She prayed, cried, even went to confession. Ginny felt
stuck.
“I just couldn’t bring myself to do [it],” she told me. “At
the same time, I didn’t know how I was going to make it
work.” To make matters worse, her mother had also given
an ultimatum. If Ginny kept the baby, she’d have to move
out of her parents’ house.
“In Singapore, you don’t leave the house until you get
married,” she explained, “because of the government
policies and how expensive it is.”
The idea of being out on her own scared her. Not only
that, but she would have to live with the guilt of having
brought public shame to her family. With no job or backup
plan, how would she survive?
The night before the abortion, just a few minutes before
eight o’clock when Ginny was supposed to take the pill that
would begin the abortion, her aunt called.
“Flush the pills,” she said. “We will help you. We don’t
know how, but we will help you.”
Those were the words Ginny was waiting to hear. She
always wanted to keep the baby but just didn’t know how to
make it work—until that phone call. Sometimes all it takes
to make a difficult decision is an affirming voice telling you
what you know to be true but still need to hear. That’s what
a phone call at eight o’clock at night did for a young, soon-
to-be mother from Singapore. Ginny flushed the pills.
“Everything just fell into place . . .” she recalled.