Ivanka awoke screaming in the middle of the night. She shook her husband beside her and said, “Jared, it’s time! We need to go to the hospital!”

“The hospital?? What on Earth for?” he asked, and then glanced at her enormous belly and remembered, “The baby! Of course! Right away”.

While Ivanka lay in bed, attempting to start her breathing patterns (“Trump, Trump, Trump”), Jared ran throughout the house gathering things to put in their TrumpBag to bring to the Trumpsital. He grabbed a TrumpBrush, TrumpPaste, and TrumpTowel, and then returned to Ivanka’s side to escort her down the stairs and  into the car.

The streets of New York were crowded that night, yet Jared and Ivanka didn’t notice, as traffic cleared at the mere sound of the TrumpMobile. The couple sat in the back, concentrating on the task at hand with excitement.

“Ivanka!” Jared exclaimed, “you’re going to be a mother!! And I’m going to be a father! I cannot believe it; we must call everyone! My mother, my father, the kids, Aunt Shoshi, Uncle Ted, everyone!”

“Jared,” Ivanka whispered through scattered breaths, “call my Father.”

“But—”

“My father, Jared,” she feebly commanded. “Call Father”

Jared squared his shoulders. Ivanka’s father. The man… He couldn’t put it into words. The man was God himself. Worse, as a matter of fact. He was more powerful than God. So ugly, so disgusting that he molds ??? to an angry, powerful confidence. More confident. More nasty. He knows. He knows how to look at a man, pinpoint his weakness, and stick his finger into it. He’s… well, he’s a devil. Jared would put off his engagement with Ivanka simply to avoid going near the creature, but he knew that he loved her too much to stay away from her for the sake of avoiding the Donald.

“Have you gotten a hold of him yet?!” exclaimed a distressed Ivanka.

Jared glanced down at his phone, breathing a sigh of relief. Voicemail. He could hear the heinous voicemail glaring up at him, “Ya called the Donald. Ya fired. Bigly. My hands are bigger than yours. Leave a message or get out.”

The young couple pulled up to  the hospital. Immediately, they were greeted by a doctor and taken to the hotel’s birthing suite, as had been prearranged by Trump  himself. The doctors put Ivanka into a bed, got everything ready, and she began preparing for her contractions, Jared at her side. Jared could feel the excitement building— he was about to become a father! A father! Here he was, holding the hand of the most beautiful woman and mother-to-be in the world— could his life get any better?

A contraction hit and Ivanka let loose a scream— Jared held her hand, reassuring  her that it was going to be ok. He looked into her eyes, her beautiful brown— wait, what was that? Jared dropped his wife’s hand and pulled back in fear. For just a moment, Ivanka’s eyes glowed red hot.

“Are you ok… darling…?” Ivanka questioned through exasperated breaths, looking at him with her kind, brown eyes.

“Of course, sweetheart, of course,”, Jared reassured, reaching back to grab her hand. “I only just thought for a moment… but no. Everything’s ok. You’re doing amazing. I can’t wait for you to be a mother.”

Ivanka smiled, then shrieked as the next contraction hit her.

“You’re almost there, Ivanka! One more big push!!” cried the doctor.

Ivanka nodded and screamed, throwing her head back and squeezing her eyes shut, crushing Jared’s hand with her iron grip.

“One more big push, darling! You can do this!” Jared exclaimed.

Ivanka slowly turned her head toward her husband, her lips curling into a maniacal smile.

“Oh, Jared” she hissed, her eyes still closed, “sweet, sweet Jared,” She opened her eyes, and Jared screamed— they were glowing scarlet, like fresh blood, “you really had no idea”.

“What?” Jared answered in fear. “Who are you?? What is this??”

“Check the date, Jared,” she whispered.

He desperately fished around in his pockets and found his phone. He clicked on the screen, and the date seemed to burn holes in his eyes— November 8, 2016.

“You didn’t!!” Jason protested, “You didn’t!!”

“Oh, yes,” Ivanka crooned, “I did.”

The doctor held up the baby, except suddenly, it wasn’t a baby. It was growing— yellow, corn husk material sprouting out of its head, wrinkles etching into its face, its stomach bulging, skin taking on a grotesque, orange hue.

“Mr. Trump?” Jared whispered, terrified to hear the answer.

The baby-man laughed a slow, cold laugh.

“Oh, no Jewish Jared. It’s President Trump now.”