My Son

Ten tiny fingers.

Ten tiny toes.

She smiled at the newborn and whispered, "Hey, handsome. Nice to meet you."

The nurse touched her arm. "You have a visitor," she said quietly.

She nodded, knowing already who it was. "Let her in."

"Hey, baby girl," her roommate squealed, vaulting through the door as soon as the nurse opened it. "Oh, and here's the little man," she cooed. Without asking, she relieved the new mother of her burden and walked around the bed with the tiny bundle cradled in the crook of her arm. "You're gonna be a little lady killer, aren't you?" She smiled at her friend. "Not like his daddy at all, is he?"

The woman on the bed looked down at the sheet across her knees. "God, I hope not," she whispered.

Her roommate flopped on the bed and stared her down sternly, still cradling her friend's child to her breast. "You listen to me. This baby was not a mistake. You have a life on your hands that is not yours, but you get to shape it for a while. Who knows? He could be a great man. Hell, he could be the next great President. By keeping him, you could've changed history."

She took the bundle back and smiled at the sleeping newborn. "Maybe," she conceded. She looked up again. "I don't think I'm ready for this."

"I'll be right here."

"Promise?"

"Promise. You're not alone."

Author's Note: Dedicated to Jacob Moeckly, son of my favorite single mother. She did the right thing.