Reborn To Expose Their Lies

Four months pregnant. My husband, an OB/GYN, was with me to get the results of my latest scan.

The smile on his face froze the moment he saw the report. Then, he was dragging me by the arm, insisting I have an abortion.

I stood there, stunned. The doctor had just told me the baby was perfectly healthy.

I wrenched my hand free. "Why? What are you talking about?"

He didn't answer, but his fingers were already flying across his phone, scheduling the procedure. When he saw me backing away, his grip on my arm became a vise. "This baby cannot be born, Anna."

I clutched my stomach and called my parentsboth of them OB/GYNs, like him. My father, the man who had always cherished me, raised his fist as if to strike my belly. My mothers face was a mask of terror, her head shaking frantically. "No, this is wrong. All wrong."

Then, a chilling whisper from my father. "We need some guys. To be with Anna."

I didn't understand why they wanted to destroy my child, my life. I tried to run.

They locked me in a dark room.

When I saw the blood pooling beneath me, I knew my baby was gone.

My mother came for me later, a bright, brittle smile on her face. I screamed at her, demanding to know why, why they had done this to me.

She didn't answer. Instead, she had me committed to a psychiatric hospital.

I died there, tormented and alone. The next time I opened my eyes, I was back.

It was the morning we were supposed to get the test results.

1

"Annie, you ready?" My husband, Mark, smiled at me from the doorway, his eyes shining. "Our first baby. I can't wait to finally meet them."

"Come on, honey, let's beat the morning rush at the clinic."

Hearing his voice jolted me back to the present. I felt the gentle, firm curve of my four-month belly, the warmth of the life inside, and I knew it was real. I was back.

I had been reborn on the exact day my life had shattered.

In my first life, Mark had been the perfect expectant father. Hed treated me like I was made of glass from the moment we saw the positive test. Every day, hed buy something new for the nurserya tiny pair of socks, a beautifully illustrated book. Hed already compiled a list of over a hundred names. Even though I was getting my prenatal care at the very hospital where he worked, he insisted on taking the day off to come with me to every single appointment. His excitement for this child was boundless, a radiant sun we both orbited.

Then came the four-month check-up. We went to the appointment, holding hands, full of happy anticipation. Dr. Evans, my obstetrician, confirmed that the fetus was healthy, with all genetic markers, including for Down syndrome, coming back clear.

Mark, being a doctor himself, asked to see the report. He was still smiling when he took it.

And then the smile didn't just fade; it shattered. A raw, animal fear flashed in his eyes.

Without a word, he grabbed my hand and started pulling me out of the office, his other hand already on his phone. I realized with a sickening lurch that he was booking an appointment with the surgical unit.

I dug my heels in, yanking my arm back. "Mark, Dr. Evans just said the baby is fine! Why are we doing this?"

He ignored me, his focus locked on the screen. I tried to snatch the phone from his hand, but he spun away, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes were bloodshot when he turned back to me, and his voice was a raw snarl I had never heard before.

"Anna, listen to me," he growled. "This baby cannot be born!"

The sheer violence in his tone terrified me. My heart hammered against my ribs, and my knees went weak. While he was finalizing the arrangements at the front desk, I scrambled for my phone and sent a desperate text to my parents. They were both respected doctors; surely, they would talk some sense into him.

They arrived in minutes.

Seeing them didn't faze Mark. If anything, a strange, chilling smirk touched his lips. I shrank into my mothers arms, seeking the familiar comfort of her embrace. My father, however, bypassed me completely and slammed his fist into Marks jaw.

"What the hell are you doing?" he roared. "The baby is healthy. Why would you schedule an abortion?"

Mark didn't even rub his cheek. He simply straightened up and handed the lab report to my father.

The rage on my fathers face dissolved into the same stark terror Id seen in Marks. His eyes widened, his hands trembling as he clutched the single sheet of paper. Then, he turned, his gaze fixing on my stomach, and he lunged, his fist raised.

My mother threw herself in front of me just in time. The blow landed on her shoulder with a sickening thud.

"Are you insane?" she screamed at him. "That is your daughter! Your grandchild!"

My father just laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. He passed the report to my mother.

The woman who had just protected me, the woman whose arms were my lifelong safe harbor, recoiled as if the paper had burned her. Her face went ashen. She pushed me away from her, stumbling back, shaking her head over and over.

"No," she whispered. "No, this can't be."

A cold dread was coiling in my gut. "Mom? What is it? What's wrong with the baby?"

She didn't seem to hear me, lost in her own private horror. "This is not going to work," she muttered, grabbing my fathers arm. "Doing it here, at the hospital its too public. I have another idea." Her eyes, when they finally met his, were cold and hard. "We need some guys. To be with Anna."

My entire body went numb. I stood frozen, watching the three most important people in my world transform into monsters, all because of a piece of paper. What could it possibly say? And why wouldn't any of them tell me?

As my parents started to move toward me, instinct took over. I turned and ran. But my father was faster. He caught me by the arm, his grip unforgiving. I sobbed, begging them to let me go, begging them to just tell me the truth.

