I Died, He Celebrated Her Fake Baby

The pain radiated outward from my failing organs, sharp and absolute. I curled into myself on the floor, knees drawn tight to my chest.

On the other side of the wall, Reginald's voice drifted through, soft and coaxing, persuading Katherine to take her prenatal vitamins.

Something hot and metallic surged up the back of my throat. Black blood seeped from the corner of my mouth and dripped onto the hardwood floor.

I pulled a tissue from my pocket and wiped the stain away, then took out my phone and dialed a number I'd memorized.

The line connected.

“Hello, City Organ Donation Center.”

“I'd like to sign the full-body organ donation consent form. As soon as possible.”

“Please have the paperwork delivered today.”

After I hung up, I braced one hand against the baseboard and dragged myself to my feet.

My stomach seized, a churning, tearing pain that nearly folded me in half.

I pulled the suitcase out from under the bed and began clearing out everything that was mine, piece by piece.

Clothes. Photos of us together. The written promise Reginald had given me all those years ago.

All of it went into a black trash bag.

After dawn, I took a car out to Southridge Memorial Cemetery in the suburbs.

Seven years ago, I'd been protecting confidential files for Reginald's company when a competitor deliberately ran my car off the road.

My son was induced at six months. He came out as nothing more than a bloody mass of flesh.

Reginald had wept until he passed out. He bought this plot, the one with the best position on the hillside, and swore he would never forget.

But now, halfway up the slope, I heard the grinding roar of an excavator.

The headstone engraved “Beloved Son” had already been smashed in two.

Workers swung their shovels, heaving dirt out of the ground one scoop at a time.

Reginald stood nearby with a feng shui master in ritual robes and Katherine in a windproof maternity coat.

My breath stopped. I lunged forward and shoved the workers aside.

“What are you doing?!”

Reginald frowned and pulled Katherine behind him.

“The master says this spot sits on the dragon vein of the southern ridge. Best possible position for ensuring healthy offspring.”

His tone was as calm as if he were discussing the weather.

“To make sure Katherine carries a healthy boy to term, we need to build a blessing shrine for her right here.”

I stared at the gaping hole in the earth. My nails bit into my palms.

“That is my child!”

Katherine peeked out from behind Reginald, her expression timid and doe-eyed.

“Ma'am, the dead are gone. A living grandson matters so much more, don't you think?”

“Besides, yours was stillborn. What's the point of it taking up prime burial ground? Can it carry on the Dickerson family name?”

Reginald patted Katherine's shoulder, a small reassuring gesture.

He turned to me. His eyes carried the flat, immovable weight of a man who believed he was being perfectly reasonable.

“You already agreed to accept Katherine's child as the legitimate heir. What's the big deal about making room for your new son?”

He pointed into the pit.

“Toss those scraps of clothing and let's get this done.”

A shovel came down hard, flinging a tiny mud-caked baby shoe out of the dirt.

I had sewn that shoe by hand, stitch by stitch, for my son to wear at his one-month celebration.

It tumbled to a stop at my feet, smeared with filthy yellow clay.

The pain in my stomach spiked to a white-hot peak.

I bit down on the tip of my tongue, using that sharper agony to force back the burning behind my eyes.

I did not cry.

I bent down and wiped the worn little shoe clean with my sleeve, careful and thorough, until not a speck of dirt remained.

Then I tucked it gently against my chest.

“Reginald.”

I looked into his eyes. My voice was so quiet it could have dissolved in the wind.

“One day, you will kneel right here and eat this dirt, mouthful by mouthful.”

Reginald's face went a livid gray：“You're out of your mind!”

I didn't spare him another glance. I turned and walked away.

Back to the empty house.

The moment the door clicked shut, the coughing tore out of me.

A mouthful of black blood hit the table, soaking the little baby shoe until it was stained completely red.