Detroit: Wife Gave Birth To White Boy, Husband Shot Her Dead In Maternity Ward… | HO

The guests ate, talked, and laughed. Harvey’s colleagues told stories from the workshop. Their wives discussed baby things with Zoe, asking if she was ready for the birth and what she had already bought for the baby. Zoe answered briefly and politely, but kept her distance. She got up several times to bring more food or clear empty plates, even though Clara asked her not to strain herself in her condition.

After the main meal was over, the guests dispersed around the house. The men went out to the porch to smoke while the women remained in the living room. Zoe went to the kitchen to wash the dishes. A few minutes later, Clara joined her. “Zoe, dear, leave it. I’ll wash everything myself,” Clara said. But Zoe shook her head. It’s okay. It’s not hard for me.Let’s do it together. We’ll get it done faster. They stood at the sink. And Clara suddenly stopped, looking at her daughter-in-law, her eyes filled with tears. Zoe, I want to tell you something. Clara took her daughter-in-law’s hand in hers. I am so grateful to you. You have no idea how grateful I am.

When Harvey started drinking after that diagnosis, I thought I was going to lose my son. He was so lost, so broken. The doctors told him he was infertile and it killed something important inside him. He felt inadequate, you know, not a man, and alcohol was the only thing that helped him forget. Zoe listened silently, not taking her eyes off her. I prayed every day that he would meet someone who would help him. Clara continued, tears streaming down her cheeks. And you came. You saved my boy. He stopped drinking. He came back to life.

And now you’re going to have a baby despite everything. It’s a miracle, Zoe. God heard my prayers. I’m so happy you came into our lives.

You gave us hope. Zoe hugged her mother-in-law and she pressed herself against her, sobbing. Zoe stroked her back, but her face was tense and her eyes were filled with tears. Thank you, Clara,” she said quietly. “I love Harvey. I just love him.”

Clara pulled away, wiped her eyes with her palms, and smiled through her tears. “I know, dear. I can see it. You’ll be happy. I’m sure.” They finished washing the dishes together, and soon the guests began to leave. It was already late, around 11:00 at night. Harvey saw everyone to the door, thanking them for their congratulations and gifts.

His parents were the last to leave. Jack hugged his son. Clara kissed Harvey and Zoe, and they were finally alone. Harvey closed the door and turned to his wife. She was standing in the middle of the living room, one hand resting on her huge belly. Harvey approached her and hugged her gently, afraid of causing her discomfort. “Thank you for this evening,” he said quietly. Are you tired?

A little, Zoe admitted. But everything went well. Your parents are so kind. They love you, Harvey kissed her on the forehead. Just like I do. In a few more days, we’ll have a baby. Are you ready? I don’t know, she tried to smile. I guess no one is ever completely ready. We’ll manage, Harvey said confidently.

Together, we can handle anything. They went upstairs to the bedroom. Zoe changed into her night gown and Harvey went to the bathroom. Zoe went to the window to draw the curtains. It was dark outside with only a few street lights illuminating the deserted street. Blake Dalton’s house was across the street, slightly to the side. Zoe looked in that direction and froze.

Blake was sitting on the porch of the neighboring house. He was smoking and the red glow of his cigarette flashed in the darkness from time to time. Blake was looking toward their house. Zoe stepped back from the window, her heart beating faster. She quickly drew the curtains and moved away to the bed.

When Harvey returned from the bathroom, she was already lying there, turned away toward the wall. “Zoe, are you okay?” he asked, lying down next to her. Yes, just tired, she replied without turning around. Harvey hugged her from behind and put his hand on her stomach.

Sleep, my love. You need rest. Zoe closed her eyes, but sleep did not come. She lay in the dark, feeling the heaviness of her stomach and the weight of the secret she carried inside her. Her mother-in-law’s words echoed in her head. It’s a miracle. Zoe knew there was no miracle. There was only one terrible evening 6 months ago. One mistake that was now growing inside her, and she didn’t know how to live with that knowledge, how to look her husband and his parents in the eye, who believed so strongly in miracles.

