I refuse to beg you for my life. I realize it would fall on deaf ears, and I doubt that an appeal to your emotional side would make any difference on whether I lived or died. If it makes any difference to you, I would very much like to live. There is a life that depends upon mine, a life much more precious than mine own. A life free of sin and stain, perfect still before he draws his first breath. That life is the one you should save. For while I have cheated, lied, and stole, his light has yet to had a chance to shine on the world. I have educated myself, survived abuse and rape, made something of myself despite everyone telling me I could not do it. I have had my time on the world, and I accept that at these may very well be my last words.

You can keep me chained here in this dismal room, wherever we are, until he is born. Then you can kill me if you like. He deserves that, that chance. I won’t presume to know if you could understand a mother’s love for her child, but it’s all consuming. You may not even want to feel it, but the second your eyes meet and your fingers touch your heart no longer only beats in your chest. Suddenly it’s in two places at once, so kill me once he’s born. I’ll continue on him and that is enough for me. I have lived my life and am content with my mistakes and achievements.

While I won’t beg you for my life, I will beg you for his. Please, woman to woman, I beg you to spare him. I beg you to let him breathe for the first time. I beg you to let him experience the joy of springtime, the energy of summer, the cold of winter. I beg you to give him the chance to travel the world and hope the world will love him back.

I was going to name him Oliver, you know. I guess it would only be fitting for him to become an orphan.