Orla had done her bit, had her three children in her twenties, smug at the ease with which they’d been conceived, while friends had struggled with fertility problems and fickle boyfriends and increasing panic.
The births had been straightforward too, until the last. So much blood, a butcher’s stink, and the midwife had whispered in her ear afterwards, Don’t have another, so quietly it could’ve been a dream.
After that she’d been careful. Until now. But accidents were for teenagers, not 45-year-old women.
“Can’t you make an exception?” she asked the doctor. “I’ve had my three.”
He steepled his hands. “Three’s the minimum, not a target.”
“But...” She looked at the charts on his desk, alarming spikes peppered with red words.
He smiled, like he wasn’t handing down a death sentence. “I’m sure repopulation is your top priority. Hmm?”
The rules hadn’t seemed so bad when it was other women, the sluts and rebels, but now the unfairness crushed Orla. She wept, ashamed at her womanly weakness but unable to stop herself.
In the waiting room her husband made soothing noises, but could provide no solution except trusting God’s will. She couldn’t talk to her friends; they were all gone.
Madeleine won the Hammond House international short story prize in 2023, and has been published by Flash Fiction Magazine, The Hooghly Review, LISP, Moonflake, Trash Cat Lit, Underbelly Press, Waffle Fried and WestWord. Twitter/X @Madeleine_write; Bluesky @madeleinewrite.bsky.social
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