Harvey fell asleep quickly, his breathing becoming steady and deep. Zoe lay awake for a long time, staring into the darkness and listening to her heartbeat. The morning of November 21st was cold and gray. Zoe woke up early around 7:00 when Harvey was already getting ready for work. He tried to move quietly so as not to wake his wife, but she was already awake.

She had tossed and turned all night, unable to find a comfortable position. Her stomach was heavy, her back achd, and her thoughts gave her no peace. Harvey leaned over her when she opened her eyes. Good morning, my love.

How are you feeling? Fine, Zoe lied. It’s just uncomfortable to sleep with this belly. Hang in there a little longer. He kissed her on the cheek. It will all be over soon and we’ll have a baby. I’ll be late today. We have a difficult order, but I’ll be back early in the evening. Call me if you need anything.

Okay. Harvey left and Zoe was left alone in the empty house. She got up, took a shower, had breakfast, but did everything mechanically without thinking about what she was doing. Her head was preoccupied with something else entirely.

Last night, Clara’s words, Jack’s toast, all of it weighed on her with an unbearable burden of guilt. They believed so much in miracles, were so happy about the upcoming birth of their child, and she knew the truth. a truth that would destroy them all.

Around noon, Zoe called Terresa Crowley, her only close friend. Teresa worked at a dry cleaners on the other side of town, but she had a lunch break from 1 to 2. They agreed to meet at a small cafe near the dry cleaners. Zoe took the bus.

It was uncomfortable to sit. Her stomach got in the way, and at the stops, she had to hold on to the handrails to keep her balance. Several passengers looked at her with sympathy. One elderly woman even offered her seat, but Zoe politely declined. She only had three stops left.

The cafe was a cheap place with plastic tables and faded posters on the walls. They served coffee, sandwiches, and pastries. Teresa was already sitting at a table by the window when Zoe entered. Teresa was 2 years older than Zoe, a tall, thin woman with short hair and a tired face. She had been working at the dry cleaners for 8 years, and the job had worn her out.

The constant smell of chemicals, the heat from the presses, the monotony of the days. But Teresa never complained. She was one of those people who just did what needed to be done without asking questions. “Zoe.” Teresa stood up to hug her friend. “My goodness, you’re huge. How do you even walk with that belly?” “Barely,” Zoe smiled wearily and sat down opposite her. Thank you for agreeing to meet me.

Of course, I ordered you tea and a chicken sandwich. You like that, right? Eat up. You need your strength. The waitress brought their order and they sat in silence for a while. Zoe sipped her tea but couldn’t eat. The lump in her throat made it difficult to swallow. Teresa looked closely at her friend and saw that something was wrong. Zoe was pale with dark circles under her eyes and her hands were shaking as she held the cup.

“Zoe, what’s wrong?” Teresa asked cautiously. “You look terrible. Is something wrong with the baby?” “The baby is fine,” Zoe replied quietly. “That’s not the problem.” “Then what is it, Harvey?” his parents. Zoe shook her head and lowered her eyes. She was silent for a long time, searching for the right words. Teresa waited patiently, not rushing her.

She had known Zoe for 6 years. They had met at the grocery store where Zoe worked as a cashier, and Teresa was a regular customer. Over time, they had become close, meeting outside of work and sharing their problems. Teresa was one of the few people Zoe could trust. Teresa, I don’t know how to say this, Zoe finally began, her voice trembling. I’ve done something terrible and now I don’t know what to do. Tell me. Whatever it is, we’ll find a way out. Zoe looked up and Teresa saw fear and despair in her eyes. Remember when I told you that Harvey can’t have children?

The doctors diagnosed him many years ago. Infertility. His parents know about it. Everyone knows. And when I got pregnant, everyone said it was a miracle. Yes, I remember. You told me. Teresa, it’s not a miracle. Zoe swallowed and tears welled up in her eyes. It was less than a year ago. Harvey and I had a fight, a stupid, pointless fight over money.

