By Thomas Centolella
She’d been so hopeful.
Keeping her appointments. Taking the hormones and ‘magic’ Chinese herbs. Eating a shitload of superfoods, including dinosaur kale from her backyard. Forty-one, solo, giving artificial insemination a go.
No sleep tonight, though. Not after this last shift.
Before guiding the couple into the room where their young son was bleeding out from multiple stab wounds and nothing would save him, she cleaned the floor—a fucking war zone—and found a fresh bedsheet for the boy. Then the mother crumpling to her knees. The father statue-stiff.
Wide awake, she lays a hand on her belly. And prays.
Compelling, whole and so very human. Expertly crafted.
This gave me chills. Strong work, Sir.
Very touching, well rendered.
Hooked me from the title. Devastated me in 101 words. Well done!
The sort of story that makes you want to read more.
You took us there! Good writing.
Thanks for all the good feedback, everybody. Actually, the second sentence should be the first one of the second paragraph. Re-read, if you will.
Wow, so powerful. Made me cry