I watched on as the doctor carried the—- no, my babies, and danced around to coo one of them to stop crying. The nurse’s gentle sways and soothing murmurs seed to work their magic, calming the distressed baby’s sobs.
The other baby, anwhile, lay in its stroller, calmly observing the scene with an air of quiet contentnt, as if already accustod to the world around it.
I watched on, frozen in a mix of emotions, unsure of how to feel. These tiny beings, my babies, had just been placed into this world, and I hadn’t even had the chance to carry them yet.
Fear gripped my heart, its icy fingers wrapping tightly around my emotions. I was terrified that if I touched them, if I allowed myself to feel their tiny hands wrap around my finger, every ounce of revenge I’d been harboring, every plan I’d ticulously crafted, every sacrifice I’d made until now... I’d give it all up for them.
Heaven bless the doctor and the other woman who hadn’t insisted I carry them. But that didnt stop them from exchanging strange glances.
It was expected.
The pain had subsided, but tears refused to fall. I wasn’t even attempting to hold my babies, so I didn’t bla the quiet judgnt that seed to be passing around the room. The weight of their silent scrutiny was palpable, a heavy blanket that suffocated .
"We are not judging you," the woman said suddenly, her voice piercing the fog of my thoughts. I felt like I’d been slapped back into reality, my eyes widening in stunned surprise. I was certain I hadn’t vocalized my thoughts, so how did she know exactly what I was thinking?
She scooted closer, her movents deliberate and gentle, and sat down beside on the labor bed. Her eyes locked onto the doctor, and I found myself following her gaze, curiosity getting the better of . The doctor’s expression was inscrutable, but I sensed a tension in the air, a feeling that sothing was off.
Even with my limited experience of the world - having spent most of my life indoors - I knew that this wasn’t normal. The atmosphere in the room was thick with unspoken words, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that sothing was being left unsaid. The silence was oppressive, heavy with anticipation, and I felt my heart beating faster as I waited for soone to break the silence.
The doctor nodded subtly to her, a silent cue that seed to be asking her to continue, to share whatever it was that she had been hesitating to say. The woman’s eyes flickered back to mine, and I sensed a deep sadness in her gaze, a sense of empathy that made my heart skip a beat.
"I’m Celine," the woman said with a warm smile, "and that’s my beautiful daughter over there - she’s a doctor, as you know." Her eyes sparkled with pride as she nodded toward the doctor, who was watching us with a quiet intensity. My gaze darted back to the doctor, but I remained silent, my curiosity piqued. I was still trying to understand where this conversation was headed.
Celine’s next words caught off guard. "And you look like her," she said, her voice low and gentle.
I squinted my brows in confusion, my mind racing to process her statent.
Look like who? What did she an? That I resembled her daughter? I waited for her to elaborate, my eyes locked on hers in anticipation.
"Your mother, Avery."
My eyes snapped wide as realization dawned on like a thunderclap: these people knew . They knew who I was, and that knowledge sparked a sense of trepidation within . Could they be enemies? The thought sent a shiver down my spine, and I suddenly felt trapped.
My gaze darted over to the doctor, who was still holding my baby, her eyes watching with an unnerving intensity. A new fear sprouted within , its roots digging deep into my psyche.
Could that be the reason why she’s holding them? Is she using my own child as leverage against ? The thought sent a wave of panic crashing over , and I felt my heart racing with a mix of fear and adrenaline.
Celine’s voice cut through my swirling thoughts, as she continued.
"We were friends, very good friends, until she passed away." Her eyes clouded over, and for a mont, I saw a glimr of sadness. "I know you’re confused about how I might have known she’s your mother," she continued, her voice asured. "But I have my ways... and you do too."
’What the fuck is that supposed to an?’ I wanted to yell at her,
But exhaustion and weakness pinned to the bed, rendering mute. I wanted to demand that the doctor return my babies to , but all I could manage was a faint, helpless glare.
The woman’s hands rummaged through her bag, producing a faded photograph that she held out to . As I gazed at the image, my heart skipped a beat. There, smiling brightly at the cara, stood my mother - a woman I had never t, but whose face I knew intimately from the countless pictures my dad had shared with .
In the photo, my mother stood beside Celine, both of them proudly displaying their swollen bellies. Their hands were clasped together, forming a heart shape as they bead with joy.
A wave of nostalgia washed over , and I felt an overwhelming urge to touch the photograph, to connect with the mont captured in the image. Without thinking, I reached out, my fingers brushing against the worn edges of the picture as I took it from Celine’s hands, inspecting it more closely.
As I gazed at the photograph, I was struck by the uncanny resemblance between my mother and . It was as if I was staring at an older version of myself, and the realization was both fascinating and heartbreaking. I felt a deep pang of sadness, knowing that I had never gotten to experience her warmth, her smile, or her love. I had never seen her with my own eyes, never gotten to witness her joy or share in her laughter.
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