The Baby Lie

I didn’t sleep. 

I tried,but it wasn't forthcoming. 

I laid in Ethan’s guest bed for 4 hours staring at the ceiling. Counting the cracks. Counting my breaths. Counting all the ways David could still get to me. 

The note was still in my bag. 

“You think it’s over? It’s just starting.” -D

And the photo. Me asleep in bed. while I was at the hospital with Nina. 

He was in my apartment. 

He knew where I slept. 

He knew when I was gone. 

At 3:17 AM I gave up. 

I walked out to Ethan’s living room. It was all glass and cold light. The city below looked peaceful. Like none of this was happening. 

Ethan was already there. On the couch, shirt off. Laptop open. 

He looked up when he heard me. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Obviously,” I said. I pulled his blanket around me and sat on the other end of the couch. Not too close. 

“You want tea? Water? To burn something down?” he asked. 

I almost smiled. “Water.”

He got up and came back with two glasses. Handed me one. His fingers brushed mine. 

“You’re shaking,” he said. 

“It’s cold,” I lied. 

 He just sat back down and left a little space between us. “Talk to me, Sarah.”

“What’s there to talk about?” I said. “David’s in prison but he’s still winning. He got into my house. He took pictures. And the cops can’t do anything because he didn’t technically break in. He still has a key.”

 “Then we change the locks. We get new security. You don’t go back there.”

“I can’t afford to lose Miller Tech,” I said. “And I can’t afford to look scared.”

“You’re allowed to be scared,” Ethan said. 

I looked at him. “Are you scared?”

“Of you getting hurt? Yes,” he said. “Of him? No.”

We sat there in silence. The water in my glass tasted like nothing. 

At 6:02 AM my phone rang. 

Unknown number. 

I almost didn’t answer. 

Then it rang again. 

I picked up. “Hello?”

“Ms. Miller?” A woman’s voice. Professional. Tired. “This is Dr. Helen Moore from St. Mercy Hospital. I’m calling regarding your test results.”

 “What test results?”

“The bloodwork from three weeks ago,” Dr. Moore said. “And the follow-up ultrasound.”

I sat up straight. “I didn’t have bloodwork three weeks ago. I didn’t have an ultrasound.”

There was a pause. Papers shuffling. “I’m sorry, there must be a mistake. Let me check... Sarah Miller, DOB 04/12/1998. Insurance under David Blackham.”

The room went cold. 

“I’m not pregnant,” I said. My voice came out too fast. 

“Ma’am, the records show a positive pregnancy test. 8 weeks. And a sonogram scheduled for next week,” Dr. Moore said. “Congratulations.”

“Don’t congratulate me,” I said. “I was never at your hospital.”

“Are you sure?” Dr. Moore said. “Because the signature on the intake form looks like yours.”

Ethan was watching me now. He could hear my voice. 

“Send me the file,” I said. “Right now. To this number.”

“I... I’m not sure I can do that without—”

“Send it,” I said. “Or I call my lawyer and we subpoena your entire system.”

She hesitated. Then: “I’ll email it.”

She hung up. 

30 seconds later my email pinged. 

I opened it. 

There I was. 

Name: Sarah Miller. 

Date: 3 weeks ago. 2:30 AM. 

Procedure: Prenatal Visit. 

Doctor: Dr. K. Okoro. 

Notes: Patient reports fatigue. Wants to confirm pregnancy. 

Signature: mine. 

Except it wasn’t. 

It was close. But the S was wrong. And I never loop my M like that. 

“Ethan,” I said. My throat was tight. “David forged my medical records.”

Ethan took the phone. Scrolled. His face went hard. “He used your insurance. That’s why it went through.”

My phone buzzed again. 

News alert. 

“BREAKING: MILLER TECH HEIRESS PREGNANT WITH DAVID BLACKHAM’S CHILD. WEDDING RUMORED.”

Under it was a photo of me two years ago. At a charity gala. 

Photoshopped in a white wedding dress. 

Standing next to David in a tux. 

His hand on my stomach. 

The caption: “A new beginning for the Blackham family.”

I threw the phone. It hit the couch and bounced. 

“He’s doing it again,” I whispered. “He’s rewriting everything.”

Ethan picked up the phone. “We’ll sue. We’ll take it down—”

“It won’t matter,” I said. I stood up. Started pacing. “Don’t you get it? Clause 8B. If I have a child with David, he gets controlling interest. 51%. Even from prison. Especially from prison, because ‘it’s for the children.’”

Ethan stood too. “Then we prove it’s fake.”

