Read Preacher's Wifey for Free Online Page B

were the headaches of most downtown areas. While I knew my way around downtown Atlanta, I was as lost as a bat in downtown Augusta.
    â€œYou have arrived. Your destination is on the right,” the GPS lady announced.
    I pulled into the parking lot and parked my car. I lowered my Moss Lipow sunglasses and took a glance at the gray, dingy building, which wore no sign or any indication that it was an abortion clinic. I surveyed the people who were walking by. I knew none of them. Augusta was outside of Atlanta just enough for me to feel comfortable going to have this procedure done, and I was certain I would not be recognized. The last thing I needed was to get an abortion in Atlanta and have an intake nurse who was a member of Cornerstone or the cousin of a member of Cornerstone, or a friend of a member of Cornerstone. I shuddered at the thought.
    Severe cramps ambushed me, temporarily taking my focus off of the abortion clinic. I leaned my head back against the headrest and waited for them to subside. After about ten long, agonizing minutes, the pain was tolerable enough for me to get my bearings and prepare to go inside. I grabbed my Hermès bag, slid my sunglasses back up, and exited the car. The quicker I got inside, the quicker I would be on my way back home. I needed this to be over with so I could go back to living my life—and being emotionless.
    I walked into the building, and surprisingly there was no one in the waiting room. That meant either not many people had abortions in Augusta or not many visited this facility to have it done. I looked around the room. It felt cold and uninviting. It had no warmth whatsoever. It was almost as if you could feel death hiding behind the walls, in the corners, underneath the floors. I wondered how many souls of babies had cried out to be saved.
    I shook away that thought and made my way to the registration desk.
    â€œHello. Please sign in, select the type of abortion you are having today, and complete this paperwork. After you have completed the paperwork, bring it back to me and I will get everything set up for your procedure,” the receptionist stated.
    â€œOkay. You mentioned the type of abortion. I am not familiar with the types of abortion.”
    â€œThis clinic offers two types. The one most commonly done is called the aspiration. The other is the D and E.”
    â€œWhich do you recommend?”
    â€œMa’am, I really can’t provide any input or opinion. It is totally up to your discretion which you prefer.”
    The little heifer didn’t have to be so curt about it. This was hard enough on the patients who came in this place for an abortion, and dealing with a not so nice receptionist did not help.
    I sat down in one of the metal chairs, which reminded me of the chairs that we had in my home church’s basement. The same chairs I sat in as a child in Sunday school. How I wished I was sitting in a church chair now.
    I scanned the paperwork. It included the usual consent forms, privacy forms, and medical history questionnaire. I filled out the information and flipped to the other pages detailing the abortion procedures. After reading over the two options for the abortion, I selected the aspiration. It was only a five- to ten-minute operation, was the most common, and had fewer risks.
    The door to the clinic opened, and an older woman walked in. She appeared to be in her mid- to late forties. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail and wrapped into a ball on top of her head. If it were not for the bags and the wrinkles plaguing her eyes, she could have passed for a much younger lady. Wearing a pink and purple velour suit, she made her way to the front desk. Assuming she was a part of the staff, I focused my attention back on my paperwork to make sure I had completed it all.
    â€œHello. Please sign in select the type of abortion you are having today, and complete this paperwork. After you have completed the paperwork, bring it back to me and