text: I looked at my sleeping 11 year old angel baby girl next to me. "We’re running out of time" , I whispered under my breath, ferociously hitting my hands against the steering wheel. I let out a roar worthy of a lioness, no one in this jungle heard it; it was silent, not wanting to wake my child. Her time was running out, her life was running out, her childhood had come to a sudden stop. No turning back now..."keep driving, how much I should tell her, will she be in pain," My heart felt like it was ripping out of my chest. I couldn’t breathe. We both were running out of time. Sticky drops of sweat were rolling down between my breasts, the old beaten up car window was open but the stifling breeze coming through it was hitting my face, turning the car into a sweltering sauna. The air conditioning on my 1990 Toyota had been out for years. The red paint had pealed and I had an old grey rope holding the trunk shut. I could barely make rent and food since my husband had passed. I had said a “Hail Mary” and patted the St. Christopher hanging from my mirror before turning the key at the start of this trip. “My God”, was a loving forgiving God and I knew in my heart that I was making the right decision for my daughter. My Catholic Church and our priest had another view. Father Vic had talked and prayed over us to make the right choice, I had. It was the only choice WE had. My God would forgive. I looked at Grace, her forehead beaded in sweat, her blonde hair plastered to her forehead. She was breathing irregular, she needed more water. She rolled over on her side exposing her tiny belly, her brows frowning. I didn't want to wake her, but knew I must. "What was she dreaming about?" "Does she relive the horror every time she slept? "Ever since she told me what had happened I have been living in a nightmare of blackness and fear. “Would I get stopped, will I be arrested?” My mind wondered, I couldn’t help but wonder why I could cross the borders I’d be traveling over to buy a gun, carry a gun in an open carry state, get married, have heart surgery, go to a state where Pot is legal, gamble, visit brothels, buy cheap gas, liquor, lottery tickets or cross borders to hunt with no consequences, but the hammer goes down when it comes to my child. Her life is in danger; her childhood was about to become completely oblivious. We live in Louisiana; the closest legal clinic is at least a 10-hour drive. We have only been on the road for about two hours; Illinois is still eight hours away. This was the longest road trip I have ever taken, but I’d walk through the hells' fires for my little girl. Yes, my precious sleeping 11 year old baby girl is pregnant. With this "Illegal", Supreme Court’s decision to turn over a fifty year old precedent in one day, America has become a Taliban nation for women. The world’s atlas tilted that day. There will be millions of lives imploding. The six Justices did not care; they tossed a dirty bomb into the uteruses of American women and girls across the United States. The “Righteous Evangelicals”, had won; but at what cost to the freedom of American women. The GOP and the so called Republicans that are left put their heads in the sand and screamed, look over here...don’t look at this, look at our horrible immigration policies. It's been over six weeks now, more like eight...how could I have missed it. "I know how, what mother expects her little soccer player, doll playing innocent child could possible get pregnant at eleven years old. I was shocked when she suddenly got her women’s visitor at 10 1⁄2 years old; The Dr. said girls were getting there period earlier these days with the hormones and additives to or food chain. I didn’t think she needed the “Sex” talk at her age, boy was I wrong. I knew last June something was wrong. Grace wasn’t smiling, laughing or sleeping. She was distant and wrapped her arms around herself, rocking for hours on her favorite chair; I couldn’t get through to her. It wasn’t until weeks after her uncle Rob left to go back to Costa Rica that she broke down with heaving sobs. Rob had touched her down there; he put his penis in her tiny Vagina. She had kept silent with his threats of harming me, it had taken me another week to get the funds together I’d need for this trip; my time off work, hotels, gas, and cost of the abortion in the clinic. I could barely make rent and food with my meager income. My job as a waitress was just not cutting it and covid wasn’t helping my bank account either. I always knew my husband’s brother was off; he had a sleazy air about him. I wondered why he had moved to Costa Rica. I believe I know now, his wife never talked about why the sudden divorce and her move across the United states to California. When I tried to confront her, she said “It’s too horrible to talk about, I don’t even want to think about it, Good Bye”, Then she hung up. I didn’t pursue it further. My anger surfaced all over again, if I had only known. If Grace's father was still alive he would have gotten on a plane and killed the son of a bitch! Why did I say yes to him when he wanted to come to Louisiana? My guilt was interrupted, “Mommy are we almost there”? A lonely tear fell down my right cheek, I thought, “No Grace, we are so far away from there”. I said, “Yes, sweetie”, as I slowly started stopping the car at a diner along the side of the road; she needed, food, water, she needed hugs, and she needs an abortion.