“Ah, shit.”

That’s genuinely his response when you announce your unintended pregnancy. Brazen, standing before him with a white stick showing two very clear blue lines. And on a Tuesday morning, of all days.

Otoya scratches the side of his head, squinting his eyes. After a tense beat of silence, he steps back from his front door, making room for you and his unborn chance child to pass. “Come in. We’ll talk.”

You’re sat on the couch—ironically the same one on which the accident was conceived. Your mind scrambles with the memory, and you almost forget why your here, until you hear the man’s voice from the kitchen: “You like your coffee strong?”