My Twins Have Different Mothers

Chapter 4

"Starve? You really willing to risk the baby I'm carrying for you?"

I saw the hesitation flicker across his face, and that was all it took for her to win. He didn't argue again, just waved her off, and Vanessa turned and went to get another bowl.

When she came back, the look in her eyes made my stomach drop. She walked straight up to me, grabbed my chin, and forced my head back before pouring the bitter liquid into my mouth.

The taste hit instantly, sharp and medicinal, spreading across my tongue and burning all the way down my throat. I choked hard, my body jerking as violent coughing tore through me, tears streaming uncontrollably while my nose ran and I struggled to breathe.

I tried to fight back, pushing against her, twisting away, but it only made things worse. The more I resisted, the rougher they got, until I barely had the strength to struggle at all.

Day by day, my body kept weakening, and my mind felt like it was unraveling right along with it.

At my latest prenatal checkup, the results were anything but reassuring.

Peter stood by the monitor, pointing at the ultrasound while Derek and Vanessa leaned in close, both of them clearly pleased.

"Twin A is developing extremely well," he said in a calm, clinical tone. "All indicators are ahead of schedule. Twin B is showing delayed growth, and if this continues, there's a real risk of fetal demise at any point."

Vanessa burst into laughter, bright and unrestrained, looping her arm through Derek's as she shot me a mocking look.

"You hear that?" she said lightly. "Trash is still trash."

Derek looked just as satisfied. He patted Peter on the shoulder like they were wrapping up a deal. "Appreciate it. I'll send over the rest of the payment soon."

After that, Derek dragged me back home. My body felt limp, unresponsive, like I was just being pulled along without a will of my own.

Despair closed in around me, heavy and endless.

'My baby... am I really going to lose him?'

"Mom... don't cry... I'm... I'm still holding on..."

The voice in my head was so faint it almost disappeared between breaths, like it could go out at any second.

No.

I couldn't give up.

That night, Vanessa was in an unusually good mood. She ordered takeout and dragged Derek into the living room, their laughter and the clink of glasses carrying clearly through the door.

I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, every word from outside slipping into my ears, their flirting and easy intimacy cutting deeper than anything else.

"What about Ethan?" Vanessa said, her voice light and playful. "Sounds good, right?"

"Yeah, I like it," Derek replied with a chuckle. "You've got taste. Not surprising."

"Oh, please," she teased. "Since when did I become your wife?" Then her tone shifted slightly. "But seriously... if Joanne's baby doesn't make it, is that going to cause trouble?"

"What kind of trouble?" Derek didn't hesitate. "The doctor already gave us a way to explain it. We call it natural causes, say it's survival of the fittest. Happens all the time. Even if she goes to the police, it won't go anywhere."

"That makes sense." Vanessa sounded relieved. "Once the baby's born, we'll take him overseas. Just the three of us, traveling wherever we want."

Their laughter rose again, slipping through the door and cutting straight into me.

"Mom... they don't want us anymore..."

"Good... finally, we can get rid of those two burdens..."

My fingers curled tightly into the sheets.

'I have to do something. I have to find a way. Anything.'

But trapped in this room, cut off from everything, I had nothing.

Sometime in the middle of the night, the sound of shouting from the living room jolted me awake.

"Derek, what is wrong with you?" Vanessa's voice was sharp with anger. "What did you even order? There's cilantro in this. I told you, I can't even smell cilantro without getting sick."

"I forgot, okay?" Derek snapped back. "It's not a big deal. Why are you making it one?"

"Not a big deal?" she shot back. "Do you even hear yourself? I have a severe allergy to cilantro. If I eat it, I could end up in the hospital, or worse. What, are you trying to kill me?"

'Cilantro.'

The word hit me like a spark.

Something in my mind snapped into place.

"Mom... that bad man... he's scared of a smell... today, when he smelled it, he got really weak..."

My son's faint voice surfaced again, fragile but clear enough this time to matter.

A dangerous idea began to take shape in my mind, growing fast, impossible to ignore.

I remembered hearing that certain allergies could be passed from mother to child.

If Vanessa was allergic to cilantro...

Then the baby she was carrying... Wouldn't it be the same?