Marilyn shook the reamining urine from the tip of the plastic pregnancy test and brought it out of the toilet to examine it. The damp strip of paper next to the word “result:” captivated her eyes as she nervously chomped her finger nails subconsciously. Her pink short shorts were still wrapped around her bare ankles at the floor.

“Hurry the hell up in there!” rang her moms voice from the other side of the flimsy bathroom door.

“GIMMIE A FUCKIN MINUTE!” Marilyn retorted as she slammed the indecisive test down on the counter and pulled up her shorts, “Jesus!”. Wipping the sweat from her forhead, she examined herself in the mirror. With the way she had been acting and dressing, she had been asking for this.

She snatched the test back up, determined to see its result.

“result: + "

Shocked, she was not. There were 3 possible fathers, a number that filled Mary’s whirling mind with shame.

The story begins 9 months later. Not with troubled young Mary, but with her child, whose DNA matched zero possible fathers.