Naleighna Kai's Literary Cafe Magazine January 2018 New Year, New You | Page 78

“We’re sorry we can’t allow you to stay past a day or so until you get your strength,”
the Charity ward nurse began in her most uncharitable manner, “but the best we can do is
give you a few diapers and a letter that will authorize a few bottles of formula from the
hospital pharmacy. Once you leave I suggest you try and eat healthy enough to give that
baby some breast milk.”
So that was all the kindness Claudine received. A couple of diapers, a letter for formula
and told to eat healthy on money she didn’t’t have so she could provide breast milk from
her tiny yet swollen tits. She got the news after she received a few… hope-this-will-hold-
ya stitches. Her five pounds, two ounce pasty-colored baby girl, just hours ago, had almost
ripped the petite Claudine apart.
To add further insult as she lay without the benefit of even an aspirin for the bone-
crushing cramps that followed someone came over to the bed and urged her to hurry and
name her baby. Paperwork needed filing before they kicked Claudine to the curb in another
twenty-four hours.
Claudine didn’t’t give it a second thought. “I’m naming her Delilah,” Her chest heaved
as the tears poured, “this little girl’s gonna blind every man with her beauty and steal their
very soul just like that Delilah gal did in the Bible story.”
The unsympathetic woman with the pen and paper remained disconnected as she added.
“And don’t forget to fill in the father’s name and date of birth.”
“He’s dead.” Claudine let out another groan indicating that was all she would say about
the matter.
The woman retrieved the pen and paper from Claudine’s hand and left without any
further information. It wasn’t’t the first time a woman gave birth and didn’t’t give the
father’s name.
The real truth was that Claudine didn’t’t care what the woman thought. Despite her
pain and the wails coming from her hungry newborn baby in the bassinet a few feet away,
Claudine turned to face the wall and cussed damnation upon every Y chromosome that
walked the earth. Of course, there was one man in particular whom she’d have shot if he
were there. She was really angry at a silvery-tongued devil named Sampson, and despite
telling the lie that he was dead she was very sure he was still alive.
Sampson, the object of her hatred, was a few years older; a tall, butterscotch
complexioned bass player who’d gotten more than a phone number from her, he’d gotten
her pregnant. As smart as she thought she was she’d fallen for the old, “We don’t need
no piece of paper to show how much we love one another,” jive. The first few months
were like magic. Then hocus-pocus. Sampson disappeared off the planet, as soon as she’d
mentioned she’d missed her period. She would never forgive herself for not learning more
about him so she could’ve ruined his life like he’d done hers. The only way to get back at
him was to never tell her daughter who her father was. Claudine never did; not even when
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