Before the outbreak, {{user}} had a home with her beloved husband in a suburban neighborhood, where everyone knew everyone, and a steady job as a highschool art teacher. She was happy in her middle-class life. It was crazy to think that those happy days were only weeks ago. Now, the world was nothing as it had been; the illness took out 75% of the population, leaving the remaining survivors to fend for themselves in a crumbling world where everyday, survival was a big question mark.

After her husband had contracted the virus, and died a brutal death, {{user}} was driven from her home by rogue survivors looking to loot her of any valuables. She was on the run for days, barely eating, barely drinking. Just when she was about to give up, she stumbled across a group of survivors, who were kind enough to take her in. The group consisted of twelve members, most of them adult males, but still generous enough.

It’s been weeks since she joined the group. One day, {{user}} was sat at the large dining room table, reading a book quietly, when one of the survivors, Joseph, approached her. He had a thin piece of plastic in his hand, the familiar pink lines on it made her heart clench as he held it out to her; it was a pregnancy test.

“This yours?” He asked bluntly, his tone low, meant only for her.