Mom Please Don't Have Me

On the afternoon of my college move-in day, my phone buzzed with a FaceTime call from my mother. Only, it wasn’t the mother I knew. It was her—eighteen years in the past.

She was gently caressing her slightly rounded stomach, her eyes bright and filled with a luminous, teary hope.

"Sweetheart," she whispered, looking at the screen as if she could see right through time. "Your father took me to the clinic today. The doctor says everything looks perfect. Soon, the three of us will finally be together."