The next morning, after a heavy rain had turned the ground outside into dark, slick mud, Caleb crouched near a patch of wet soil. He scooped some carefully into his small hands. It felt cold and alive between his fingers.
When he slipped into the hospital again, no one noticed at first. He moved quietly, heart pounding not from fear but from urgency. In his mind, he wasn’t doing something wrong.
He was helping.
Inside Room 417, he approached the bed slowly. Madeline’s face looked peaceful but distant. Caleb swallowed hard.
“It’s for the baby,” he whispered to no one in particular.
With the solemn seriousness only a child can carry, he gently spread a small amount of mud across the curve of her belly over the hospital gown.
The reaction was immediate.
A nurse gasped. Another rushed forward. “Hey! What are you doing?”
Voices rose. Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Michael, alerted by the commotion, ran into the room, panic flashing across his face.
“What’s happening?”
But before anger could fully form, the monitors began to change.
A subtle shift in rhythm.
A spike.
Madeline’s fingers twitched.
Everyone froze.