The evidence is pretty strong: if you have access to family

Host: The café sat at the edge of the city, where traffic hum softened into the low rhythm of rain and people spoke in half-whispers — the kind reserved for subjects that divided more than they united. The windows fogged, the air thick with the smell of coffee, wet coats, and conversation that lingered like cigarette smoke.

At a corner table, Jack stirred his drink, the spoon clinking against the mug in a slow, measured rhythm, his expression unreadable. Jeeny sat across from him, her notebook open, pen resting lightly between her fingers. On the page, she had written a single sentence in deliberate script:
“The evidence is pretty strong: if you have access to family planning and birth control, the abortion rate is going to go down.” — Bob Casey, Jr.

Jack: dryly “So simple, right? Give people control, and the chaos lessens. It almost sounds too logical to be controversial.”

Jeeny: meeting his eyes steadily “And yet, it is. Because logic doesn’t stand a chance against ideology.”

Host: The rain intensified, drumming on the windows, a steady pulse beneath their voices. The lights flickered, casting gold halos on the wooden floor, reflecting in the dark sheen of their cups.

Jack: “Access — that’s the keyword, isn’t it? People always talk about ‘choice,’ but choice doesn’t exist without access. It’s like preaching freedom to someone locked in a room.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. You can’t moralize your way out of inequality. Give people education, healthcare, contraception — you reduce suffering before it starts. It’s not complicated.”

Jack: smirking slightly “But morality loves complication. It thrives on guilt. It turns biology into battlefield.”

Jeeny: “And politics profits off the casualties.”

Host: A pause — long, charged, filled with the sound of rain tapping glass and quiet breathing. Jeeny leaned forward, her voice softer now, but her words sharp with conviction.

Jeeny: “You know what’s strange? The people who scream about being ‘pro-life’ often fight against the very systems that prevent unwanted pregnancies in the first place. They defend embryos, but they abandon children.”

Jack: “Because empathy’s easier before birth. After that, it costs money.”

Host: The barista glanced up, sensing the heat of their words, but didn’t interfere. The room itself seemed to listen, every shadow leaning closer.

Jack: “It’s funny — or tragic — how evidence can be so clear and still ignored. The data’s there. Countries with comprehensive family planning have lower abortion rates, lower maternal deaths, fewer broken lives. But data doesn’t make headlines. Emotion does.”

Jeeny: “Because emotion moves voters. Not reason.”

Jack: “And religion moves both.”

Host: Jeeny looked down, her fingers tracing the edge of her cup, steam curling between them like a living thing.

Jeeny: “I worked with a clinic once. Rural area. One woman — young, barely twenty — told me she didn’t even know how pregnancy happened until after her second. No sex ed. No contraception. Just shame. The village preacher told her it was God’s will.”

Jack: quietly “And the father?”

Jeeny: “Gone. Of course. She didn’t need a sermon — she needed information, and dignity.”

Host: Jack’s jaw tightened, his eyes distant, as if he were watching something behind the rain — not outside the window, but inside himself.

Jack: “My sister... she was sixteen. Scared, alone. She had to travel two states over for help. And after, she never forgave herself — not because of what she did, but because she had to do it alone. The secrecy, the fear. The silence was the real wound.”

Jeeny: softly “Silence always is.”

Host: The rain softened, turning to a steady drizzle, like the world exhaling after confession. The light above their table dimmed, but the space between them brightened — two souls meeting where ideology couldn’t reach.

Jeeny: “You know, I don’t think this is about abortion at all. Not really. It’s about control — who gets to decide what a life should look like. Who gets to define morality. Men make laws, women bear consequences.”

Jack: grimly “That’s the oldest equation in civilization.”

Jeeny: “And still the one no one solves.”

Host: A couple nearby laughed, their sound light and oblivious, the way innocence sounds when it doesn’t yet know its cost. Jack watched them briefly, then turned back, his voice lower now, stripped of irony.

Jack: “So what’s the answer, Jeeny? You believe in compassion, in reason — but what happens when reason fails?”

Jeeny: “Then you keep compassion. Because even when reason collapses, empathy still saves lives.”

Jack: “And what about faith?”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Faith should make us kinder, not crueler. If it doesn’t, it’s not faith — it’s fear dressed as virtue.”

Host: Her words hung, trembling in the air, like glass about to break. Jack nodded slowly, the tension in his face giving way to something softer — not agreement, but recognition.

Jack: “You think humanity can outgrow its need to moralize biology?”

Jeeny: “Maybe not. But it can learn to humanize it. That’s a start.”

Host: Outside, the rain stopped, and the streetlights reflected in shallow puddles — twin worlds meeting for a moment before dissolving. Jeeny closed her notebook, the quote still visible, the ink glistening faintly in the golden light.

Jack: “Funny. For a statement so rational, it feels almost spiritual.”

Jeeny: “Because it’s about creation, Jack. Not control. About giving life a chance to be chosen, not forced.”

Jack: softly “Maybe that’s what a second kind of faith looks like.”

Jeeny: “Faith in people, not punishment.”

Host: The clock ticked, the sound steady, hopeful. The café had emptied; only the two of them remained — the idealist and the realist, each softened by the other.

Jack: “So maybe the evidence isn’t the problem. Maybe it’s us — we keep confusing facts with threats.”

Jeeny: “Because truth scares those who profit from confusion.”

Host: The lights dimmed, the rain returned, but softer now — like an afterthought, or a benediction. Jack reached for his coat, his eyes distant, his voice low.

Jack: “It’s strange. I came here tonight to argue, but… you made me remember something. My mother used to say, ‘Mercy is the only thing that multiplies when you give it away.’”

Jeeny: “Then maybe mercy is the real form of family planning.”

Host: They both smiled, not in triumph, but in understanding — a fragile, fleeting peace between conviction and compassion.

Outside, the city lights shimmered, the rain whispering against the glass — not of guilt or division, but of something quieter, more human.

And as they rose to leave, the quote on Jeeny’s notebook remained —
rational, simple, luminous — the kind of truth that needed no argument, only courage:

“The evidence is pretty strong.”

Host: And maybe, for once,
that was enough.