She started crying so fast, I was scared.
***
That night, after she left, Paul and I sat on the bed talking for hours. We already had two children. I knew what pregnancy meant. I knew the risks, the discomfort, the fear.
“I want to do this for her,” I said.
Paul was silent for a long time. Then he took my hand and kissed it. “I’ll support you, but I want you to talk to doctors and lawyers before we make a final decision. If we do this, we have to do it right.”
“I want to do this for her.”
When I finally said yes to Carol, after the medical and legal discussions, she cried so hard she could barely breathe.
“You’re giving me my whole life,” she sobbed.
I laughed through my tears.
I thought it was a pretty exaggerated statement, but I knew how much she wanted to be a mother, so I didn’t take it too seriously.
“You’re giving me my whole life.”
At first, everything seemed wonderful.
Carol attended every appointment. At first, she mostly listened, but soon she began to talk.
As soon as the baby’s gender was confirmed, she and Rob painted the nursery a soft blue. They chose blankets and clothes in the same color.
The pregnancy progressed. My body changed. The baby began to kick. Life continued around us. My children pressed their ears against my belly and laughed when the baby moved.
But little things began to change.
Everything seemed beautiful.
As the due date approached, Carol became more and more tense.
At first, it was easy to excuse her. She had wanted this for so long. Of course she was impatient, and of course she was fond of it.
Still, sometimes she felt a little… strange.
One day, my daughter placed her hand on my belly and said, “The baby’s moving.”
“My little girl,” Carol said with a forced smile, before removing my daughter’s hand and replacing it with her own.
There were moments when I felt a little… out of place.
“Our little miracle,” Rob said, approaching her.
Carol came every day.
Paul grew quieter and quieter. He watched Carol sitting next to me, her hands resting on my stomach, her expression tense.
Every time Rob called the baby “our miracle,” Paul’s jaw tensed.
One evening, as we were getting ready for bed, I asked her, “Are you okay?”
Paul grew quieter.
He sighed. “I think Carol’s getting… a little too much.”
I sat on the edge of the bed. “She’s always dreamed of being a mother since she was a little girl.”
“Anna talks about this baby as if there’s nothing else in the world.”
I shrugged, trying not to make too much of it. “Maybe right now it doesn’t exist.”
“I understand, really, it’s just…” She let out a deep sigh and stared into space for a while. “I can’t help but feel like something’s wrong.”
I reached out and took her hand. “When the baby comes, everything will be fine. You’ll see.”
I should have trusted Paul’s instincts.
“I can’t help but feel like something’s wrong.”
I went into labor two weeks earlier than expected.
It was a quick, intense labor, in the middle of the night. Paul drove me to the hospital while I gasped between contractions.
Carol was beside my bed, holding my hand. Paul was wiping my forehead with a damp cloth. Rob was pacing by the window.
At one point, Carol leaned over and whispered, “You’re doing great. My son is almost here. He’s almost here.”
I went into labor two weeks earlier than expected.
Finally, after one last push, the baby cried.
Everything stopped when that sound filled the room. Small, intense, alive.
Carol covered her mouth with both hands and burst into tears.
“My God,” she whispered. “It’s my son.”
The nurse placed him on my chest for a moment. He was warm and slippery, his face red and perfect.
I looked at Paul and a shiver ran down my spine.
Everything stopped when that sound filled the room.
His face was pale and he looked at me with frightened eyes. I followed his gaze.
Across the room, Carol looked at the baby she carried with an expression I’d never seen before.
It wasn’t joy.
It was something sharp, desperate, and terrifying.
“Give me MY baby,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “I’m the one who should be holding him, not you.”
She stared at me with a frightened look.
