Box room

Alysha nervously picked at her plate.

‘She can sleep in your room tonight,’ Frank said. ‘You can have the box room.’

‘We’re both sleeping in my room,’ Peter replied.

‘This is my house.’

‘And Alysha is my wife.’

‘Frank,’ Sylvia said, hoping to head-off a full-blown confrontation.

‘We’ll find a hotel.’

‘Peter.’ Alysha sought out his hand.

‘You’ll stay here,’ Frank said. ‘But in separate rooms.’

‘I’m sorry, mum.’ Peter rose to his feet. ‘You’re a racist prick, dad. Alysha’s pregnant. Twins.’

‘Peter,’ Alysha whispered.

‘He can reject us, but he’ll never get to be a racist prick to them.’

A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.