I focused on the task and continued to do what I’d done countless times. Only this time, my heart pumped too fast, and my hand trembled. I took my time and inspected every inch of my perfect boy before switching to the Doppler to gauge the blood flow in the uterine arteries.
No, no, no, no, no.
My mind cried when I saw the spikes—high resistance.
“Doctor?” she whispered.
Her eyes were wide, and her hands clutched her sweater until her knuckles were white. When her lips began to tremble and her eyes shone with tears, I knew I had to pull myself together. She couldn’t know that I would rip this child from her womb myself before I let history repeat itself. Before I buried another tiny coffin in the family plot.
I remained silent, printing the falsified results with steady hands. The transducer captured every angle, every curve of him—my Elias, suspended in that woman’s unworthy flesh. I handed Charlotte paper towels, watching as she smeared the gel in haphazard circles.
“Just a moment,” I murmured, stepping into the hall—three phone calls. Three favours called in. By the time I returned, my schedule had been cleared like a surgical field.
Back in my office, I recited the pre-eclampsia risks, my voice smooth as the lie. “Headaches. Swelling. Vision changes.”
Charlotte nodded, clutching the leaflet like a rosary.
Follow her.
The command slithered through my mind, sticky as amniotic fluid.
Don’t let her out of your sight.
My pen froze mid-sentence. That voice—too high. Too young. Not mine. Not ever mine.
Across the desk, Charlotte smiled, oblivious. “Thank you, Doctor. I feel so much better.”
The leaflet crinkled in her hands. The sound echoed like a heartbeat on Doppler.
Liar, the voice whispered.She’s lying.
And for the first time in four years, I wasn’t alone. Not any more.
When the door closed behind her, I grabbed my car keys and suit jacket.
Chapter 3
Elliot
The leave of absence request glowed on my screen. It was approved, perfect timing. Charlotte's induction was in two weeks, two weeks to ensure nothing interfered with my son's return.
I'd researched it all, past-life testimonials, Tibetan Buddhist texts, even babies born with birthmarks matching fatal wounds. For forty-two years, I'd believed only in scalpels and science. Then the universe gave me proof.
Elias.
When Elias died, I searched for his signs everywhere and anywhere. I would wander aimlessly in the graveyard. His room remained untouched. I'd sealed his onesies in vacuum bags, trapping his scent-sweet milk and lavender soap. His favourite board book,‘Goodnight Moon’, still lay open on the rocker, the spine cracked at the page where he'd always giggled.
Who is he?
The voice yanked me back to the present.
Through the binoculars, I watched Charlotte smile at some useless man-some stranger—as he pressed his palm to my son's home.
Kill him.
The binoculars creaked in my grip.
Kill him before he steals her away.Before he takes Elias away from you again.
