Cradle of Lies

Last Week

Dorothy clocked in Monday morning for what would be her last full week at St. Catherine’s. Most nurses started maternity leave at 36 weeks, but Dorothy had insisted on working until 39 weeks—just one week before her due date. Rachel had been surprised, but Dorothy had insisted she felt fine and wanted to save her leave for after the baby came.

The truth was, she needed the access. Needed to be at the hospital, watching, waiting for the right opportunity.

She was wearing the full-term padding under her scrubs. It was uncomfortable, hot, made it hard to move quickly. But at 39 weeks pregnant, she was supposed to be huge and uncomfortable.

“Last week!” Lisa said when Dorothy arrived at the nurse’s station. “I still can’t believe you’re working this late. Most people are home with their feet up by now.”

“I’d rather be busy than sitting around waiting.” Dorothy checked the patient board. “What do we have today?”

“Three in active labor. Two more being monitored. And one induction starting in an hour.” Lisa grinned. “Just a normal Monday.”

Dorothy spent the day doing her usual tasks, but slower. Moving carefully with the bulk of the fake belly in the way. She’d gotten good at it over the months—the way a pregnant woman walked, the way she held her lower back, the way she sighed when standing up from a chair.

“You okay?” Rachel asked around noon. “You look exhausted. Are you sure you don’t want to start your leave early?”

“I’m fine. Just tired. Baby was moving all night.” Another lie. There was no baby to move.

“Well, only a few more days. Then you can rest.”

But Dorothy wouldn’t be resting. In a few more days, she’d have to execute whatever plan she’d finally settled on. And she still didn’t have one.

Tuesday was busier. Four deliveries before noon. Dorothy assisted with two of them, coaching the mothers through contractions, checking vitals, watching new life enter the world while her own belly sat fake and empty beneath her scrubs.

One of the mothers was young—maybe twenty-two—and alone. She cried through the whole delivery, not from pain but from fear. Dorothy held her hand and told her she’d be okay, that she was doing great, all the things nurses were supposed to say.

After the baby was born, the girl held him and sobbed. “I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“Nobody feels ready,” Dorothy said gently. “But you’ll figure it out. We all do.”

The girl looked up at her with red, swollen eyes. “What if I’m a bad mom?”

“You won’t be. You already love him. That’s what matters.”

Dorothy left the room and went to the bathroom, locking herself in a stall. Her hands were shaking. That girl had a baby. A real baby she’d given birth to. And she didn’t even know if she wanted to keep him.

The thought came again, darker and more insistent: It would be so easy.

Dorothy pushed it away and went back to work.

Wednesday, she was assigned to a patient who’d been in labor for fourteen hours. First baby, slow progression. The woman—Sarah—was exhausted and in pain despite the epidural.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Sarah kept saying. “I can’t. Make it stop.”

“You’re doing great,” Dorothy said, checking the monitors. “You’re at nine centimeters. Almost there.”

“I don’t care. I want to go home. I don’t want to do this.”

Her husband held her hand and looked terrified. “Babe, you have to—”

“I know I have to!” Sarah snapped. “That’s the problem! There’s no way out now!”

Dorothy had heard variations of this a hundred times. Labor brought out fear and exhaustion and sometimes anger. It didn’t mean anything.

But she found herself watching Sarah’s face, listening to her words, imagining—

No. She couldn’t think like that. Sarah had a husband. Had family in the waiting room. Had a support system.

Not like the young girl yesterday.

Not like the ones who came in alone.

Thursday morning, Dorothy woke up to Jake making breakfast. He’d been doing this all week—taking care of her, making sure she rested, treating her like she was fragile and precious.

“Last few days,” he said, kissing her forehead as she came into the kitchen. “Then you’re off for six weeks.”

“Then we have a baby,” Dorothy said, her voice hollow.

“Then we have a baby.” Jake’s hand went to her belly, to the padding. “I can’t wait. One more week until your due date.”

One more week until she was supposed to give birth. One more week to figure out how to produce a baby.

At work, Dorothy moved through her shift like she was underwater. Everything felt distant, unreal. She assisted with a delivery at ten AM—healthy baby girl, happy parents, smooth birth. She checked on patients, administered medications, did her job like she had for six years.

But her mind was elsewhere. Planning. Calculating. Looking for opportunities that hadn’t presented themselves yet.

“You okay?” Lisa asked during lunch. “You seem distracted.”

“Just thinking about everything that needs to happen in the next few days. Making sure the house is ready, the nursery is done, the hospital bag is packed.”

“Is it packed?”

Dorothy had bought a small suitcase last week and filled it with items a woman going into labor would bring. Pajamas. Toiletries. Snacks. A going-home outfit for the baby she didn’t have. It sat in her closet, another prop in the elaborate production she was staging.

“Yes. Finally got it done yesterday.”

“Good. You’re so organized. I was a mess before my first.” Lisa bit into her sandwich. “Are you nervous? About labor?”

More than you know, Dorothy thought. “A little. Mostly just ready to not be pregnant anymore.”

“I hear that. Although fair warning—you’ll miss it once it’s gone. There’s something special about feeling the baby move inside you.”

Dorothy had never felt a baby move inside her. Would never feel it. She nodded anyway, playing the part.

Thursday afternoon, a woman came in alone. Mid-twenties, no ring on her finger, checking in for an induction. Overdue by a week. Dorothy wasn’t assigned to her, but she watched as another nurse got her settled.

The woman looked scared. Kept asking if this was going to hurt, if she’d be okay by herself, if she should have called someone.

Dorothy found herself drifting toward that room during her breaks, listening at the door, watching through the window. The woman was in early labor now, contractions coming regularly, and she was alone in that room with just the monitors beeping.

“That’s Amanda,” Lisa said, appearing beside Dorothy. “Sad case. Boyfriend left when he found out she was pregnant. Family’s not supportive. She’s doing this completely alone.”

“That’s awful.”

“Yeah. But she seems determined. Says she wants to keep the baby, prove everyone wrong.” Lisa checked her watch. “You heading out soon? Your shift ends in twenty minutes.”

Dorothy hadn’t realized how long she’d been standing there, watching Amanda through the window. “Yeah. I should go.”

She changed out of her scrubs in the locker room, moving slowly. One more day. She had one more shift on Friday, and then her maternity leave started. One more day to figure out what she was going to do.

At home, Jake had dinner ready. He’d been doing this all week—cooking, cleaning, taking care of everything so Dorothy could rest.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“Long. Busy.” Dorothy sat down carefully, the padding shifting as she moved. “Only one more shift.”

“I’m glad. You need to rest before the baby comes.” Jake set a plate in front of her. “Are you nervous? About labor?”

“Yes.” That wasn’t a lie.

“Me too. But we’ll get through it together. And then we’ll have our baby.” Jake reached across the table and took her hand. “I’ve been thinking about names again. What do you think about Kylee for a girl?”

Kylee. They’d discussed names for months, never settling on anything definite because Dorothy kept putting it off, not wanting to commit to naming a baby that didn’t exist.

“Kylee’s pretty,” she said.

“Kylee Dorothy Bishop. It sounds good, right?”

“Yeah. It does.”

They finished dinner and Jake cleaned up while Dorothy sat on the couch, her hand on the fake belly, thinking about Amanda laboring alone at the hospital. About the young mother from Tuesday who’d sobbed while holding her baby. About all the vulnerable women who came through those doors, scared and overwhelmed.

About how easy it would be to take advantage of that fear.

Dorothy closed her eyes. One more day. She had one more shift at the hospital before everything had to come to a head.

One more day to decide how far she was willing to go.