Cradle of Lies

Seventeen Weeks

Two months later, Dorothy stood in front of the bathroom mirror wearing the pregnancy padding for the first time.

She was supposed to be seventeen weeks now. Four months. Definitely showing.

The padding had arrived three days ago in a plain brown box. She’d hidden it immediately, waiting until Jake left for his weekend fishing trip with Marcus to try it on.

The silicone belly was heavier than she expected, more realistic. It had weight to it, a slight give when she pressed on it. The color matched her skin tone almost perfectly. The elastic straps went around her back and clipped at her sides, holding it securely in place.

Dorothy turned sideways and stared at her reflection. There it was—an unmistakable baby bump. Round and firm, exactly what seventeen weeks should look like.

She looked pregnant.

She pulled on one of the maternity shirts she’d bought last week—loose and flowy, designed to accommodate a growing belly. The padding sat naturally underneath, the fabric draping over it in a way that looked completely real.

Dorothy placed her hand on the fake bump, the gesture she’d seen pregnant women do a thousand times. It felt wrong. The silicone was warm from her body heat, but it didn’t move. Didn’t shift the way a real pregnant belly would.

But it looked right. That’s what mattered.

She took a photo in the mirror and stared at it. Pregnant Dorothy. Glowing, maternal Dorothy. The Dorothy that Jake thought was real.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Jake: How’s your day off? Miss you.

Dorothy stared at the message, then at her reflection. She should take off the padding, put it away, wait until she actually needed to wear it around him. But part of her needed to practice. Needed to get used to the weight of it, the way it changed her center of gravity, the way she’d have to move.

She spent the next hour walking around the apartment wearing it. Sat on the couch, stood up again. Bent down to pick something up—harder than she expected with the bulk in the way. Practiced touching it absently, the way real pregnant women did.

By the time she took it off, her back ached from the extra weight. She had six more months of this. Six more months of wearing this thing, pretending, lying every single day.

Dorothy hid the padding back in its box, shoved deep in the back of her closet behind winter clothes Jake never touched. Then she lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

She still wasn’t pregnant. Three months of trying and nothing. Her period came like clockwork every month, a reminder that her body was betraying her, refusing to make the lie true.

She’d started to wonder if something was wrong with her. If years of birth control had damaged something, made her infertile. She’d thought about seeing a doctor, getting tested, but how could she? They’d want to know why she was trying to get pregnant when she was supposedly already four months along.

The trap was closing around her. Every week that passed, every fake symptom she performed, every person she lied to—it all made it harder to ever tell the truth.

Her phone buzzed again. This time, her mother: When can I come visit? I want to see my pregnant daughter.

Dorothy had been putting her off for two months. Making excuses about being tired, about work being busy, about wanting to wait until she was showing more. But she couldn’t avoid her forever.

How about next month? Dorothy typed back. I’ll be further along then.

Next month she’d be five months. Really showing. She’d need to wear the padding full-time by then.

The thought exhausted her.

When Jake came home Sunday evening, she was waiting on the couch in regular clothes, no padding. Still too early for him to expect visible changes, though he’d been looking at her stomach more and more lately, waiting for signs.

“Hey, babe.” He dropped his bag and came to kiss her. “How was your weekend?”

“Quiet. I mostly just rested.” Dorothy let him pull her into a hug. “How was fishing?”

“Good. Marcus caught a huge bass. I’ll show you the pictures.” Jake sat down next to her, his hand immediately going to her stomach. “How’s our little one?”

“Good. Active.” Another lie. “I think I might have felt some movement earlier.”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Really? Already?”

“Just flutters. The internet said it can happen around now with first pregnancies.” She’d read that in one of her books. Quickening, they called it. The first fetal movements a mother could feel.

Of course, Dorothy hadn’t felt anything. There was nothing there to feel.

“That’s amazing.” Jake’s hand pressed more firmly against her flat stomach, searching for something that didn’t exist. “I can’t wait until I can feel it too.”

“Soon,” Dorothy said, even though she had no idea how she’d fake that.

They spent the evening on the couch, Jake’s hand never leaving her stomach, talking about names and nursery colors and whether they wanted to find out the s*x or be surprised. Dorothy played along, offering opinions, making plans for a future she couldn’t imagine.

At work the next day, she finally told Rachel about the pregnancy. She’d put it off as long as she could, but at “seventeen weeks,” it was getting suspicious that her supervisor didn’t know.

“Dorothy! That’s wonderful!” Rachel pulled her into a hug. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I wanted to wait until I was past the first trimester. Make sure everything was okay.”

“Of course, of course. Well, congratulations.” Rachel’s eyes dropped to Dorothy’s stomach. “You’re not showing much yet.”

“Not really. But I’m starting to feel it.” Dorothy touched her flat stomach. “Everything’s going well though. Doctor says the baby’s healthy.”

“Good. We’ll need to adjust your schedule. No more heavy lifting, and I’ll try to give you easier patients. When are you due?”

“Late May.”

“So you’ll probably work until… what, April?” Rachel was already calculating. “We’ll need to start looking for coverage. And you should think about how long you want for maternity leave.”

Maternity leave. For a baby that didn’t exist.

“I haven’t really thought about it yet,” Dorothy said.

“Well, start thinking. You’ve got time, but it’ll come up faster than you expect.”

The rest of the day, Dorothy felt her coworkers’ eyes on her. Everyone knew now. Lisa had squealed and hugged her. Two other nurses had offered congratulations. One had asked if she was going to find out the s*x at her twenty-week ultrasound.

Her twenty-week ultrasound. The anatomy scan. The detailed ultrasound that showed everything—the baby’s organs, its s*x, measurements, all of it.

Dorothy would have to fake that too. Find another patient’s scan from the hospital database, steal it, edit it, print it. Another crime. Another lie.

The thought made her want to throw up.

That night, she lay in bed next to Jake and tried to imagine how this could possibly end. In five months, she was supposed to give birth. To produce an actual baby.

And she had no baby.

No pregnancy.

Nothing but lies and stolen ultrasounds and a silicone belly hidden in her closet.

Dorothy thought about the adoption websites she’d looked at last week. Private adoptions. Birth mothers looking for families. It was possible, technically, to adopt a newborn quickly if you knew where to look and had money.

But Jake would expect her to be pregnant right up until delivery. Would expect to go to the hospital with her, to be there for the birth.

She couldn’t fake that.

Unless…

Dorothy’s mind wandered to places she didn’t want it to go. To the young women who came through the maternity ward alone and scared. The ones who talked about not being ready, about not knowing what to do.

She pushed the thought away immediately, horrified at herself.

But it came back. Again and again over the next few days, it came back.

There were women who didn’t want their babies. Women who considered adoption but sometimes changed their minds at the last second. Women who struggled.

And Dorothy had access to all of them. Saw them at their most vulnerable, when they were exhausted and overwhelmed and sometimes said things they didn’t mean.

No. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

But the thought was there now, planted. Growing. Taking root in the desperate, dark corners of her mind where the truth lived—the truth that she was running out of time and options.

The truth that she’d do anything to keep Jake from leaving.

Anything.