Only Girls Bleed

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Published by: The Book Social, Legend Press, UK
Release Date: June 18, 2026
Pages: 344
ISBN13: 978-1915054005

 
Synopsis

An emotional debut novel exploring the devastating human consequences of the overturning of Roe v. Wade in America.

In the isolated Missouri Bootheel, Alice Campbell is barely holding her life together. Her husband has vanished without explanation. Her young daughter, Molly, has suddenly lost the ability to walk and is tormented by night terrors no doctor can explain. Then Alice uncovers the unthinkable truth behind her daughter’s suffering.

In a moment of confrontation and chaos, Alice flees with Molly, unsure whether the man responsible is dead or alive. Now on the run, mother and daughter drift between cheap motels along Interstate 55, pursued by the past, by the police, and by a future neither is prepared to face.

Taut, urgent, and deeply compassionate, this novel is a haunting portrait of maternal love, survival, and moral reckoning in a fractured America.

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Praise

“We found your book to be both timely and profoundly resonant. It delivers a stark and unflinching portrayal of the times we live in. It is difficult to read, yes, but all the more important for it. We were deeply moved by the clarity and urgency of your message. It’s not an easy story to tell, but you’ve done so with honesty and power.”
—Commissioning Editor, Legend Press, UK

“You did it! I loved the way you accurately showed the help of Ruth’s friends, the ‘Navigators,’ and the role of the lawyer, the social worker, the psychologist, the physical therapist, all the professional women both Alice and Molly needed to find help.”
—Beta reader, Social Worker

“I loved this book. The part of your book about ‘Blessed Mary’ was chilling, illustrating how far some people will go to trick girls and women into giving birth even when they’ve decided they cannot, or should not, keep a pregnancy. That said, you do a fair job of showing both sides of the ‘abortion issue.’”
—Beta reader, Psychologist

“This book packs such a powerful message about the relationship between mothers and daughters and how critical it is that we talk with them about their bodies long before their first periods. It is a huge responsibility, and one that we (as mothers) should take very seriously. Bravo!”
—Beta reader, Christian Minister

 

Excerpt

Prologue

At night, when I dare, I sneak my notebook and pen out from under the mattress and wait until the guards go back through the double doors for the last time. In the uneasy quiet, I breathe in the darkness that settles on the cavernous room where I live with seventy-five other caged women. When the shuffling and whimpers cease, I slide off the bottom bunk and sit cross-legged, wedged into the corner, my giant sweatshirt pulled over my arms and legs, the hood over my head, invisible. My nifty plastic pen is poised above the paper, a tiny circle of light at the end waiting for me to write what happened to Molly and me. When that doesn’t happen, I decide to start where I am, but my pen still doesn’t move.

Turns out, it’s not that easy. You ever try to write in the dark? It’s like those games where you have to draw something with your eyes closed. At night in this crumbling pile of bricks, far from any place I’ve ever known, there is no light when the moon hides its face and the windows high on the concrete walls disappear. I try to conserve the little light in my pen, but I’m never sure I’m writing in straight lines, or if my words are crossing over each other.

I know there’s a chance if I’m caught writing after lights out, I’ll be punished. Like Brer Rabbit, they’ll take away the only joy I have in this place—dusting books in the prison library and reading a few pages when I can. For years, I could never find time to read, with Wilson gone and me raising Molly by myself, all the shit that happened, and then us on the run. Now, I finger books like they are magic, like they have answers, like maybe they can teach me how to live, or how to die.

The irony of that song you’ve got time is not lost on me, or anyone else in here, for that matter. I “got time” and now I have too much time to think about our story. Funny thing, when you’re living your life, it’s not a story, like that joke about why fish don’t feel wet. Only now can I look back and see what happened as a story, maybe a story worth telling. In many ways, it’s a common tale of women, our blood, and how laws written by men end up wrecking our lives. My furtive scratching on paper makes me think of that scene in The Handmaid’s Tale, the one where June carves her name near the baseboards of the closet to say she’d been there. I saw the movie in the common room when I first got locked up, and I still think about it.

Boiled down, a version of my story was splashed across the state of Missouri without my permission, not that long ago. I hated seeing the headlines everywhere, each one a variation on a theme of betrayal, violence, and blood. Those headlines convicted me before the courts did. I never had a chance. Of course, like most stories, mine is more complicated than such salacious headlines might suggest. The problem is how to sift through the stuff that isn’t important, in order to find what is, so you’ll understand why I did what I did. I certainly didn’t plan any of it. Mostly, I was flying by the seat of my pants, hoping above all to protect Molly. It wasn’t easy, but I’m proud to say, so far, I’ve managed to do that—protect her. I have given my daughter the gift of life, twice. I do have regrets, lots of them, but not about that. Some things are worth shedding blood over, depends on what’s at stake. 

One more thing it’s important for you to know—this journey changed us. For years, I thought of myself as a insignificant woman intimidated by life and the unpredictable challenges of being a young wife and mother, just trying to carve out a life in a crappy region of the country that no one knows about or cares. And Molly? Molly was just a confused little girl who didn’t deserve what happened to her. Neither of us did, for that matter. We’ve been abandoned, betrayed, and violated, but we both survived, and we’re stronger for it. That’s not to say anybody else should have to go through this, just because you might be born female. The saving grace in all this was the embrace of my mother’s sister and her friends who took us under their wings and spirited us across the border. Now, Molly has a chance at a normal life as a young girl on the mend, cared for and protected.

It wasn’t their fault I landed in prison. I did that all by myself.