They forced me into their car, stuffing a glove in my mouth to silence my screams.

They locked me in a dark, foul-smelling room with five naked men.

I was too terrified to even scream. I pounded on the door until my fists were bruised and bloody, but the world outside was silent. The men dragged me to the floor. Every time I fought back, they hit me.

My child dissolved into a pool of blood that dried on the filthy concrete.

A week later, my parents and Mark came to get me.

"Anna, sweetie, we're going home," my mother said, her voice bright and cheerful.

I stared at her, at the casual way she pretended nothing had happened, and something inside me snapped. A raw, guttural laugh escaped my throat. "Why?" I shrieked, the sound tearing at my vocal cords. "Why would you do this to me?!"

The mask of maternal concern dropped, revealing a face of ice.

My father slapped me, hard. "You ungrateful bitch."

I was still reeling from the blow when my mothers gaze, sharp and venomous, pinned me in place. "Anna is confused," she said, her voice clinical and detached. "We should take her to a psychiatric hospital."

From that day on, Mark made sure my life in the institution was a living hell. He sent people to torment me, to ensure I never had a moment of peace. The man who had once loved me more than life itself now wanted nothing more than my death.

Three months later, he got his wish.

I died without ever knowing why. What was on that report that made them all want to kill me?

The terror of my past life flooded back, a cold tide in my chest. I rested a hand on my still-warm belly and took a deep, shaky breath.

This time would be different. This time, I would find out the truth.

At the hospital, I made sure I was the one who took the report from Dr. Evans. As she gave me the good news, my eyes were already scanning the page, my fingers closing around it. I thought that as long as Mark never saw it, I would be safe.

But as we were leaving the exam room, he held out his hand, just like before. "Can I see the report, honey?"

My heart stuttered, but I forced a playful smile. "What for? It's just a bunch of numbers."

He chuckled, a sound that now seemed laced with menace. "I'm the father, and I'm an OB/GYN. Isn't it normal for me to want to see it?"

"Dr. Evans just told you we're both perfectly healthy. You don't trust your own mentor?"

"Of course I do. I just want to be informed so I can take the best possible care of you."

I deliberately tucked the paper into my purse. "Well, today you don't get to. Call it a pregnancy whim."

He played along, his tone indulgent. "Alright, alright. As long as you're okay, that's all that matters."

I smiled and linked my arm through his. "I'm just going to run to the restroom. I'll be right back, and then we can go home."

I clutched my bag and walked toward the bathroom. I had glanced at the report, but in my haste, nothing had jumped out at me. I needed to lock myself in a stall and study it, line by line, to find the monster hiding in the details.

But the moment I stepped into the deserted restroom, a cold wave of panic washed over me. I fumbled inside my purse. The report was gone.

I rushed back out into the hallway and saw him. Mark was standing twenty feet away, his face deathly pale.

In his hand was the report that was supposed to be in my bag.

He saw me and started walking toward me, his steps quick and purposeful. My survival instinct screamed at me to run, but he caught my arm before I could take more than a single step.

His eyes were bloodshot, his gaze locked on mine with a terrifying intensity. "Anna," he hissed, his voice low and urgent, "this baby cannot be born. We're going to schedule the procedure right now."

In my last life, I never understood how the man I loved could change so completely in an instant. The raw hatred in his eyes was something I had never seen before.

My body trembled, but this time was different. This time, I knew what to do.

"HELP!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. "SOMEBODY HELP ME! HE'S TRYING TO MAKE ME LOSE MY BABY!"

The busy hospital hallway fell silent for a beat, then erupted into motion. In seconds, we were surrounded.

Mark froze, clearly stunned by my outburst. I immediately dropped to my knees before him, my voice breaking with manufactured sobs. "Mark, please! The doctor just said the baby is healthy! Why are you trying to make me have an abortion?"

He gritted his teeth, his voice a furious whisper. "You bitch. Shut your mouth."

He tried to haul me to my feet, but a burly man stepped out of the crowd and shoved him back. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

"My God, the baby's fine and he wants to abort it? What kind of monster is he?" a woman gasped.

"He didn't want the responsibility, he should've thought of that before he got her pregnant," another man chimed in.

"Forcing a pregnant woman to have an abortion is illegal! Someone call security! Call the police!"

Mark's breath was ragged, his face contorted with a rage he couldn't unleash. He glared down at me, trapped by the circle of strangers. Then, a slow, cold smile spread across his face. He pulled out his phone and made a call.

To my parents.

By the time they arrived, a small crowd was still gathered around Mark and me. My mother rushed to my side, her face etched with worry, pulling me into a protective hug. The moment she touched me, I flinched.

Sympathetic onlookers quickly explained what had happened. My fathers face purpled with rage. He strode toward Mark, his hand raised to strike. But before the blow could land, Mark held up the lab report like a shield.

"Dad, don't look!" I screamed, trying to scramble forward to snatch it away.

It was too late. My father took the paper and his eyes scanned the page.

