I had an abortion in November. About a week before Thanksgiving. I was six weeks and three days pregnant.

I remember finding out around six in the morning that I was pregnant on the Monday of that same week. I, almost, burst into tears until my partner looked at me with reassurance and told me I was okay. That same day, I ran to Planned Parenthood for a pregnancy test and scheduled my abortion for that Wednesday.

Wednesday came along and I remember driving on the turnpike in heavy Miami traffic. Obnoxious.

I arrived. Parked. Walked towards the office. I remember being so strong and not crying the prior two days.

As soon as I sat down, in the waiting room with two other women, I, quietly, cried. I wasn’t entirely certain why.