Chapter 2 - The Screams in the Hallway
Ethan dragged both hands through his hair, gripping the strands so tightly I thought he might pull them out. He looked like a man standing on the edge of a crumbling cliff.
“I thought you lost the baby,” he whispered.
The air left my lungs in a sharp, painful rush. “What did you just say?”
“My fiancée… Sienna,” he stammered, the words tumbling out of him in a desperate, defensive rush. “She told me you weren’t pregnant anymore. She told me you had a miscarriage six months ago, right after the divorce papers were finalized.”
For several seconds, the hospital room was completely silent, save for the rhythmic hum of the monitors. The sheer, colossal weight of the lie hung in the air like a poisonous fog. My mother looked at Ethan, her mouth open in utter shock, while I sat frozen, trying to process the absolute insanity of what he was saying.
Then, the pure absurdity of it hit me, and a cold, cynical wave of laughter bubbled up from my chest. “Your fiancée lied to you to get you to the altar, Ethan. Congratulations. You picked a real winner.”
Ethan flinched as if I had struck him. “I didn't know, Clara! I swear to God, I didn't know! Why would she lie about something like that?”
“Because she knew you!” I yelled back, the exhaustion giving way to an adrenaline-fueled rage. “She knew that if you knew I was still carrying your child, you might have a shred of human decency left in you to hesitate! But you didn't even bother to verify it. You didn't ask me. You didn't call. You just took her word for it because it was convenient for you! It let you walk away guilt-free into your perfect new life!”
Ethan’s breathing became uneven, his chest heaving under his tailored shirt. “She forced me to call you this morning,” he said, his voice cracking, looking around the room as if searching for an escape route from his own stupidity. “Sienna insisted I invite you to the wedding. She said it was a test. She wanted proof that you were completely out of my life, that there were no lingering ties. She wanted to see your reaction.”
I stared at him, disgusted. “And instead, you got me. Telling you that I just gave birth.”
“Yes,” Ethan swallowed hard, his eyes darting back to the bassinet where my daughter was starting to stir, disturbed by the rising volume in the room. “When I hung up with you, I was in the kitchen of our apartment. Sienna was sitting at the island, watching me. I turned to her and told her what you said. I told her you couldn't come because you had just given birth.”
“And what did she do?” my mother asked, her voice dangerously quiet as she stepped closer to the bed.
Ethan’s voice broke entirely, a pathetic, high-pitched sound. “She screamed. Clara, I’ve never heard her make a sound like that. It wasn't just anger. It was terror. She started shaking violently, clutching the counter, and she kept repeating the exact same words over and over again.”
“What words, Ethan?” I demanded, a chill creeping down my spine.
“She kept saying, ‘The baby couldn’t exist. It’s impossible. The baby couldn’t exist.’” Ethan whispered, his eyes wide. “And then, her eyes rolled back into her head, and she fainted right there on the kitchen tile.”
I slowly pushed myself completely upright, ignoring the searing pain in my abdomen. A terrible, dark feeling was blooming in the pit of my stomach. This wasn't just a simple lie to keep an ex-wife away. This was something much deeper, something sinister.
“Ethan,” I said, my voice trembling but lethal. “What did you do when she fainted?”
“I called her mother to come look after her,” Ethan confessed, looking thoroughly ashamed. “But I couldn't stop thinking about what she said. The way she said it. It didn't make sense. If she thought you had a miscarriage, why would she say the baby couldn't exist? Why use those exact words? So I left her there with her mom, got in my car, and ran. I ran straight here.”
Before I could formulate a response, the heavy silence of the maternity ward was shattered.
From the hallway outside my room, a sudden explosion of noise erupted. Loud, frantic footsteps—the distinctive clack of high heels sprinting down the linoleum—echoed off the walls, accompanied by the shouting of hospital security guards and nurses trying to maintain order.
“Ma'am! You cannot go in there! This is a restricted area!” a nurse shouted.
“Get out of my way!” a sharp, screeching voice pierced through the air.
The door to my hospital room didn't just open; it was slammed against the wall with violent force.
Sienna, Ethan’s fiancée, stormed into the room. She was still wearing a silk bridal robe over her clothes, her hair half-styled, but her face was completely twisted with an expression of pure, unadulterated fury. Her makeup was slightly smeared, and her breathing was ragged. Two hospital security guards rushed in right behind her, reaching for her arms, but she violently shook them off.
Every nurse who had crowded into the doorway froze, sensing the explosive tension in the room.
Sienna’s eyes scanned the room like a predator. First, she saw Ethan, standing paralyzed by the bassinet. Then she flashed a look of intense hatred at me. But finally, her eyes locked onto the clear plastic crib holding my sleeping daughter.
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Her face contorted into something monstrous. She lifted a trembling, manicured hand, pointed a sharp acrylic nail directly at my newborn daughter, and shouted a sentence that caused every single medical professional in the room to instantly freeze in horror.
“That baby cannot exist, Ethan, because you are sterile, and I have the medical records to prove you’ve been shooting blanks for five years!”
