‘My baby’s been taken,’ I sob into the phone. Blood is everywhere.
My fiancé, Alex, is slumped beside the birthing pool, his head gashed open. The baby? Gone.
I cradle my empty stomach, my empty arms. And then Alex looks at me — not with love, but with blame.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. The move. The fresh start. The antenatal classes. The new friends. But nothing about this feels right.
And as the sirens wail closer, I realize something terrible — someone planned this. Someone in our new life wanted our baby.
And I think they’re in the baby group.
