The Vessel

Corey sat immediately, eyes down. I stayed standing with a hand on my belly.

“Lorraine, we’re here to finalize things,” I said. “It will be Corey and my medical team in the delivery room. That’s final.”

She stopped stirring. The spoon clinked against the iron. She turned around, and the sugary warmth she wore like a mask came off entirely.

“You are a very ungrateful girl.” She took a step toward me. “This child is a Whitman. You are merely the vessel. I will be there to make sure my grandchild arrives correctly.”

“No,” I said, stepping back. “You won’t.”

Her eyes darkened. “You don’t get to tell me no in my house.”