I wanted to buy a new refrigerator because our old one was always breaking down, but Harvey said we didn’t have the money, that we couldn’t afford it. I insisted and he responded rudely, saying that I didn’t understand how hard he worked to provide for our family. We argued and I ran out of the house. I was so angry, so hurt.

Teresa listened silently without interrupting. She was already beginning to understand where this story was going and her heart sank with forboding. “I went for a walk to calm down,” Zoe continued, tears streaming down her cheeks. It was late, around 10:00 at night. I walked the streets crying.

When I got home, Harvey was already asleep. I went out on the porch and sat down on the steps. And then I saw our neighbor Blake. He was sitting on his porch smoking. We used to say hello when we met, sometimes exchanging a few words. He seemed like a nice guy, just a lonely man, divorced.

He saw that I was crying and came over to ask if everything was okay. Zoe fell silent, wiping her tears with her palms. Teresa handed her a napkin. I told him about the fight. Zoe’s voice was barely audible. He invited me in, said he’d make tea, that I needed to calm down. I don’t know why I agreed. I guess I just didn’t want to go back to an empty house where Harvey was sleeping, not even noticing that I was gone. I went to Blake’s.

“Oh, Zoe,” Teresa sighed softly. We sat in his kitchen, and he really did make tea. He was so attentive, so understanding. He listened to me and said I was right, that Harvey shouldn’t have spoken to me so rudely. And I felt Zoe paused, searching for the right words. I felt like someone was on my side, that someone understood me. And when he hugged me, I didn’t stop him. I let it happen. It was just once, Teresa. Once and never again.

The next day, I woke up and realized what I had done. I was so ashamed. I avoided Blake. tried not to leave the house when he was out. And a month later, I found out I was pregnant. Teresa covered her face with her hands and exhaled slowly. When she lowered her hands, her face showed deep sympathy and sadness. “You understand what this means,” Zoe continued, her voice breaking. “Harvey is infertile. The doctor said he had no chance of having children.

And I’m pregnant. Everyone thinks it’s a miracle, but I know the truth. This child is not Harvey’s. It’s Blake’s. And I don’t know what to do. Yesterday at Harvey’s birthday party, his father made a toast about what a miracle it was.

His mother cried and said how grateful she was to me for giving them hope. And I sit here knowing that it’s all a lie, that I’m deceiving them, that I’ll destroy them all when the truth comes out. Zoe, wait. Teresa leaned closer and took her friend’s hand in hers. “Why do you think the truth will come out? You’re not going to tell them, are you?” “Blake is white, Teresa,” Zoe said quietly.

And in those words was all the hopelessness in the world. “Blake is white.” Harvey and I are black. What if the baby is born light-skinned? What if it’s obvious that he’s not Harvey’s? Teresa froze, and the full weight of the situation finally sank in. She leaned back in her chair, unable to find the words. They were silent for a few seconds, and the silence between them was heavy and oppressive.

“Oh my god, Zoe,” Teresa finally said. “I don’t know what to say. This This is really difficult. I’m so scared,” Zoe whispered. “Every day, every night, I think about it. What will happen when the baby is born? What will Harvey say? his parents. They love him so much. They’re so proud of him for quitting drinking. And I’m going to ruin everything. I’m going to ruin our family. Listen to me. Teresa squeezed her friend’s hand tighter. You can’t know anything for sure right now. Genetics is a complicated thing.

Yes, Blake is white, but that doesn’t mean the baby will necessarily be light-kinned. Mixed race children can have different skin colors. Maybe the baby will look like you and Harvey. Maybe no one will notice anything. What if they do notice?

Zoe’s voice was full of despair. What then? Then you tell the truth, Teresa replied firmly. You tell Harvey everything as it is. Yes, it will be hard. Yes, he will be angry. He will be shocked. But you tell him that it was a mistake, that you love him, that you regret what happened. And maybe he will understand. Maybe he’ll be able to forgive. He won’t forgive. Zoe shook her head. You don’t understand.

