“Is there something you want to tell me?” Dr Bernadette asked. I stood at the window with my back to her; I would never lie on the couch.
“There’s a storm coming,” I said to the glass.
“Peggy?” she tried to get my attention.
“We’d better batten down the hatches, go to ground, take cover. Whatever it is people do.”
“Have you managed to discuss things with your mother?”
“There’s no point.”
“Peggy.” She made the word sound like I had committed a mortal sin. Maybe I had.
“She’ll find out soon enough.” I stroked my still-flat belly. “In about eight months,” I said, turning back to the window to hide my tears.
This piece of writing was for the 100 word (or so) prompt for Madison Woods’ #Fridayfictioneers. I’d be very happy to receive comments and constructive criticism. Click here to read other people’s.