painful fantasies of a life I would never have. A life that I no longer wanted due to the hardship of Earth. I didn't have the luxury of falling in love with someone and having a child—I still don't. From day one, it's been about survival.

And I have survived. I've faced too many trials where I had to make the ultimate sacrifice. Atom, being my first. Finn being my most recent. The infant growing in my womb being one to add to the list. Every day I watch people struggle to do as I'm doing and every day I see someone fail. Bliss and happiness is not something I deserve, I've accepted that so having a child that would bring light to this darkness that is eating me alive wouldn't be the right thing to do. Ironically, I couldn't let my child starve the way my people starve every single day of their life. I couldn't let my child fear an attack from unknown enemies. I couldn't lose my child to the harsh winter.

So why, that sane person asks, would I choose to abort my pregnancy in such a cruel manner? Because it's the only option I have. Call it love for the small being growing in me or call it something else—I don't care. I will not have a child only for it to suffer through life and lose it after I've grown emotionally attached which is something I'm already struggling with.

The next question that sane person would ask would be about the father. Couldn't he raise the child? It'd be a little odd to have my husband raise the child I never want to see—never want to hold, or kiss, or hear. I wouldn't say that I am in a loveless marriage, we love each other dearly but we aren't in love—well, he is not in love with me. There are days where the sun is shining just right and there aren't these unbearable, crushing problems on my plate where I catch a glimpse of his smile and I die of heart failure only to be revived by his heart quenching voice and there are days when everything is falling apart where in only seems right to find safety in his arms. But our marriage was just shy of a political move and an absolute mistake.

I'm constantly reminded of what a monumentally bad idea it was to marry my partner. How can I love anything—anyone if I can't love myself? Isn't that why he gave up on loving me in the first place? He gambled and he lost. I let him put his entre heart on the line for me for so long but someone had to lose to gain what we have now (a strong partnership) but somehow, I've never shaken the feeling that I lost more. Because the second I made it clear that we were married but we weren't married he moved on and there's nothing I can do about it because he has every right to move on. Hell, I'm under the impression that in some grounder cultures, he has the right to stone me to death and sometimes I wish he would just to take himself out of the misery of being married to me.

I've never told anyone the truth—not even in the beginning of our marriage when fire ran through my veins instead of this relentless ice. I love and will always uncontrollably, irrevocably, and immortally love Bellamy Blake. I'm not an idiot—I foresaw consequences but the consequences I foresaw weren't the ones I've faced. It's odd sleeping next to a person—sleeping with a person—that has other women in his life that occupy his mind and his time. How could I bring a baby into a marriage like that? A marriage where daddy's never home because he's off screwing some idiotic bimbo and her friend. How would I explain the way it breaks me apart when I'm alone and what would I do if my child ever asked him why I cry when he's not home? I suppose Bellamy belonged on the list of sacrifices somewhere.

The last question the sane person would ask me would be, "If you're starving your baby to death, then why are you eating?"

And I really don't have an answer for that.