The swift denial pricked at her. She wanted to believe them, but did their eyes give them away? Did something flicker there, a hesitation so brief, she was almost ready to ignore it? On the other hand, was it paranoia, as her husband was suggesting? Was the tiredness of new motherhood finally making her doubt everyone and everything?
That night, her dreams turned restless. She saw hospital corridors, sterile lights, and the sound of scissors snipping thread. She woke sweating, her hand pressed against the scar as though guarding it. She quickly checked on the baby, whispering to herself that she wouldn’t stop until she knew. Until someone admitted what they’d done.