Harvey thought he was infertile his entire adult life. It broke him. And when I got pregnant, he believed in miracles. He believed that the doctors were wrong, that he was fine, that he was a normal man. And now I have to tell him that there was no miracle, that he’s still infertile, that his wife cheated on him with the neighbor. It will kill him, Teresa. It will kill him just like that diagnosis killed him once. and he’ll start drinking again.

His mother told me yesterday that I saved him and I’m going to destroy him. Teresa was silent because she didn’t know what to say. Zoe was right. The situation was catastrophic and there was no good way out. No matter what happened, someone would suffer and most likely everyone would suffer. Maybe we should wait. Teresa finally said the baby will be born in a few days. See what he looks like. If everything is normal, if no one notices anything, then why tell them? Why destroy what you have?

It was one mistake, Zoe. One mistake in a moment of weakness. You’re not a bad person. You’re just a person who made a mistake. But I’m living a lie. Zoe covered her face with her hands. Every day I wake up and lie. I lie to Harvey. I lie to his parents. I don’t know how to live with this. How to look them in the eye. You’ll be fine. Teresa stood up, walked around the table, and hugged her friend. You’re strong. You’ve been through a lot, and you’ll get through this, too. I’ll be there for you no matter what. I promise.

They sat in the cafe for another half hour. Teresa tried to cheer Zoe up, saying that everything would be fine, that there was hope. But they both knew that these were just words, an attempt to cling to a straw in a stormy sea. When it was time for Teresa to go back to work, they said goodbye at the cafe entrance. “Call me when you go into labor,” Teresa said. “I want to know that you’re okay.” “I will,” Zoe promised. The trip home was long and painful.

Zoe sat on the bus, staring out the window at the gray streets of Detroit, the boarded up stores and empty industrial buildings. The city was as gray and hopeless as her life. When she got off at her stop, it was already around 3:00 in the afternoon. It was a 5-minute walk home, and Zoe walked slowly, breathing heavily. Her stomach was aching. Her lower back was shooting pain, but she didn’t pay any attention to it. Physical pain was nothing compared to the pain that tormented her soul.

At home, she lay down on the sofa and tried to sleep, but couldn’t. At 5 in the evening, Harvey returned. He was tired, covered in oil, but satisfied. They had finished a difficult job, and his boss had praised his work. “How was your day?” he asked, leaning over to Zoe and kissing her on the cheek. “What did you do?” I met with Teresa, Zoe replied. We had lunch together. How is she? Fine. Working, tired, everything as usual. Harvey went to take a shower and Zoe remained lying on the sofa. She felt strange.

Something was wrong. Her stomach hurt more than usual, and the pulling pain in her lower abdomen was getting more intense. She tried to get up, but at that moment she felt something warm running down her legs. Zoe looked down and saw a wet spot on the couch. “Harvey!” she shouted, panic in her voice. “Harvey, I think my water broke.” Harvey jumped out of the bathroom, throwing on his robe.

His hair was wet, his face covered in soap suds, but he didn’t even notice. What now? Oh my god. Okay, don’t panic. We’ll go to the hospital. Where’s your bag? In the bedroom on the dresser. Zoe held her stomach, the pain intensifying. Harvey, it hurts.

I know, honey. Hang in there. We’ll go now. Everything will be fine. Harvey quickly got dressed, grabbed Zoe’s bag, and helped her to the car. The car was old and worn, but Harvey took good care of it, and it always started on the first try.

They were driving to the hospital and Harvey was speeding, running yellow lights. Zoe sat in the passenger seat, holding on to the door handle and breathing rapidly and unevenly. The contractions were starting and each wave of pain was stronger than the last. “Hang in there, honey. We’re almost there,” Harvey said, his voice a mixture of fear and excitement.

“Just a little longer. Just a little bit more.” Zoe nodded, unable to respond. Pain filled her entire being. But beneath that pain was another even more acute fear. Fear of what would happen in a few hours when the baby was born. Fear that her secret would no longer be a secret. And fear that the life she knew would end forever.

