The answer

Sandip says 'Choose' — not to me, to Abdul, his voice cracking on the second syllable — and Abdul's hand tightens on my hip, and I feel the word land in the room like a stone in still water. I sit up, Sandip's hand falling away from my belly, and I look at Abdul, then at Sandip, and I say, 'I choose the child.' Abdul's eyes go dark and pleased, but I hold up my hand and finish: 'And I choose the man who will watch it grow in me — both of you, or neither.' The room goes still again, the fan turning, the seed running down my thigh, and I watch the two of them look at each other over my body, the word finally spoken and the answer now theirs to make.