Return of the Trumpwife

The Reveal

Jeananne and Barron were violently awoken by an ear-splitting siren accompanied by red flashing lights. The siren and the flashing ceased abruptly, cut off by the "click-BSSHHT" of an intercom system.
"Wakey-wakey, Trumpwife and Barron!" that horrid, female voice sang condescendingly through the intercom. The door to the room opened, and a pair of black-cloaked individuals entered and unlocked the dog cages in which the First Lady and First Son were kept.
"You have exactly half an hour to use the toilet and eat," one of the individuals, a woman, told the young woman and the boy.

Jeananne and Barron were escorted to two very small bathrooms that contained only one toilet and one sink each. While the young woman sat on the toilet, a strange thought came to mind.
"I haven't had my period in over a month," she said to herself, her heart thumping with anxiety. She'd had unprotected sex with Donald numerous times between her wedding and her husband's inauguration. In the time she'd spent craving Don's body, she'd accidentally neglected paying attention to her own."Fuck."
"What was that, Trumpwife?" the head of her captors said through the intercom.
Jeananne came to a stand and pulled her panties up, nearly peeing at the sudden voice on the speaker. "Nothing!" she said to the ceiling.
There was a knock at the door. Jeananne timidly opened it, only to be handed a pregnancy test through the crack in the slightly-ajar door.

Jeananne cried tears of glee and fear. The test read "+", filling her with elation at the thought of carrying Donald Trump's baby, but she knew that her unborn child was in danger. She went to flush the test down the toilet, when the intercom buzzed in the bathroom.
"Positive? What grand news! I couldn't have planned this better myself!"
Jeananne gasped. "What the fuck!?" she yelled, glazing the dark ceiling with her eyes in search of a camera or microphone. The bathroom door flew open and in came more dark figures that carried Jeananne out of the bathroom and down the corridor. Her handlers dropped her in a chair, binding her hands with duct tape and taping her ankles to its legs. She faced a desk at which the woman who was the head of the group that captured her and Barron was seated. Though her white hood covered her eyes, Jeananne noticed her horse-like grin that struck her familiar.
"Congrats, Trumpwife," she said. "You must be proud of the prospect of being a mother to Donald Trump's child."
"I'm proud of being Barron's stepmother," said Jeananne, trying to divert the conversation for the safety of the Trump child inside her. "Where is Barron right now?"
"Oh, he's eating breakfast," replied the woman, pointing to one of many surveillance monitors on the wall that showed Barron eating a day-old, half-eaten cheeseburger from Burger King. "Anyway, this news of your pregnancy excites me!"
"Why?" Jeannane said.
The woman laughed. No, it was not a laugh--it was a cackle; a cackle that Jeananne recognized.
Jeannane stared hard at the white-cloaked matriarch. "Who are you?"
The woman grabbed her hood and pulled it back. Jeananne gasped.
"Chelsea Clinton," Jeananne said, her eyes wide with shock.