For @poetixjustice thank you for asking for Carrie's POV. I know it's short, but I think it explains a lot about her.
Carrie
I swallowed the bile rising in my throat as I glanced at the large bump growing under my Armani sweater before looking up and glaring disgustedly at the large plate of healthy foods lying before me. How had I ever been convinced to keep this thing? Oh, right, to keep Dalton I had to keep the child. Once more I wondered why I was with him before looking down at the glistening diamond on my left hand. Oh, of course. The money. Dalton's family had more money than God and Donald Trump combined and once he married me, without a pre-nuptial agreement mind you, I would take him for every bit of what he was worth before dropping this bastard off with the closest sucker possible and making my way out of the country. I had big plans – finding a cabana boy, soaking in the tropical sun all day and sipping on sweet, fruity alcoholic beverages until I couldn't tell my fingers from my toes. There was a small partof me that felt guilty for doing this – for all of it, but I didn't want to dwell too long on that part of me. Why? Because then I would have to accept that what I'd done was wrong. And that I had hurt people who had only ever loved me.
Like Cassie. My sweet, forgiving, loving older sister. The same sister whose husband I'd stolen, whose life I had taken over. The same sister who was now trying to piece together her life bit by bit and support her child –a child that Dalton was no longer allowed to have access with, per my instructions. He'd fallen right into when I'd turned on the tears, begging him to only love me and our child. The same sister who had sacrificed most of her life to raise me, to give me opportunities that others only dreamed of. And for what? A little – well, a lot –of money. But was I willing to give all of that up to save face with her? No. It was unlikely she'd ever forgive me for what I'd done and who was I hurting aside from her and that brat child of hers? Aside from all of that, Cassie had never wanted the things I did, she was dowdy and simple, never wanting to spend excess for anything – not even clothes for herself. But, her loss was my gain. Her simple minded husband had fallen for my charms from the moment we'd met, of course that was before they had married, but still. Another glance at my hand had me smiling victoriously.
Oh, well. It was too late to go back now.
Three months Later
Something was wrong and in the very pit of my stomach I knew that the dreams I'd been having were telling me the truth, just like they had before – I was not going to survive the birth of this child, this thing I didn't want. However, I knew it would. I was suddenly glad for my dreams, glad that I had written notes to those I cared about. Or, really it was one note, to my sister. I wouldn't be a good mother and truthfully, nothing about pregnancy appealed to me. I had gotten fat, grown grotesque – my beauty had been taken with each passing day. The only thing I ever had. I didn't love the baby growing inside of me, I hated the kicks and movements; it made me physically ill. I still hadn't managed to even call the child by it's name – even the name I had picked out for it. As the days had passed me by I realized that I couldn't keep this child, not for Dalton, not for anyone. And Dalton? He was gone. Had been gone for along time. I'd received papers from a lawyers office signing away any rights he had – which had given me the idea to do the same. It was better this way. Even in the slim chance that I lived, I wouldn't keep it. I would leave as soon as I could walk – and I would never look back. I knew my choice was in the best interest of the child and for once in my life I knew I was doing something right for someone other than myself.
The pains were increasing by the second and I felt dizzier and weaker as the moments passed. I struggled to get up from my position on the couch, fighting the heaviness in my limbs to disappear so I could move – so I could get to the phone I desperately needed to reach. It took hours before I reached the iPhone, it seemed. Finally,as my manicured fingers curled around the phone, it rang – a sign if I'd ever seen one. It was Daddy, who I hadn't spoken to in months. I gasped as a pain hit me square in the back, the wave of agony stealing the breath from my lungs; as I unlocked my phone, all I could do was hiss for his help, and as the darkness unfurled around me, enveloped me as the waves of pain rolled in, all I could hear was Daddy's cries of anguish as he told me to hold on.