The 51st President ✓(Book Four)

Chapter Fourteen

  An hour later, after I've talked to all sorts of doctors, things are more quiet. They come in every ten minutes or so instead of hovering, so now I can relax before pushing out a literal human. I give myself a minute to really look over the room.

  The walls are a pale brown, not the color of hair- but more muted. The area my baby will have all of it's post-birth things done is in one of the corners, instead of the nursery like most. Ethan and Lilith take up two of the guest chairs, and to my right there's a full bathroom and kitchen- though I'm not sure what the last is for. My meals will be cooked in the secure kitchen here and brought over, like any president who's had an extended stay.

  On the tv, some random sitcom's playing, a volume so low I wouldn't be able to watch it anyways. I reach for the remote and flip it off.

  I managed to talk them into letting me not be strapped to a thousand monitors, with the stipulation that they get to check on me often. I do still have a heartbeat monitor strapped to my stomach- that one I didn't even try to talk my way out of.

  The sound of my baby's heartbeat fills the room now- I let myself be happy with modern technology, for once. I know heartbeat monitors aren't exactly new, but they aren't that old either. If you'd told women two hundred years ago they could see and hear their baby before it was born, they'd look at you like you were crazy. Maybe you'd get out on trial for being a witch, or if you were lucky-executed immediately. Ahh, how times have changed.

  I like to think I at least had a small part in that change. I am far from the only activist, but I have been one of the more influential ones. My baby will grow up in a world free of pollution, where she can love who she wants to love without fear, where she won't have to fear defending herself against somebody if they do... I don't even want to think about it, but that's still a very real fear for mothers.

  Something that comforts women everywhere is how strict the sentences are for rapists and child molesters- a twenty year minimum regardless of how many or how severe. Rates have gone down significantly, especially in the past ten years- but they are still too high.

  So until the monthly statistic reaches zero, activism will still be necessary, and I don't plan on shutting up until I'm way past retired.

  "Ally?" Ethan whispers. His eyebrows are furrowed in a way that make him seem concerned and not at the same time. He leans forward in his chair, hesitates for a moment, and places his his hand over mine. "Are you...scared at all? I mean you're about to-"

  "Shh." I interrupt him, placing a finger to his lips. "Of course I am- not for the birthing part but...for everything that comes after. But no matter how badly we fuck up somebody will always be doing a worse job than us."

  "Gee, that's comforting."

  "Oh shut up, it's true." I roll my eyes. "Do you remember that trip you took to France a few years into being the FBI director?"

  "I ran into a five year old who was wowing around Paris by themself and admitted they did so often, I know." He rolls his eyes. "But it's a different culture over there."

  "So what? Culture doesn't excuse negligence. My point is- we're going to be good at this. Promise." He smiles, letting out a deep breath he's been holding in, and opens his mouth- but at that moment another doctor walks in.

  "Good evening, Madam President." She cheerfully says. "Here for your cervical check."

  Yay.

  We've done one so far and they're absolute hell. I hold back an eye roll and lay on my back, spreading my legs so she can stick her hand up my vagina. This is anything but sexy. I feel her fingers in a place where none should be and grimace.