My Unborn Twins Know the Truth

During the ultrasound, I heard two babies arguing inside my womb.

One voice was sweet and whiny. “Stop shoving me.”

The other snapped back, fierce and territorial. “Get out. This is my space.”

Overjoyed, I turned to the doctor. “It’s twins?”

The doctor’s eyes flicked toward my husband, Julian Thorne, behind me, then he shook his head. “You’re mistaken, Mrs. Thorne. There’s only one.”

Julian smiled, wrapping an arm around me. “You must have imagined it.”

Really?

But I heard the fierce baby’s sneer as clear as day.

“He’d better keep his mouth shut. If he dares tell the truth, my father will end him.”

His words instantly put me on high alert.

What did this fierce baby mean?

I touched my belly, my palms cold, a terrifying thought taking root deep within me.

Julian carried over a glass of warm milk, placing it thoughtfully by my hand.

“What’s wrong? Still thinking about twins? Don’t overthink it, the doctor said there’s only one. Let’s just focus on nurturing this one.”

His smile was gentle, his eyes full of adoration, exactly as they were when I first met him.

I lowered my gaze, hiding the coldness in my eyes, and obediently took the milk.

Then I asked, feigning nonchalance, “Julian, a friend of mine is also pregnant, and she’s having twins. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we had two babies too?”

I stared intently at his face, not wanting to miss any expression.

His hand, holding the mug, paused.

“Twins are too risky. I just want you and our baby to be safe and sound.”

His voice was still gentle, but tight with tension.

That night, I pretended to be asleep in bed.

Julian tiptoed in, believing I was truly asleep.

He stood by the bed for a long time, so long I almost couldn’t keep up the act.

Then, I felt his cold fingers gently rest on my belly.

He seemed to be calculating something.

I stiffened, barely daring to breathe.

The soft baby whimpered, “I’m scared…”

The fierce baby immediately soothed, “Don’t be. Just stay put, don’t let him find me.”

A cold dread settled in my stomach.

The fierce baby was afraid someone would discover him?

Was he afraid of Julian?

Just then, I heard Julian let out a barely audible sigh, then turn and walk out of the room.

The next day, Julian told me he’d gotten me a new cell phone.

“Less radiation, better for the baby,” he said, smiling.

I looked at the old-fashioned phone, so basic it could only make calls and send texts, and a cold laugh echoed in my heart.

Less radiation, or easier to monitor?

He took my old phone, skillfully formatting all the data.

My heart sank, piece by piece.

Within two days, Julian’s mother, Amanda, suddenly moved into our villa.

She brought an entire team: a nutritionist, a nanny, and two expressionless bodyguards.

She said it was to take better care of me.

“Elara Thompson, starting today, your meals will be Vera’s responsibility. She’s the most professional prenatal nutritionist.”

Amanda sat on the sofa, speaking in a commanding tone.

I looked at the woman named Vera; she adjusted her glasses, her gaze sharp.

My life was completely taken over.

I couldn’t go out, couldn’t see friends. My daily range of activity was confined to this villa.

Julian came back every day, showering me with concern.

But to me, it was no different from imprisonment.