02-14-2026, 12:18 AM
Jez sat down on her bed, she looked over at the stasis pod. “Your grandparents need to know.” Jez wasn’t sure how she was going to explain to her parents what was going on, but how do you tell your parents that you were pregnant and that the man who got you pregnant was an abusive Telepathic Supremacist who looked down on those of mixed ancestry. Jez knew that her father would react in the typical Vulcan manner, he would raise an eyebrow and say something like, “That is illogical the IDIC tells us, Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations.” However, her mother will become angry and her feelings hurt. She would defend her decision to mate with Fet as divine inspiration and blessed by the Four Sisters,
Security Officer Log
Lieutenant Jez Mala recording:
Mother, Father,
I hope this communication finds you well.
Dear Mom and Dad,
I have started and stopped this letter more times than I can count. I don’t know if there is a right way to say what I need to say, or a way that won’t hurt you. I only know that I can’t carry this alone anymore, and you deserve to hear the truth from me.
I’m pregnant.
I can almost hear the silence that will follow that sentence. I know this isn’t how you imagined hearing news like this. It isn’t how I imagined it either.
The father is someone I was seeing for a time — someone I told you very little about. I kept him separate from my life with you, and now I’m ashamed of that secrecy. What I didn’t fully admit to myself then, and what I can’t ignore now, is that he was abusive. Not just in the obvious ways — though there were those too — but in the quieter, insidious ways that made me question my own thoughts, my own worth, my own reality.
He controlled who I spoke to. He criticized my clothes, my friends, and my opinions. When he was angry, it felt like standing in the path of a storm. Sometimes that anger became physical. I told myself it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. I told myself I could handle it. I was wrong.
There’s something even harder to say. He held extreme supremacist beliefs — hateful, dehumanizing views about people who weren’t like him. At first he framed them as “just opinions,” political arguments that I could brush off or debate. Over time I realized they were not abstract ideas to him; they were core to who he was. The hatred was real. It shaped how he treated others — and eventually, how he treated me.
I feel ashamed that I stayed as long as I did. I feel ashamed that I didn’t tell you sooner. I was embarrassed that I had fallen for someone like that, and afraid you would see me differently. I also felt trapped. Abuse has a way of shrinking your world until you can’t see a clear exit.
I am no longer with him. I left. It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t clean, but I am out. He does not know where I am now, and I am taking steps to keep it that way.
The pregnancy was not something I planned. When I found out, I was overwhelmed by fear — fear of being tied to him forever, fear of what you would think, fear of whether I am strong enough to do this. I still don’t have all the answers about what I will do next. I am taking this one step at a time, speaking with a counselor, and trying to make decisions from a place of clarity rather than panic.
What I need you to know most is this: none of this was because I believed in what he believed. None of this was because I accepted his hatred. I argued with him. I challenged him. I paid the price for that more than once. If I stayed, it was not because I agreed — it was because I was afraid, confused, and worn down.
I am still me. I am still your daughter. I am hurting, but I am not broken.
I don’t know what your first reaction will be. You may feel anger — at him, at the situation, maybe even at me. You may feel disappointment or fear. I understand all of that. But more than anything, I hope you can see that I am coming to you now because I trust you. Because I need you. Because I don’t want to hide anymore.
I am trying to build something different from what I experienced — something safe, something honest. Whether that includes raising this child or making another decision, I want to do it with integrity and with support.
Please don’t see me only through this mistake or this trauma. See me as someone who survived something painful and is trying to move forward with courage.
I love you both more than I can say. I hope, when you are ready, we can talk.
With love, and may the Four Sisters watch over you.
Jez
Security Officer Log
Lieutenant Jez Mala recording:
Mother, Father,
I hope this communication finds you well.
Dear Mom and Dad,
I have started and stopped this letter more times than I can count. I don’t know if there is a right way to say what I need to say, or a way that won’t hurt you. I only know that I can’t carry this alone anymore, and you deserve to hear the truth from me.
I’m pregnant.
I can almost hear the silence that will follow that sentence. I know this isn’t how you imagined hearing news like this. It isn’t how I imagined it either.
The father is someone I was seeing for a time — someone I told you very little about. I kept him separate from my life with you, and now I’m ashamed of that secrecy. What I didn’t fully admit to myself then, and what I can’t ignore now, is that he was abusive. Not just in the obvious ways — though there were those too — but in the quieter, insidious ways that made me question my own thoughts, my own worth, my own reality.
He controlled who I spoke to. He criticized my clothes, my friends, and my opinions. When he was angry, it felt like standing in the path of a storm. Sometimes that anger became physical. I told myself it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. I told myself I could handle it. I was wrong.
There’s something even harder to say. He held extreme supremacist beliefs — hateful, dehumanizing views about people who weren’t like him. At first he framed them as “just opinions,” political arguments that I could brush off or debate. Over time I realized they were not abstract ideas to him; they were core to who he was. The hatred was real. It shaped how he treated others — and eventually, how he treated me.
I feel ashamed that I stayed as long as I did. I feel ashamed that I didn’t tell you sooner. I was embarrassed that I had fallen for someone like that, and afraid you would see me differently. I also felt trapped. Abuse has a way of shrinking your world until you can’t see a clear exit.
I am no longer with him. I left. It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t clean, but I am out. He does not know where I am now, and I am taking steps to keep it that way.
The pregnancy was not something I planned. When I found out, I was overwhelmed by fear — fear of being tied to him forever, fear of what you would think, fear of whether I am strong enough to do this. I still don’t have all the answers about what I will do next. I am taking this one step at a time, speaking with a counselor, and trying to make decisions from a place of clarity rather than panic.
What I need you to know most is this: none of this was because I believed in what he believed. None of this was because I accepted his hatred. I argued with him. I challenged him. I paid the price for that more than once. If I stayed, it was not because I agreed — it was because I was afraid, confused, and worn down.
I am still me. I am still your daughter. I am hurting, but I am not broken.
I don’t know what your first reaction will be. You may feel anger — at him, at the situation, maybe even at me. You may feel disappointment or fear. I understand all of that. But more than anything, I hope you can see that I am coming to you now because I trust you. Because I need you. Because I don’t want to hide anymore.
I am trying to build something different from what I experienced — something safe, something honest. Whether that includes raising this child or making another decision, I want to do it with integrity and with support.
Please don’t see me only through this mistake or this trauma. See me as someone who survived something painful and is trying to move forward with courage.
I love you both more than I can say. I hope, when you are ready, we can talk.
With love, and may the Four Sisters watch over you.
Jez