Whose baby

Five years later 

“I’m sorry to say this, Miss Amelia… but your son is dying.”

The words cut through the air so sharply I almost didn’t hear them right.

For a moment, I just stared at the doctor, waiting for him to take it back — to say it was a mistake, a mix-up, anything. My throat burned as I forced out a weak, trembling laugh.

“D-doctor, that cannot be Noah’s results. I mean… it might be for someone else, but not Noah’s. He only has a wound that’s not healing fast.”

“Miss Amelia—”

“Please, tell me you’re joking,” I interrupted, my voice rising.

But he didn’t. He just stood there, his face solemn, hands folded like a man who’d said these words too many times before.

Something in me broke. He wasn’t joking. Nobody jokes about things like this.

My stomach dropped. My chest tightened so hard it hurt to breathe. The white walls around me blurred, too bright, too calm, as if mocking how fast my world was falling apart.

“What—what do you mean dying?” My voice came out small, almost childish.

The doctor sighed and rubbed his temples. “Noah’s condition has progressed faster than we expected. His blood isn’t regenerating properly. The only chance he has is a bone marrow transplant — and even then, time isn’t on our side.”

Bone marrow transplant.

The words echoed in my head, dull and heavy, like someone had dropped them inside me and I couldn’t get them out.

“I’m his mother. I’ll do it,” I said quickly. “We can start right now, I don’t care how long it takes—”

“Um—Miss Amelia,” he started carefully, “I’m sorry…”

“Sorry for what again?” I snapped, wiping at my tears with shaky hands. “He needs a bone marrow transplant. I’ll give it. What’s there to be sorry about?”

“You’re not a match.”

Everything inside me froze.

“That’s not possible,” I whispered. “I’m his mother. No one else can be his match if it’s not me.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” he said gently. “You being his mother doesn’t automatically make you compatible.”

My knees felt weak. “So what happens now? What do we do?”

He hesitated. “We’ll start searching for a donor. The best chance, however, would be from a biological parent.”

The words “a biological parent” hung in the air long after he said them.

I blinked, trying to process it, but my brain refused to keep up.

A biological parent.

The phrase pulsed in my head like a warning. I felt my throat close, my stomach twist, and for a brief second, the room spun.

“I— I don’t know who that is,” I whispered, almost to myself.

The doctor frowned slightly. “Miss Amelia?”

I swallowed hard. My mouth went dry. “I don’t know who his father is, I-I'm not sure who he is,”

His expression softened, but I could see the concern behind his eyes — the kind that made me feel even smaller.

“I see,” he said carefully. “In that case, we’ll focus on the donor registry and—”

But I wasn’t listening anymore. My heart was pounding too loudly, drowning everything out.

How was I supposed to explain it? That Noah was born out of a night I barely remembered — a night blurred by too much pain, too much alcohol, too much running from a life that had already fallen apart? That I’d left the city carrying secrets I swore I’d never look back on?

Now those same secrets were demanding to be unearthed.

I pressed a trembling hand to my mouth, shaking my head as tears kept slipping through.

“Miss Amelia,” the doctor said softly, “we’ll do everything we can. But we’re running out of time. If there’s any way to contact the father—”

I looked up at him, my vision swimming. “You don’t understand. I don’t even know who it is, I'm not sure, I mean, it is... One person, but I-I don't know," I rasped, my voice breaking.

The silence that followed was worse than the words your son is dying. It was the kind of silence that told me no one was coming to save us.

The doctor gave a small nod, murmured something about paperwork, and left me alone in that blindingly white room.

I sat there for a long time, staring at the spot he’d just been, until Noah’s faint laughter echoed from the next ward — soft, innocent, completely unaware of what was coming.

That sound broke me all over again.

I stood slowly, wiping my face with the back of my hand, and forced myself to move. If the answer wasn’t here, I’d go find it. No matter where it took me.

Even if it meant going back.

Back to the city I swore I’d never set foot in again.

Back to the ghosts I left behind.

Back to the man who might be the only one who could save my son.

"How much time does he have left?" I asked, wiping my tears away from my face.

"Four months at most, before things get even worse and then, even the best doctors in the world wouldn't be able to save..."

"It's enough, I'll find his father by then and have the transplant done," I cut in, picked a wipe on the table to wipe off the dried tears from my face.

"Good luck Miss Amelia," He said and I replied with a terse smile before walking stepping ourselves to Noah.

He smiled as soon as he saw me and ran towards me, spreading his arms out for a hug.

"Let's go home," I said, leaning in to kiss his forehead.

I could see the questions he wanted to ask, his unsaid words and I was more than glad he didn't ask, because one word and I'd have to break down before him.

"Are you okay Mommy?" He finally asked, and I nodded, smiling as I waved down a taxi.

"We're traveling, to new York," 

"Is it to find Daddy?" He asked, his question hitting me hard.

"Yes to find Daddy," I replied as we stepped into the taxi.