He Said It Was Not Mine
“That baby isn’t mine,” Nathan whispered, his voice cracking against the sterile sigh of the hospital hallway.
I stared at the tiny hand, the extra finger like a cruel punchline.
“What do you mean? He’s ours—our son.”
He shook his head, eyes darting to the door, as if someone might hear.
“His name is Gabriel. I’ve been getting… messages. From Gabriel.”
My breath hitched; the word hung in the air, a jagged edge.
“Who is Gabriel?” I demanded, the word “who” trembling.
He swallowed, his jaw clenching. “Someone who’s been texting me. He says… he knows about the baby.”
My mind raced, trying to catch the fragments of a conversation I never wanted to hear.
The room felt smaller, the walls closing in on us.
I reached for his hand, but he pulled away, his fingers trembling.
“Why would he…?” I started, but the monitor’s soft beeping drowned my question.
He stared at the baby, then at me, a storm of guilt and fear swirling behind his eyes.
“Maya, I need to tell you something. I’ve been hiding a phone.”
My heart pounded, each beat a drum of dread.
“What phone? Show me.”
The Hidden Phone
I slipped into the bathroom, the cold tile sending a shiver up my spine.
Nathan’s coat lay draped over the chair, its pockets bulging with a secret.
My fingers brushed the fabric, feeling the weight of a small device.
It was a sleek, black phone—nothing like the one he usually used.
I turned it on, the screen lighting up with a cascade of messages.
“Gabriel, I’m scared,” one read, the timestamp matching the night we left the hospital.
Another: “The test results—are you sure? We can’t let Maya find out.”
My stomach dropped. The words were clear: an affair, a paternity test, a hidden truth.
Every ping, every line, hammered into me like a hammer on glass.
I scrolled, the conversation growing more frantic, more desperate.
“If she asks, you have to say you never gave it to her,” Gabriel typed.
My hands trembled, the phone slipping between my fingers.
Just then, the lights in the hallway flickered, a low hum filling the air.
Outside, a thunderclap seemed to echo the dread in my chest.
The baby monitor on the nightstand erupted into a high‑pitched scream, the red light flashing wildly.
“Maya?” Nathan’s voice cut through the chaos, distant and panicked.
I clutched the phone tighter, the room plunging into darkness as the monitor’s alarm blared.
