Doctor's appointment

"Doctor's appointment," Jeremy said, stretching his arms behind his head with a yawn that showed too many teeth. His biceps flexed, pulling the sleeves of his wifebeater taut against skin still glistening from Mom’s shower—the one I’d heard them take together at dawn, her muffled giggles punctuated by the slap of wet skin against tile. "Gotta make sure my swimmers didn’t short-circuit your mom’s baby factory last night."

The humiliation punched me in the gut. "What do you mean?"

Mom’s fingers fluttered to her stomach—a reflexive, protective gesture that made Jeremy’s smirk deepen. The jersey fabric stretched taut over her belly as she exhaled sharply, her cheeks flushing pink. “Jeremy,” she murmured, half-scolding, half-breathless, but the way her thighs pressed together betrayed her.

Jeremy sneered, explaining, "We're getting your mom checked out. Make sure she's bred proper." Mom's breath hitched, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. The jersey rode higher as she shifted nervously, revealing the faintest swell beneath her navel—impossible after one night, but my stomach lurched at the implication. Jeremy continued, "Gotta do some premium genetic testing too," squeezing her hip hard enough to make her gasp. "Gotta make sure my kid doesn't inherit your beta chromosomes." The pancakes in my stomach turned to cement as Mom nodded eagerly, her fingers intertwining with Jeremy's like they were discussing vacation plans instead of erasing my father's lineage.

Jeremy finally looked at me, "But don't worry. We'll also get all the proper routine checkups done. Gotta make sure Mary's healthy enough to carry my baby." His smirk widened. "Full body checkup—inside and out. Every hole, every curve."

I sighed as Mom left to get changed. Jeremy gestured for me to follow him to the car. The morning air was thick with humidity, clinging to my skin like sweat as I trudged behind him across the dew-slick lawn. His truck loomed in the driveway, its chassis still flecked with mud from last night’s rain—or maybe from wherever he’d taken Mom before bringing her home. The passenger door creaked when he yanked it open, the sound scraping against my nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard.

Mom emerged from the bedroom wrapped in a prim knee-length skirt and a high-collared blouse buttoned to the throat—the kind of outfit she’d wear to parent-teacher conferences when she still pretended to care about respectability. The fabric strained subtly over her hips, tighter than she’d ever worn it before, as if her body had already begun reshaping itself for Jeremy’s seed. A silk scarf hid the bite marks on her neck, but nothing could disguise the wince in her step or the way her thighs rubbed together with every movement—raw from last night’s ****.

Jeremy leaned against the truck’s hood, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Mom wobble toward us in her too-tight skirt. "Picked the doc myself," he said, flicking a piece of lint off his sleeve like he was discussing lunch options. I felt my stomach lurch. This couldn't be good.