“How?” I said. “It’s in a hospital system. With a doctor’s signature. With my name. People will believe it because it’s easier than believing the truth.”

I stopped. Looked at him. “I need to take a real test. Today. On camera. With witnesses. With doctors who aren’t his.”

Ethan nodded. “We’ll do it now.”

*ST. MERCY HOSPITAL - 9:15 AM*

We didn’t go in quietly. 

Ethan called Ms. Reyes. She called 2 other lawyers. They called a PR team. 

By the time we walked into St. Mercy, there were cameras. 

Not David’s cameras. Ours. 

“Ms. Miller, is it true?” 

“Are you pregnant?” 

“Will you be marrying David Chen?” 

I kept my head down. Ethan’s hand was on my back. 

Inside, Dr. Amaka was waiting. She was my dad’s old friend. She owed him. 

“Room 4,” she said. “We’re doing this live.”

They set up lights. A camera. A feed to Miller Tech’s website. 

I laid on the bed. Cold gel on my stomach. 

Dr. Amaka moved the wand. 

The screen was behind me. I couldn’t see it. 

The room was silent except for the sound of the machine.

“That’s your heartbeat,” Dr. Amaka said to the camera. “Normal. 72 BPM.”

She moved the wand. 

“And here,” she said. “Uterus. Normal size. No gestational sac. No fetus.”

She turned the screen to face the camera. 

“Ms. Sarah Miller is not pregnant,” Dr. Amaka said. “This is a live scan. Timestamped. Unedited.”

The chat exploded. 

“SHE’S LYING”

“THE OTHER SONOGRAM LOOKS MORE REAL”

“DAVID HAS PROOF”

Ethan stepped in front of the camera. “We have also filed charges against Dr. K. Okoro and Nurse Amina Bello for falsifying medical records. The FBI is involved. This was a deliberate attempt to defraud Ms. Miller and Miller Tech.”

We cut the feed. 

For 20 minutes, I thought we’d won. 

My phone started blowing up. 

Board members. Reporters. My dad’s old partners. 

“We believe you.”

“We’re with you.”

Then David posted. 

From prison. 

A video. 

He was sitting at a table. Orange jumpsuit, messy hair. But smiling. Like he’d been waiting for this. 

“Hi Sarah,” he said. “I saw your little video. Cute. Really. The acting is getting better.”

He held up a piece of paper. 

A sonogram. 

“Did you take this test?” he asked. “Because I did. Three weeks ago. At St. Mercy. With Dr. Okoro.”

He put it close to the camera. 

Sarah Miller. 

8 weeks. 

Twins. 

Due: February. 

Father: David Blackham. 

“I know you’re scared,” David said. “I know you don’t want people to know yet. But it’s okay. I’ll take care of you. And the babies. And Miller Tech.”

He smiled. “See you in court, Sarah. 48 hours. Paternity hearing.”

The video ended. 

The room went silent. 

Ms. Reyes was the first to speak. “That’s a fake.”

“But it looks real,” one of the lawyers said. “And the court will want to see it.”

I was still on the bed. The gel was cold on my stomach. 

“I’m not pregnant,” I said. “I’m not.”

Ethan knelt next to me. “I know.”

“But no one’s going to believe me,” I said. “Not with that.”

Ethan took my hand. His was warm. “Then we make them.”

*THE NEXT 6 HOURS*

We didn’t leave the hospital. 

Ms. Reyes subpoenaed the machine. The logs. The security footage. 

“Here,” she said at 3 PM. She pulled up a video on her laptop. 

2:14 AM. Three weeks ago. 

A nurse swiping a keycard. 

Amina. 

She went into the records room. 

Stayed 12 minutes. 

Came out. 

“Then at 2:30,” Ms. Reyes said. “Dr. Okoro logs in. Creates the file. Uploads a sonogram from a stock medical site.”

She zoomed in. The sonogram had a watermark. Faint. But there. “MediStock Images.”

“They’re idiots,” Ms. Reyes said. “Or they think we’re idiots.”

Ethan was on the phone. “Get me a forensic radiologist. Now. And get Amina. Offer her immunity.”

I was sitting in a chair, wrapped in a hospital blanket. I hadn’t eaten. 

Dr. Amaka came in with soup. “You need to eat, Sarah.”

“I’m not hungry,” I said. 

“You need to keep your strength,” she said. “For the hearing.”

I took the spoon. It tasted like nothing. 

Ethan sat next to me. “You did good today.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I said. “David did everything. He lied, and I’m just reacting.”

