PART 1
I was thirty-eight weeks pregnant with twin boys when everything collapsed.
My pregnancy had been smooth. Then, one afternoon, a sharp, blinding pain tore through my stomach and dropped me to my knees. Minutes later, I was in an ambulance.
The next thing I remember was waking up in a hospital room three days later. Every part of my body ached. Even breathing felt like too much.
My husband, Mark, was sitting beside me, holding my hand. The moment he saw my eyes open, he broke down.
“I’m so sorry,” he said quietly. “They couldn’t save one of the babies.”
I stared at him. “What…?”
His grip tightened around my fingers. “They did everything they could. We have to focus on the son we still have.”
Then he buried his face in my shoulder, and I cried with him. I thought we were grieving together.
For the next two days, Mark barely left the hospital. He brought me flowers. He helped me sit up. Everyone kept telling me what an amazing husband and father he was. I believed them.
Then, on the morning the NICU finally cleared our baby to stay in my room, a nurse named Judy wheeled him in. She smiled at Mark. “Congratulations,” she said.
Then she leaned over my son, adjusting his blanket. Without looking at me, she whispered under her breath, “Don’t react. Just smile. I sent something to your phone.”
My heart skipped. She gently placed my son into my arms, then leaned closer.
“Watch it after your husband leaves,” Judy’s voice dropped even further. “You have no idea WHAT HE REALLY DID TO YOUR OTHER BABY.”
Half an hour later, Mark kissed my forehead and stepped out to get coffee.
The second the door closed, I grabbed my phone. There was one new video from an unlisted number. It was just twenty-seven seconds long.
I pressed play.
Five seconds later, my phone slipped from my hands onto the bed.
“No…” I breathed. “Oh my God…”
I looked toward the door, realizing the man I’d been mourning with had been lying to me from the moment I woke up.
