The Implantation

Mia's heart hammered against her ribs as she dressed in the medical gown that Nurse Patterson had thrust into her hands. The fabric was thin, hospital-issue white, and it left her feeling exposed and vulnerable in ways that went beyond the physical.

She'd had four hours of sleep, maybe less. The sedatives from dinner had dulled her mind, leaving her moving through the morning like someone underwater. Everything felt distant and surreal, as if she were watching herself from outside her own body.

Nurse Patterson escorted her down the hallway to the medical suite. The walls seemed narrower than before. The lights overhead were too bright, casting everything in a sickly fluorescent glow. Mia counted her steps without meaning to. Thirty-seven steps from her room to the suite.

The procedure room was cold. Sterile. There was a bed in the center, positioned like something out of a horror film, with stirrups and monitors and equipment Mia didn't have names for. Dr. Reid stood beside it in surgical scrubs, his expression professionally neutral.

"Good morning, Mia," he said as if they were greeting each other at a coffee shop instead of about to violate her body in every conceivable way. "How are you feeling?"

She didn't answer. What was the point? Her consent was an illusion, a kindness they'd already stripped away.

"We're going to give you an IV," he continued, gesturing to Nurse Patterson. "It will help you relax. You won't feel much of anything. When you wake up, it will all be over."

The needle slid into her vein with a sharp pinch. Within seconds, the world began to soften at the edges. Her limbs felt heavy, disconnected from her mind. She tried to hold onto her thoughts, but they slipped away like sand through her fingers.

Dr. Reid's voice came from somewhere far away. "Count backwards from ten for me, Mia."

She wanted to refuse. She wanted to fight. But her body wasn't listening to her anymore.

Ten. Nine. Eight.

The darkness came before she reached five.

When she woke, she was back in her room.

The sensation was the first thing she became aware of, a dull, persistent ache low in her abdomen, like period cramps multiplied and amplified. Her mouth was dry. Her throat felt raw. Everything smelled like antiseptic and something floral, probably from the IV line.

She tried to move and immediately regretted it. Pain shot through her abdomen, sharp and demanding. She stayed still, breathing shallow breaths, waiting for it to subside.

The clock on the nightstand read 10:47 AM. The procedure had taken just over three hours.

She was pregnant. They'd done it. There were embryos inside her now, dividing and settling into the lining of her uterus, beginning their nine-month journey toward becoming human beings. Human beings that were biologically hers but legally belonged to the Crosses.

Mia pressed her palm against her stomach and felt nothing but pain.

Nurse Patterson arrived an hour later with lunch and a bottle of prenatal vitamins. She set them on the nightstand without comment, then checked Mia's vitals with efficient, clinical movements.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, though her tone suggested she didn't particularly care about the answer.

"Sore," Mia managed.

"That's normal. It will pass. You're restricted to bed rest for the next forty-eight hours. After that, light activity only. No strenuous exercise. No unnecessary movement."

"When can I see my brother?"

"Dr. Reid will discuss that with you later," Nurse Patterson said, already turning to leave.

"Wait. Please. I just need to know he's okay. I need to see him."

Nurse Patterson paused at the door. For a moment, Mia thought she might actually answer. But then the nurse simply left, locking the door behind her.

The hours of the afternoon blurred together. Mia slept in fragments, waking to pain and the lingering effects of the sedatives. She forced herself to eat the lunch, though everything tasted sour. The prenatal vitamins went down with difficulty.

At six o'clock, there was a knock on her door.

Damien entered without waiting for permission. He looked different in daylight, older somehow. There were shadows under his eyes that hadn't been there before. He pulled a chair close to the bed but kept a careful distance, as if afraid she might shatter.

"How are you?" he asked.

"How do you think I am?" Her voice came out bitter. She didn't bother hiding it anymore. "You did this."

"I know."

The simplicity of his admission caught her off guard. No explanation. No excuse. Just acknowledgment of what he'd done.

"My brother," she said. "I need to know he's safe. I need to see him."

"He's fine," Damien said. "Better than fine. Victoria's team cleared all the complications from his surgery. His recovery is accelerating. He'll be able to resume physical therapy next week."

The relief that flooded through her was immediately complicated by guilt. She didn't want to be grateful to these people. She didn't want to feel indebted to them.

"Victoria wants to keep you here for the next week," Damien continued. "For observation. After that, we'll move to regular appointments. Once you're cleared for light activity, we can arrange for you to see your brother."

"And if I refuse?"

Damien's jaw tightened. "Then Kevin's care gets suspended indefinitely. You know the terms of the contract."

She did know. She'd signed it. Her stupidity was almost funny.

"You should rest," Damien said, standing to leave. "The next few weeks are critical. They need you to stay calm, to stay healthy. Can you do that?"

She didn't answer.

He moved toward the door, then stopped. When he turned back, there was something in his expression she couldn't quite read. Something that looked almost like regret.

"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I didn't want it to happen this way."

He left before she could respond.

Alone again, Mia lay in the darkness and felt the emptiness of her room like a physical weight. Through the window, she could see the garden below. Victoria was out there, walking through the roses with her phone pressed to her ear, laughing at something someone had said.

Her hand was on her stomach, protective and possessive. The same hand that had squeezed Mia's hand that morning, the same hand that had caressed the video screen showing her sedated brother.

Mia must have fallen asleep because she woke to the sound of her door opening in the dark.

A figure stood in the doorway. Not Nurse Patterson. Not Damien. Someone else.

Before Mia could speak, before she could even sit up, a voice cut through the darkness.

"Don't scream," the figure whispered. "Your brother sent me."