The hospital appeared ahead. A large gray building with a red cross on the facade. Harvey drove right up to the entrance of the emergency room and stopped with a screech of brakes. He jumped out of the car, ran for a wheelchair, and within a minute, the nurses were already wheeling Zoe inside. Harvey walked beside her, holding her hand. “Everything will be fine,” he repeated. “Everything will be fine.” But Zoe knew that nothing would be fine ever again.

The maternity ward at St. Vincent’s Hospital was located on the third floor of the old building. When Harvey brought Zoe to the entrance of the reception area, they were met by two nurses with a gurnie. Zoe could barely stand. The contractions were coming one after another, and the pain was so intense that she couldn’t even speak. Harvey held her hand while the nurses helped her into the wheelchair. “Are you her husband?” asked one of the nurses, a heavy set woman in her 50s.

“Yes, I’m her husband. You’ll need to fill out some registration paperwork and we’ll take your wife to the prenatal ward. As soon as the situation stabilizes, we’ll call you. Harvey nodded and leaned toward Zoe. Everything will be fine, my love. I’ll be waiting nearby. You can do this. Zoe looked at him, and there was such fear in her eyes that Harvey’s heart sank. But he decided it was just fear of childbirth, a natural fear that every woman experiences. He didn’t know that Zoe’s fear was about something else entirely.

The nurses wheeled her through the double doors and Harvey was left alone in the reception area. He walked over to the registration desk where a tired woman with gray hair sat at a computer. She handed him a tablet with some documents. Please fill these out. The patients first and last name, your information, address, insurance. Harvey took the tablet, but his hands were shaking so badly that he could barely hold the pen.

He tried to focus on the words, on the blank lines, but his thoughts were racing. His wife was giving birth. Right now, a few feet away from him, she was giving birth to their child, a child that wasn’t supposed to be a miracle. “Don’t worry so much,” the woman behind the counter said gently. “Our doctors are very good. Everything will be fine. Harvey nodded and finished filling out the paperwork.

The woman took the tablet, looked through the documents, and typed something into the computer. “Go to the waiting area,” she said, pointing to the corridor on the left. “There are chairs and a coffee machine there. As soon as you can be admitted, the nurse will call you.”

Harvey walked in the direction indicated and found himself in a long corridor with rows of plastic chairs along the walls. Several people were already sitting there. A young man of about 25 who was nervously biting his nails. An elderly couple who were dozing, holding hands, and a middle-aged woman who was reading something on her phone. They were all waiting.

Harvey sat down in one of the chairs and took out his phone. He dialed his mother’s number. Clara answered after the first ring. Harvey, what’s wrong, son? Mom, Zoe’s in labor. We’re at St. Vincent’s Hospital on the third floor in the maternity ward. They’ve already taken her away and I’m waiting in the hallway. There was a sob on the other end of the line. Then Clara’s hurried voice. My god, has it started already? Harvey, we’re leaving right now.

Tell your father to get dressed. We’ll be there in 20 minutes, maybe half an hour. Hang in there, son. Everything will be fine. Yes, Mom. Come on over. Harvey put the phone in his pocket and leaned back in his chair. Time dragged unbearably slowly. He looked at the clock on the wall. The hands seemed to be moving barely. 5 minutes passed. 10 15. The young man stood up and began pacing back and forth in the hallway, his hands shaking.

The elderly couple continued to doze. The woman with the phone got up and went to the coffee machine. Harvey also got up and walked down the hallway. His legs demanded movement. He needed to do something, go somewhere, but there was nowhere to go. All he could do was wait. Wait and think about what was happening behind those double doors.

Where his wife was, where his child was about to be born. 25 minutes later, his parents appeared at the end of the corridor. Clara was almost running, her full body swaying with each step, her breathing rapid. Jack followed behind, carrying a bag, probably something for Zoe. Harvey. Clara ran up to her son and hugged him. How is she? What did the doctor say? I don’t know, Mom.

