Due to flu-like symptoms, I skip Father’s Day brunch with my husband’s family. My period is a week late, but I don’t dare hope I’m pregnant. We’ve been trying for over three years. After Jim leaves, I pee on the stick. A soft, red splotch appears, a drop of watery ink bleeding over a white blotter. My body feels immobile. My mind races. I study my reflection in the mirror: pale face, tired eyes, uncombed hair. Except for looking seasick, I cannot see the changes taking place within. But my swollen, tender breasts feel regal, like a couple of queens.
is an author, creative writing teacher, and coach who fell in love with micros last spring. Since then, her stories have appeared in The Dribble Drabble Review, The Drabble, and Friday Flash Fiction. One of her stories was nominated for the Best Microfiction 2023 anthology. She lives in Studio City, California, with her husband and daughter.
Author’s website: www.bellamahayacarter.com