Every month, I pay to keep my children alive

I was a young Mom.

One night of passion in college with the wrong man who didn’t want to be a Dad.

Pregnancy wasn’t a blessing, or beautiful. It was invasive. Suffocating.

I didn’t have a choice.

Abortions were 10k, and back-alley abortions were punishable by public execution. I didn’t want kids.

I would never, ever be able to afford them.

But I couldn’t not have them, either.

Being pregnant was humiliating.

I was in class when my water broke, and the Dad ran out of the room.

I almost laughed.

My professor was the only one who stayed by my side until the ambulance arrived.

He handed me his credit card, and my cheeks ignited. “I’m okay!” I squeaked, trying to squeeze my legs together.

“No.” My professor forced the card into my palms, averting his gaze. “Please use it.”

Actually giving birth wasn’t that bad. I was on enough morphine for it to feel like a breeze, like I was floating on clouds. It was afterward that terrified me. I had a brief moment of euphoria. Maybe it was the drugs, or maybe mother’s instinct was real.

My babies were warm in my arms, their tiny hands wrapped around my fingers.

I wasn’t listening.

I was thinking about baby names, not how much my babies were going to cost.

Jacob and Willa.

The nurse explained the costs, and I vomited all over her. Then all over myself.

I could barely afford to feed myself.

Never mind twins.

My professor insisted on paying for my babies, but it came with a catch.

“You need to do something for me, all right? Switch schools. Get as far away from here as possible.” His voice dropped to a hiss. “The walls have ears, April. I can’t financially support you while you’re in my class.”

I didn't want my kids, that was true.

But I never regretted having them.

“Mom.”

Now seventeen years old, Jacob was getting on my last nerve.

It was 5pm.

I just finished work.

And only now had he decided to tell me there was an end of year senior party.

“Sweetie,” I said through gritted teeth, already exhausted. After months of hiding report cards and catching him vaping in his room, my patience was wearing thin.

“You’re lucky I’m taking you and not grounding you until college.”

Jacob groaned. “Okay, but promise me you won't park outside Alex’s house. I don't want everyone to know you're my Mom.”

“That's mean.” Willa, my daughter, chirped next to him. “Mom’s thirty nine!”

“Exactly.” My son glared at me through the car mirror. “All the other kids think she's our older sister.” He kicked my seat. “Dad promised me a new car, anyway.”

“You're twisting his words,” I corrected him. “Jacob, you know he was joking. And he's not your father."

Jacob spluttered. “You're literally fucking him."

I stamped on the gas when Willa burst into giggles.

“Jake,” I gritted out. “Zip it.”

“Can I speak, Mom?” Willa asked, nudging her brother.

Jacob shoved her back.

“Both of you,” I warned.

Silence enveloped the car, and I reveled in it.

Peace and quiet at last.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I ignored it.

“Hey, Mom.” Jacob said, after ten minutes of silence. “I can't… breathe.”

I stopped at a red light. “Very funny, sweetie.”

“No, I…” Jacob’s voice came out strained, more of a sharp, shuddery breath, and I twisted around. “I can't…” his hands were trembling, clawing at his throat. His lips turned unnaturally bluish, and I reached for my phone. “Mom, I can't…I can't… breathe!”

I grabbed my son, gently, checking for choking. Panic attack, maybe?

I dropped my phone when Jacob went limp, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

“Jake.” I shook him, my heart lodged. “Jacob!”

A notification popped up on my screen:

“Child™️ subscription. Invalid payment.”

No. My fingers grazed the screen.

Oxygen: $999.99/month

Lungs: $500.99/month

Heartbeat: $299.99/month

Movement: $400.99/month

Speech: $350.99/month

Vision: $500.99/month

Hearing: $450.99/month

“Mommy.” Willa's slumped forwards. “I don't… feel well.”

“It's…it's okay.” I whispered, cradling my daughter’s paling cheeks. “Mommy's going to help.”

Willa nodded. “Is Jacob going to die?”

“Just breathe for me, baby,” I told her. I stabbed at “pay” again, a pop up flashing up. “Invalid payment.”

Next to her, Jacob was drooling, his eyes flickering. My lungs felt starved of oxygen. I tapped it again.

Declined.

Again.

Declined.

My professor’s card.

According to my payment history, he’d canceled payments an hour ago.

"Willa!" I shook my daughter when her eyes fluttered. "Breathe. Just stay awake! Can you do… that for me?”

“I'm gonna go to sleep for a bit.” Willa whispered. Her eyes rolled back, blood dripping down her chin. “Can you… stay with me?”

My phone vibrated again.

“Your subscription to Child™️ has expired.”

Child™️: “Please pay an additional fee for consideration of repossession of your children.”

Jacob's body jolted. He sat up, eyes half lidded. Then he opened the car door and jumped out.

Child™️: ”Memory” has expired for JACOB FELLOWS.

“No!” I grabbed my son’s arm, and his strength startled me. A flashing blue light appeared on his temple.

“First offense,” flashed up on my phone. “Manhandling while in repossession. Please pay an additional manhandling fee.”

“Jacob!” I grabbed his face, and blood ran from his nose. “Look at me!”

Child™️: “Second offense. A third offense will result in immediate termination of JACOB FELLOWS.

Child™️: “Do you want to pay with Klarna? You may ONLY purchase ‘lungs’ and ‘movement.’ Brain/intelligence is under the premium subscription. Tap ‘PAY’ for LUNGS/MOVEMENT.”

My grip slipped from my son’s arm.

Jacob walked away, robotically, legs jerking.

I dropped to the ground, my phone flashing.