They took her away right away. They haven’t told me anything yet. God, help them, Clara whispered and crossed herself. Help my girl give birth to a healthy baby. They sat down on chairs nearby. Jack put his heavy hand on his son’s shoulder. Don’t worry. Zoe is strong. She’ll make it. I know, Dad. It’s just scary. I can’t help her. I can’t be there.

All I can do is sit here and wait. We’re all waiting. Jack nodded. That’s all we can do. They sat in silence. Clara clasped her hands together and whispered prayers. Jack stared at the floor. Harvey checked his phone again and again, even though he knew it had only been a few minutes since he last checked.

An hour passed, then another half hour. Clara couldn’t sit still. She would get up, walk to the end of the hallway and back, sit down, then get up again. Harvey kept his eyes on the double doors, waiting for someone to come out with news. At 9 in the evening, the doors finally opened and a nurse in a green uniform came out. She was holding a tablet and looking at it.

Are you Zoe Pennington’s relatives? Harvey jumped up so abruptly that he knocked over the chair behind him. I am. I’m her husband. How is she?

What’s wrong with her? The nurse came closer and smiled. Don’t worry. The delivery is going well. She’s almost fully dilated and the pushing will start soon. The doctor says everything is going well without complications. In an hour and a half, you’ll have a baby. Can I see her? Just for a minute.

Not right now. She’s in labor. But as soon as the baby is born and we make sure the mother is okay, they will definitely call you. Please be patient. The nurse went back behind the door and Harvey sat down again. Clara took his hand. Did you hear that? Everything is going well. Just a little longer and we’ll see our grandson. Or granddaughter, Jack added.

No, it’s a boy, Clara said confidently. I can feel it. It’s going to be a boy, they sank back into waiting. The minutes dragged on like hours. Harvey counted the tiles on the floor, then counted the lights on the ceiling, then just sat and stared at a single point. Clara whispered her prayers louder and louder, and Jack asked her several times to be quieter. Other people in the waiting room were starting to turn around.

At a/4 to midnight, the doors swung open again, and this time, a doctor came out. Dr. Samuel Griffin was a tall black man of about 45 with graying short hair and kind eyes behind his glasses. His face showed fatigue, but also satisfaction. the satisfaction of a man who had done his job well. “The Penningtons,” he called, and Harvey, Clara, and Jack stood up simultaneously. “Congratulations,” Dr. Griffin said with a smile. “You have a son, a healthy boy, 3 kg, 800 g, 52 cm.

Apgar score 9. The mother is feeling well. The delivery went without complications.” Clara covered her face with her hands and began to cry. Jack put his arms around her shoulders, tears streaming down his cheeks as well. Harvey stood motionless, unable to believe what he had heard. A son. He had a son. A boy who wasn’t supposed to exist because the doctors said it was impossible. But he existed. A miracle had happened. “Can I see them?” Harvey asked, his voice trembling. “My wife and son, we’re taking care of the baby right now. We need to weigh him, measure him, and perform the initial procedures. The mother also needs care after giving birth.

Wait another 20 or 30 minutes, then you can come in. Decide whether you want to come in together or one at a time. We’ll wait, Jack said. Don’t rush them. Let them do what they need to do. Dr. Griffin nodded and went back into the delivery room. Clara cried and repeated over and over, “Thank God. Thank God. But a boy, a healthy boy. Harvey hugged his mother, then his father. The three of them stood there all crying with joy, relief, and happiness. The other people in the waiting room smiled at them.

A young man came over and shook Harvey’s hand. Congratulations, man. It’s a happy occasion, right? Yes. Harvey smiled through his tears. It’s a happy occasion. Those 20 minutes seemed like the longest of Harvey’s life. He paced the hallway, unable to sit still. A son. He had a son. He was a father. His thoughts were jumbled. His heart was beating so fast it felt like it was about to jump out of his chest. And behind the double doors in the delivery room, something completely different was happening.