“That’s not true,” Ethan said. “You walked into a hospital full of cameras and let them scan you. That takes guts.”

I looked at him. “Why are you helping me?”

Ethan was quiet for a second. “Because you shouldn’t have to fight this alone.”

I nodded. I wanted to say more. But my phone buzzed. 

Unknown number. 

A photo. 

Amina. 

In a room, hands tied, mouth taped. 

Text under it: “24 hours, Sarah. Come to the hearing and say the babies are mine. Or she doesn’t make it.” -D

I dropped the phone. 

Ethan picked it up. His face went blank. 

“We need to call the FBI,” he said. 

“They’ll take too long,” I said. “He’s counting on that.”

Ethan looked at me. “What do you want to do?”

I thought about Nina in the warehouse. About the knife. About the photo of me sleeping. 

“I want him to stop,” I said. “And I will do whatever it takes.”

*10 PM*

We were back at Ethan’s. 

The lawyers were drafting a motion. The FBI was tracing the photo. 

I showered but I still felt dirty. 

Ethan knocked on my door. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

He had two mugs. Tea. 

“You drink this when you can’t sleep,” he said. Handed me one. 

“Did my dad tell you that?” I asked. 

“No,” Ethan said. “I watched you at the gala. You were drinking it at 2 AM while going over designs.”

I took the mug. It was warm. “You notice a lot.”

“I notice you,” Ethan said. 

We sat on the floor with our backs against the bed. 

“I’m tired of being afraid,” I said. 

“I know,” Ethan said. 

“I’m tired of David deciding what happens to me,” I said. 

“I know,” Ethan said. 

“I’m tired,” I said. 

Ethan shifted and placed his arm around me. 

“You don’t have to be strong right now,” he said. 

I leaned my head on his shoulder. “What if I lose? What if the judge believes him?”

“Then we appeal,” Ethan said. “And then we appeal again. And I’ll be there for every single one.”

I closed my eyes. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Ethan said. 

We stayed like that until I fell asleep. 

*7 AM*

I woke up to my phone screaming. 

Ms. Reyes. 

“Sarah. The board just got an email. From David’s lawyers. They’re filing for emergency custody of the ‘unborn children’ and a freeze on your shares until paternity is established.”

“What?” I said. 

“They’re calling it ‘protecting the interests of the heirs,’” Ms. Reyes said. “The vote is in 36 hours.”

I hung up. 

Ethan was already awake. On his laptop. 

“Did you hear?” I asked. 

“Yeah,” he said. “We’re going to fight it.”

I stood up. Went to the window. 

Everywhere was bright. People were going to work. Living normal lives. 

And me. I was fighting for my company because my ex said I was pregnant with twins. 

My phone buzzed. 

A text. 

From David. 

“36 hours, Sarah. This is your last chance to do this the easy way. Come to court. Admit it. And I’ll let you keep 49%. As my wife. Or I take 100%. And you get nothing.” -D

I typed back. My fingers were shaking. 

“I’m not pregnant, David.”

Then: “We’ll see what the court says.”

Ethan came up behind me. “Don’t read his texts.”

“I have to,” I said. “I have to know what he’s planning.”

Ethan turned me around. “No. You need to know what we are planning.”

“What?”

“We’re going to find Amina,” he said. “Before he does. She’s the key. If she testifies, this is over.”

I nodded. 

But my phone lit up again. 

Not a text. 

A voicemail. 

I hit play. 

David’s voice. Low. 

“Sarah. I know you think you’re smart. I know you think Ethan can save you. But he can’t. Because the one thing you don’t know... is that I was never the only one who wanted you.”

He laughed. 

“Check your email, baby. And then tell me you’re not pregnant.”

He hung up. 

I opened my email. 

New message. From an anonymous account. 

Subject: “FOR THE COURT”

Attachment: 3 files. 

1. A sonogram. Twins. 

2. A doctor’s note. High risk pregnancy. Stress could cause complications. 

3. A photo. 

Me In a hospital gown, lying on a bed. 

Eyes closed. 

IV in my arm. 

Taken yesterday. 

While I was asleep at Ethan’s. 

Under the photo: “She’s fragile. She needs me.”-D

I couldn’t breathe. 

Ethan grabbed my shoulders. “Sarah. Breathe. Look at me.”

I did. 

“He was here,” I whispered. “In this house. While we were sleeping.”

Ethan’s face went dark. “Call security. Call the FBI. Now.”

But I was already looking at the timestamp on the photo. 

3:14 AM. 

Last night. 

While Ethan’s arm was around me.