*Author’s note: This is my entry into a Literotica contest in which every story needs to be exactly 750 words long.*
I awoke on a black leather couch with a tremendous headache. I rubbed the blear from my sore eyes as I took in my surrounds; a waiting room with three rows of couches and a hodgepodge of weary occupants, all as disoriented as I. I was still wearing the red velvet Christmas dress that Sandy had picked out for me that morning.
Sandy! Where was she? My wife had been driving. I had drifted to sleep against the window, the first timid snowflakes of the season trembling around us on the highway as I retreated deep into the folds of my anorak, soothed by the warm stream of the heater. She’d been singing along to Bing Crosby on the radio. I hated Bing Crosby, but she was the one driving, and she was the one carrying our child, so she could sing along to whatever she damn well pleased.
A door opened and there was an announcement over the intercom, a cold female voice with an accent half British, half robot.
“Angela Cloverly-Ramirez. Please attend the interview room.”