The change was instantaneous. The fury in his eyes flickered and died, replaced by a familiar, chilling horror.

"Dad?" I whispered.

When he looked at me, his eyes were red-rimmed and filled with loathing. The hand that had been meant for Mark swung without hesitation and cracked across my face.

"You animal!" he spat. "Mark wants you to get an abortion for your own good!"

The world felt like it was crumbling around me again. I pressed a hand to my stinging cheek, my voice trembling but defiant. "But Dr. Evans said the baby is healthy!"

"I'm an OB/GYN too! Are you calling me a liar?"

He drew back his fist, aiming for my stomach this time. My mother leaped forward, pushing me behind her.

"Have you lost your mind? She's pregnant!" she yelled at my father.

But instead of backing down, my father let out that same, ugly laugh. "You feel sorry for her? This thing doesn't deserve to be our daughter!"

Gasps rippled through the crowd. People started murmuring, pointing at my father, disgusted that a man could speak about his own child that way.

My mother, though, was no longer looking at him. Her focus was on the report in his hand. She knew my father, knew his gentle nature. She knew something on that paper must have broken him.

"Let me see it," she demanded.

I grabbed her arm, my eyes pleading. "Mom, please. Dr. Evans said the baby is fine. You don't need to look, do you? You can go ask her yourself if you don't believe me."

I knew that the moment she saw it, I would lose her, too.

She pulled me into a hug, stroking my hair. "Don't worry, sweetheart. Your father and Mark are just a pair of incompetent doctors. They've misread something. Remember, I was the head of the department. I know what I'm looking at."

"No, Mom, please don't," I sobbed, clinging to her. "Please, I'm begging you."

But the more I resisted, the more determined she became. Seeing there was no stopping her, I fell to my knees again.

"Mom," I cried, my voice raw with desperation. "If you look at that report, you'll stop loving me. Just like they did."

"That will never happen, Anna," she said, her voice soft and reassuring. "I've seen every kind of report imaginable in my career. And even if this baby wasn't Mark's, I would still stand by you and protect you. You are the person I love most in this world."

Her gaze was so warm, so full of love, that for a foolish second, I believed her.

I let her go.

She took the report. The warmth in her eyes vanished as if it had never been there, replaced by a flicker of pure, cold malice that made me shrink back.

Her face drained of all color. A bitter, twisted smile touched her lips. She wasn't explosive like my father or Mark. Her control was what made her terrifying.

"It's alright, Anna," she said, her voice a monotone. "The baby is fine. Get up now. We're going home."

She said the words, but the hand she extended toward me was trembling violently. She was fighting to contain an earthquake of emotion.

"No," I whispered, scrambling backward, into the legs of the crowd. "I don't want to go home."

My mother's brow furrowed, her expression turning venomous. "Anna, what are you doing? You're pregnant. You can't be out here. What if something happens to you?"

I saw them closing inthe three people I once called family. I grabbed the sleeves of two strangers, kneeling on the hospital floor. "Please," I begged them, "please help me. I can't go with them. They'll kill my baby."

The onlookers hesitated. I was a pregnant woman, but I was also clearly hysterical. And these were my parents, my husband. It was a family dispute.

Thankfully, one woman spoke up. "She's pregnant and clearly distressed. You shouldn't be forcing her. What if you hurt the baby?"

My father's face was a mask of fury. "We are the doctors! Do you think we don't know what we're doing?" he roared at her.

The good Samaritan faltered. In that moment of hesitation, Mark lunged, grabbing me from the crowd and dragging me across the polished floor without a shred of care.

The crowd watched, hesitant to physically intervene with family.

But just as they were about to pull me through the automatic doors, a firm hand clamped down on Marks shoulder.

"Let her go. Now."

A uniformed police officer stood behind him, his voice radiating authority. Mark instantly released me.

My mother was already spinning a story. "Officer, thank you for coming. This is our daughter. She's been having some mental health issues. We're just trying to take her home."

The officer looked at me, his expression skeptical. I shook my head, my voice finding its strength.

"That's not true," I said, pointing at them. "They want to kill my baby. My perfectly healthy baby."

The three of them froze, but I could see the smug certainty on their faces. They believed they held all the cards.

"If you don't believe me," I continued, my voice growing stronger, "check the hospital's security footage. You'll see them. You'll see everything."

The officer dispatched his partner to retrieve the surveillance tapes. After they reviewed the footage, a female officer moved to my side, placing a protective hand on my shoulder.

She faced my family, her voice stern. "Why are you trying to force this woman to terminate a healthy pregnancy?"

My parents just scoffed. Mark stared at me with cold indifference.

"Coercing a pregnant woman into an abortion is a felony," the officer reminded them.

Mark didn't flinch. I turned to the police officer, my voice steady. "Let me see the report."

Their faces changed the moment they saw it. The truth had to be there.

At the officer's command, Mark reluctantly handed over the single sheet of paper.

I took it from him. And as I read the words printed in neat, clinical black ink, I finally understood.

I finally knew why this child had to die.

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