Cradle of Lies

One Line

Three weeks later, Dorothy stood in the bathroom staring at the white stick in her hand. One line. Not pregnant.

She’d been off birth control for three weeks. Had tracked her ovulation carefully, made sure she and Jake had s*x at exactly the right times. She’d done everything right.

And still, nothing.

Dorothy threw the test in the trash and buried it under tissues so Jake wouldn’t see. He didn’t know she’d been testing. Didn’t know she was desperately trying to make the lie into truth.

Her period had started this morning, right on schedule. Which meant another month of not being pregnant. Another month of maintaining the lie.

She splashed water on her face and stared at her reflection. She looked tired. Stressed. Jake had commented on it last night—“You okay, babe? You seem worn out.”

“Just pregnancy hormones,” she’d said. Another lie to add to the pile.

The real problem was that she was running out of time. She’d told Jake she was six weeks pregnant when she’d lied. Now, three weeks later, she should be nine weeks along. Still not showing, which was good. But in a few more months, people would start expecting to see changes.

Dorothy dried her face and went to the kitchen where Jake was making breakfast. He looked up and smiled. “Morning, mama. How are you feeling?”

“Okay. A little queasy.” She pressed her hand to her flat stomach, the gesture already becoming automatic.

“Sit down. I’ll make you some toast.” Jake guided her to a chair like she was fragile. “And you should take your vitamin.”

Dorothy watched him move around their kitchen, so attentive, so caring. So completely fooled.

“My mom called last night,” Jake said, sliding toast onto a plate. “She wants to come visit next weekend. She’s dying to see you, talk about baby stuff.”

Dorothy’s stomach clenched. “Next weekend?”

“I know it’s short notice, but she’s really excited. She wants to take you shopping, start looking at baby things.” Jake sat down across from her. “Is that okay?”

Meeting Jake’s mother. Another person she’d have to lie to, face to face. “Sure. That sounds nice.”

“Great. I’ll tell her.” Jake reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “She’s going to love you. She already does, but this will make it official. You’re giving her a grandkid.”

After Jake left for work, Dorothy pulled out her laptop and opened a private browser. She’d been doing this every few days—researching, planning, making sure she stayed ahead of the lie.

How to fake pregnancy symptoms. What to expect at 9 weeks pregnant. When do you start showing. First trimester weight gain. Morning sickness duration.

She bookmarked articles, took mental notes, built a timeline of what she needed to fake and when.

At nine weeks, she should be experiencing: fatigue, nausea, frequent urination, breast tenderness, food aversions. Her uterus would be growing but not visible yet. She wouldn’t show for another month or two, depending on her body type.

She could fake all of that.

Dorothy opened another tab and searched: pregnancy belly prosthetic. Dozens of results appeared. Theatrical supply companies. Halloween costume shops. Websites that sold them for “empathy training” or “pregnancy photography.”

She clicked through several sites, studying the options. They came in different sizes—first trimester, second trimester, third trimester. Flesh-colored silicone that strapped around the waist. Some were more expensive than others, more realistic.

She added a first trimester belly to her cart on three different sites, comparing prices and reviews. She’d wait another month before ordering, when she should actually start showing. But she wanted to be ready.

At work that day, she was more aware than usual of the pregnant women around her. The way they moved, the way they touched their stomachs, the things they complained about. She was studying them, learning how to be convincingly pregnant.

“You feeling okay?” Lisa asked during their lunch break. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

“Fine. Just tired.”

“Well, you’re working too hard. You should take it easy, especially in the first trimester.” Lisa lowered her voice. “Have you told Rachel yet? About the pregnancy?”

Dorothy’s stomach dropped. “No. Not yet. I want to wait until I’m further along. Make sure everything’s okay first.”

“That’s smart. But you should tell her soon. She’ll want to adjust your schedule, make sure you’re not lifting too much or dealing with difficult patients.”

“I will. Soon.”

The thought of telling Rachel made Dorothy’s anxiety spike. More people knowing meant more people watching, more people who might notice inconsistencies. But she’d have to tell her eventually. Pregnant nurses got schedule accommodations. If Dorothy didn’t ask for them, that would look suspicious too.

Dorothy spent the rest of her shift hyperaware of everything she was doing. Lifting equipment. Helping move patients. Standing for hours. All things a pregnant woman was supposed to be careful about. All things she’d have to start avoiding if she wanted people to believe the lie.

That evening, she couldn’t put it off any longer. She called her mother.

“Dorothy! Finally! I’ve been trying to reach you all week.” Her mother’s voice was sharp with irritation. “Where have you been?”

“Sorry, Mom. Work’s been crazy.”

“Too crazy to call your mother? What’s going on with you?”

Dorothy took a breath. “Actually, I have some news. I wanted to tell you in person, but…” She paused. “I’m pregnant.”

Silence on the other end. Then: “What?”

“I’m pregnant. About nine weeks.”

“Nine weeks? And you’re just telling me now?” Her mother’s voice shifted from shock to hurt. “Dorothy, I’m your mother. How could you not—”

“I wanted to wait until I was sure everything was okay. The first trimester is risky, you know.”

“Still. I should have been the first person you told.” Her mother sighed. “How are you feeling? Are you sick? Are you taking care of yourself?”

“I’m fine. A little nauseous in the mornings, but nothing terrible.”

“And Jake? How does he feel about this?”

“He’s excited. Really excited.”

“Well, that’s good at least.” Her mother paused. “I have to say, Dorothy, this seems sudden. Last I heard, you two were having problems.”

“We worked through them. We’re good now.” Dorothy wound the phone cord around her finger. “The baby was a surprise, but a good one.”

“Hmm.” Her mother didn’t sound convinced. “When can I come visit? I want to see you, make sure you’re really okay.”

“Soon. Maybe in a few weeks? Jake’s mom is visiting next weekend.”

“Of course. His mother gets to see you first.” The bitterness was clear in her mother’s voice.

“Mom, please. Don’t make this difficult.”

“I’m not making anything difficult. I’m just saying, I’m your mother. I should be involved in this.”

They talked for another ten minutes, Dorothy deflecting questions and making vague promises about visits and updates. When she finally hung up, she felt exhausted.

One more person added to the web of lies. One more person she’d have to keep fooled for the next eight months.

That night, Dorothy lay awake long after Jake fell asleep. She kept thinking about the negative pregnancy test, buried under tissues in the bathroom trash. About her period, which meant another month of not being pregnant. Another month of the lie staying a lie.

She had time. She could keep trying. Maybe next month she’d get pregnant and everything would work out.

But what if she didn’t? What if months passed and she still wasn’t pregnant?

Dorothy rolled onto her side, watching Jake sleep. He looked peaceful. Happy. Like a man whose life was finally coming together.

She thought about the pregnancy padding she’d been researching. About how easy it would be to order one, to start wearing it, to make the physical changes match the lie she’d told.

And then what? Wear it for eight months? Fake labor? Pretend to go to the hospital and come home without a baby, claiming she’d lost it?

The thought made her sick.

But the alternative—telling Jake the truth—felt impossible. She’d lose him. Lose everything. Be alone again, just like she’d always been.

Dorothy closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but all she could think about was time. Time running out. Time before her body should start showing changes that weren’t happening. Time before someone figured out she wasn’t really pregnant at all.

She had to get actually pregnant. That was the only solution. She just needed more time.

But somewhere in the back of her mind, a darker thought was forming. A thought she kept pushing away but that kept creeping back in.

What if there was another way?