Good morning, my pretty lady, are you pregnant?
The questioner in the sunshine was a smiling doctor, a charmer in his early forties, impeccably dressed, his manicured hands flipping soft leather gloves. Rachel focused on his glistening boots — jackboots. She had to concentrate on them and what they symbolized to suppress her natural pride in the prospect of motherhood. She had to understand the incomprehensible: that a positive ‘Yes’ would be the end of life for her and for her unborn baby.
She looked the doctor straight in the face and lied: “Nein.”