The small, dimly lit hospital room smelled of antiseptic and something more primal—something raw. Rozy lay on the hospital bed, her body drenched in sweat, her breath coming in shallow gasps. It had been too soon. The baby wasn’t supposed to come yet. But fate had other plans.
A searing pain shot through her body, and with one final push, the child slipped from her womb into the hands of the waiting doctor. A silence filled the room, thick and suffocating. No first cry. No gasping breath. Only the muffled sounds of medical staff exchanging hesitant glances.
Her vision blurred as she tried to focus on the tiny, frail form wrapped in a bloodstained cloth. The doctor pressed his fingers to the baby’s fragile chest, his expression darkening. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “She didn’t make it.”
Something inside Rozy cracked. A hollow, gaping wound of despair opened in her soul. She had carried this life inside her, nurtured it, whispered promises to it. And now—just silence.
The world outside the hospital window continued, oblivious to her loss. The distant honking of cars, the murmur of strangers, the rhythmic beeping of machines—all of it felt surreal, as if she were trapped in a nightmare.
Her body shook as the nurse placed the stillborn baby in her arms. “Would you like some time alone?” she asked gently.
Rozy could only nod.
The door clicked shut behind them, leaving her in solitude. She traced her fingers along the baby’s tiny fingers, its delicate, translucent skin. It was so small, so fragile, so… unfinished. A flood of emotions crashed over her—grief, rage, an unbearable hunger deep within her chest.
And then, the whispers started.
At first, they were faint, almost imperceptible. But soon, they became clearer.
“Don’t let me go, Mommy.”
Rozy gasped, clutching the baby closer. Was it her own mind playing tricks on her?
“I want to stay with you forever.”
Her hands trembled. Was this grief twisting into delusion? Or something more?
The hunger in her chest grew insatiable, an emptiness clawing at her ribs. A terrible, unthinkable thought took root in her mind. The voice—her baby’s voice—was guiding her.
“Take me back, Mommy. Make me part of you again.”
Tears streamed down her face as she lifted the baby to her lips. She hesitated, bile rising in her throat. This was madness. This was grief taking a monstrous form.
But the hunger… The hunger was unbearable.
With shaking hands, she took a bite.
The taste of flesh, soft and warm, filled her mouth. A shudder of revulsion and ecstasy coursed through her. The act felt primal, ancient—like some forgotten ritual of mourning.
As she consumed her child, the whispers grew louder, no longer sorrowful but triumphant.
“Now we are one, Mommy. Now I will never leave you.”
The room seemed to darken, the air thick with something otherworldly. Shadows twisted along the walls, and for a brief moment, she swore she saw movement in the mirror across the room. A small, curled form, grinning at her from within the glass.
The door burst open. Nurses screamed. Hands grabbed at her, tearing the remains from her grip. Someone was shouting. The world spun, a cacophony of wails, sirens, and horror-stricken faces.
But Rozy only smiled, blood staining her lips.
Her baby was inside her now.
Her baby would never leave.
And for the first time since the birth, she felt full.
