The Aftermath

The Aftermath

In the aftermath of the rape, I chose to carry the weight of my experience in solitude.

Then, I missed my monthly period. Did that mean anything to me? I can vaguely recall thinking I’d ignore it.

Time, I flowed on, a river of days that seemed heavy and elusive. A persistent weariness took hold, nauseous days. A friend, sensing my struggle, softly suggested seeing a doctor.

The doctor’s demeanor turned solemn as he examined me. His gaze met hers, and he gently delivered a truth that reverberated through her, “Janice, you are pregnant.”

Those words crashed upon me like a wave, engulfing me in a flood of emotions. Anger, confusion, and a paralyzing fear rose within me, each stronger than the last. I struggled to make sense of the chaos swirling in my mind, but how could I? Nothing had prepared me for this moment.

Did I know the weight of the decisions that lay ahead as I walked out of the hostel that evening? Did I sense the danger behind the seemingly innocent invitation to a ‘drive-in movie’? No. How could I? The prospect of a movie sounded fun — an easy way to pass the time with someone new.

I didn’t know then that there were risks beyond my understanding. No one had spoken to me about the darkness that could hide behind a friendly smile or the dangers that existed beyond the realm of my sheltered experiences. Rape wasn’t something people talked about openly — it was something that happened to others, far removed from…