Chapter 2

"David, no, don't call them, not like this," I pleaded.

My parents, John and Martha, were retired paramedics.

Respected, calm, the image of community strength.

They also valued our family's pristine reputation above almost anything.

"They need to know," David said, his voice hard, already dialing. "They'll understand. They'll make you see sense."

I felt sick. What could possibly be on that paper to make him react this way?

He spoke quickly into the phone, his words urgent, laced with that same horror I'd seen on his face.

"John? Martha? It's David. There's… there's a problem with the pregnancy. A serious one. You need to come to Dr. Peterson's office. Now."

He hung up without waiting for a reply.

The silence in the room was heavy, suffocating.

Dr. Peterson looked deeply uncomfortable. "David, perhaps we should discuss what you think you're seeing on that report calmly."

"There's nothing to discuss," David snapped, his eyes still burning into me. "Only a solution."

It felt like an eternity, but it was probably only twenty minutes before my parents arrived.

They rushed in, their faces etched with worry.

"David? Sarah? What's wrong?" Mom asked, her hand immediately going to my arm.

Dad looked at David, his expression stern. "What is this, David? You sounded frantic."

"The baby," David said, his voice trembling. "It's… there's something wrong with the genetics."

"Dr. Peterson said the baby is healthy," I insisted, my voice shaking.

Mom looked from me to David, then to the doctor. "Is this true, Doctor?"

"All primary health screenings are clear," Dr. Peterson affirmed, though he looked uneasy under David's glare.

David thrust the genetic report at my father.

"Look at this section, John. Page three. The specific marker sequences."

Dad took the papers, Mom looking over his shoulder.

I watched their faces, praying for them to dismiss David's madness.

Dad's brow furrowed as he read.

Then, his expression mirrored David' s.

The blood drained from his face. His calm paramedic demeanor vanished, replaced by a raw, visceral horror.

Mom gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes wide with disbelief and a dawning, terrible understanding.

She swayed, and Dad put an arm around her.

"Oh, my God," Dad whispered, his voice hoarse. "No."

Mom started to cry, quiet, broken sobs.

They looked at me, not with sympathy, but with the same fear and revulsion I'd seen in David.

"Sarah," Dad said, his voice heavy, devoid of its usual warmth. "You have to terminate this pregnancy."

"Dad? Mom? Not you too! What is on that paper?" I cried, desperation clawing at me.

"It doesn't matter what it is," Mom said, her voice strained. "It just… it can't be. For everyone's sake."

"We'll take you to the lake cabin," Dad announced, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You need to rest, to think clearly."

"Rest?" I felt a cold dread creep up my spine. The lake cabin was isolated, miles from anywhere.

"It's for the best, sweetheart," Mom said, but her eyes wouldn't meet mine.

They were all in agreement now, a united front against me and my baby.

David put his hand on my back, no longer gentle, but firm, guiding. "Let's go, Sarah."

Dr. Peterson watched, silent and disturbed, as they led me out.

He knew something was terribly wrong, but he was outnumbered.