Zoe lay on the delivery table wet with sweat, exhausted. The birth was difficult. Even though the doctors said everything was going well. The pain was so intense that she lost consciousness at times, but that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that she knew that in a few minutes the truth would come out and her whole life would fall apart. Dr. Griffin delivered the baby and two nurses assisted him. Zoe heard their voices as if through cottonwool, distant, unreal.

One more push, Zoe. Come on, push harder. I can see the head just a little more. Zoe pushed with all her might and finally felt something slip out of her. The relief was instantaneous. The pain receded. Her body went limp. She heard a squeak, the thin, weak squeak of a newborn.

“It’s a boy,” said Dr. Griffin. “A beautiful, healthy boy.” The nurses bustled around, clearing the mucus from the baby’s mouth and nose and wiping him down. The squeak grew louder, turning into a cry. Zoe lay with her eyes closed, unable to move. She didn’t want to look. She was afraid to look. Zoe. Dr. Griffin’s voice was soft. Would you like to see your son? No, she wanted to say, “No, I don’t want to. Don’t show him to me.” But her lips wouldn’t obey, and she just nodded.

The nurse came over and showed her the baby. small, red, wrinkled, covered in white grease, and light-skinned. Clearly, noticeably light-skinned. His skin wasn’t as dark as it should have been for a child of two black parents. It was lighter, much lighter, and his hair wasn’t black, but some kind of blonde, almost reddish in the light of the lamps. Zoe looked at her son, and inside she felt a cold lump of horror.

Her worst fears were confirmed. This was not Harvey’s child. This was Blake’s child, and it was obvious. It was so obvious that it couldn’t be hidden, couldn’t be denied, couldn’t be lied about. “What a beautiful baby,” said the nurse with a smile. “Well done, Zoe.” “Everything went perfectly.” Zoe didn’t answer. She couldn’t take her eyes off her son’s fair skin and blonde hair. The nurse took the baby to the table where they began to weigh and measure him.

Dr. Griffin was busy with postpartum procedures, but Zoe felt nothing. She was in a trance. 3 kg, 800 g, the nurse announced. 52 cm, Apgar score 9, a perfectly healthy boy. The baby was wrapped in a blue blanket and placed in a transparent plastic bassinet. Zoe was transferred to a gurnie to be taken to the postpartum ward.

As she was being wheeled down the corridor, she turned her head and looked at the bassinet that the nurse was pushing alongside her. Her son was asleep, tiny and defenseless and fair-skinned. Zoe closed her eyes and tears streamed down her cheeks. She cried silently, and the nurse pushing the gurnie noticed. “It’s okay, sweetie. Many women cry after giving birth. It’s the hormones. It will pass.”

But Zoe knew it wouldn’t pass. It would never pass because her life had just ended. The moment she saw her son’s fair skin, it was over. Harvey would find out. His parents would find out. Everyone would find out. And then the real nightmare would begin. She was taken to the prenatal ward where she would spend several hours under observation before being transferred to the regular post-natal ward.

The crib with the baby was placed next to the bed. The nurse checked her vitals and wrote something in her chart. Rest, Zoe. You’ve done a hard job. In a couple of hours, you’ll be transferred to the ward where it will be more comfortable. In the meantime, sleep if you can. The nurse left and Zoe was alone. Alone with the child who had ruined her life before he was even born.

She turned her head and looked into the bassinet. The boy was awake and staring at her with the blind eyes of a newborn. His little hands were moving. His legs were twitching. “I’m sorry,” Zoe whispered. “I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I’m sorry I brought you into this world. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from what’s coming.”

The child did not understand her words. He just looked, moved his hands, existed. He did not know that in a day his mother would be dead, that he would be left alone, that his life would begin with tragedy.

In the hallway, Harvey, Clara, and Jack waited to be called in. They waited to see the baby, to hug Zoe, to share in the joy. They didn’t know there would be no joy, that only pain, hatred, and death lay ahead. They just waited, happy, and unsuspecting. Another 20 minutes passed. The nurse came out and called.

