One day, my daughter had her hand on my belly and said, "The baby is moving."
"My baby," Carol said with a tight smile before moving my daughter's hand aside to replace it with hers.
"Our little miracle," Rob said, coming to join her.
Carol came by every single day.
Paul grew quieter. He'd watch Carol sitting beside me, hands splayed across my belly, with a tense look.
Every time Rob called the baby "our miracle," Paul's jaw tightened.
One night as we were getting ready for bed, I asked, "Are you okay?"
He sighed. "I just think Carol is getting... intense."
I sat on the edge of the bed. "She's dreamed of being a mom since she was still a kid."
"Anna, she talks about this baby like nothing else in the world exists."
I shrugged, trying to keep it light. "Maybe right now it doesn't."
"I get that, I really do, it's just…" he let out a deep breath and stared off into space for a while. "I can't help feeling that something is wrong."
I reached out and took his hand. "Once the baby is born, everything will be okay. You'll see."
I should've trusted Paul's instinct.
I went into labor two weeks early.
It hit hard and fast in the middle of the night. Paul drove me to the hospital while I breathed through contractions.
Carol stood beside my bed, clutching my hand. Paul wiped my forehead with a damp cloth. Rob paced near the window.
At one point, Carol leaned close and whispered, "You're doing so good. My boy is almost here. He's almost here."
Then finally, after one last push, the baby cried.
Everything stopped as that sound filled the room. Small, fierce, alive.
Carol covered her mouth with both hands and started sobbing.
"Oh my God," she whispered. "That's my son."
The nurse placed him on my chest for a moment. He was warm and slippery and red-faced and perfect.
I looked at Paul, and a chill ran down my spine.
His face was pale, and he was staring past me with a frightened look in his eyes. I followed his gaze.
On my other side, Carol was staring down at the baby on my chest with a look I had never seen on her before.
It was not joy.
It was something sharp, desperate, and terrifying.
