by Andrew David King
The IV machine goes beep, beep, beep against the whitewashed walls of the delivery room. Right now she sleeps restlessly, in her hospital gown, belly bloated, feet poised for the birth that could happen in days, hours, maybe seconds. Her face scrunches in anxiety as she dreams of the nameless man she had met at the bar, under flickering neon signs and wafting cigarette smoke, the night her husband left the house in anger. It has been almost a year since then. Their late-night encounter is now nothing more than a vague memory of a severe lapse of judgment, one she deeply fears the consequences of. In just a few hours from now, she will feign surprise at the baby whose skin is a different color than her own husband's, although by then it will be too late for words, too late to call anything just a mistake.
Andrew David King, author of Final Answer, is a writer from Fremont, California. He has been published in numerous in-print and online publications, as well as alongside authors Ursula K. Le Guin, Luis J. Rodriguez, and others.