The Pennington family. You can come in. Not for long. Just 15 minutes. Mom is tired and needs to rest. Of course, of course. Clara nodded. We’ll be quick. We’ll just take a look at them. They followed the nurse through the double doors. Harvey walked first, his heart beating so loudly that it seemed everyone around him must be able to hear it. Now he would see his son.

Now he would see the miracle with his own eyes. The nurse led them to the door of the ward and said, “Here, go in quietly. Don’t make any noise.” And remember, only 15 minutes. Harvey pushed the door open and went in. Clara and Jack followed him. What they saw in that ward changed their lives forever. Harvey entered the room first, his heart pounding in his chest.

His mother and father followed behind him. Clara was carrying a bouquet of flowers she had bought on the way to the hospital, and Jack was holding a teddy bear. Zoe was lying on the bed by the window, pale with dark circles under her eyes. Next to the bed was a clear plastic crib, and in it lay a tiny bundle wrapped in a blue blanket. Zoe didn’t look at them. She lay with her back to the wall, her shoulders shaking. Zoe, my love.

Harvey approached the bed and leaned toward his wife. How are you feeling? She did not respond. She did not even turn her head. Harvey frowned, but decided she was just tired. Childbirth is a difficult ordeal and she has a right to be exhausted. Clara put the flowers on the nightstand and also approached the bed. Zoe, dear, we were so worried about you.

The doctor said everything went well. Thank God. Zoe remained silent. Jack put the teddy bear on a chair and walked around the bed to look at his grandson. “Harvey, come see your son,” he called. Harvey tore himself away from Zoe and walked over to the crib. Clara followed him, and they saw. The baby’s skin was light.

Not just light, as all newborns are in the first few days. It was clearly noticeably lighter than it should be for a child of two black parents. There was sparse hair on his head, not black, but blonde, almost reddish. Harvey froze. He stood there looking at the baby, his brain refusing to comprehend what his eyes were seeing.

This couldn’t be true. It had to be some kind of mistake. Maybe it was the lighting in the room. Maybe his eyes were deceiving him. Clara slowly straightened up. She looked at Jack and he looked at her. Both of their faces showed confusion which slowly gave way to understanding.

An understanding they wanted to run away from but which was too obvious to deny. Harvey, Jack said quietly, his voice sounding strange. Son. Harvey didn’t hear his father. He leaned closer, peering at the baby’s face. Maybe he was imagining things. Maybe if he looked closer, everything would turn out to be normal.

But the more he looked, the clearer it became. This child didn’t look like him or Zoe. He was fair-skinned. Harvey slowly straightened up and turned toward the bed.

Zoe was still lying there facing the wall. He walked over to her and put his hand on her shoulder. Zoe, look at me. She didn’t move. Zoe, I said, look at me. His voice became firmer. Zoe slowly turned. Her face was wet with tears, her eyes red and swollen. She looked at Harvey and there was such horror, such despair in her eyes that for a second he faltered. “What is it?” Harvey asked quietly, but there was steel in his voice. “What is it, Zoe?”

She opened her mouth but couldn’t say a word. She just looked at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Harvey, maybe we can talk about this later,” Jack began, putting his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Zoe is tired. She needs to rest.” “No.” Harvey cut him off sharply. “We’ll talk about it now. Right now.”

He turned back to Zoe and something dark appeared in his eyes. Something that hadn’t been there for 4 years. I’m sterile, Zoe. Remember the doctors told me that when I was 23. They said I had no chance of having children. Not a single chance. And here I am standing here looking at a child that is clearly not mine. So explain it to me. Explain to me how this is possible. Zoe covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

Her body shook with sobs. She cried like people cry when they know it’s over. Tell me the truth. Harvey grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands away from her face. Tell me the truth right now, Zoe. Who is the father of this child? Clara stood by the cradle, her arms pressed against her chest. Jack stood next to her, his face gray. “Harvey, please.” Zoe croked through her tears.

“Forgive me. Please forgive me.” “Who?” Harvey repeated, now almost shouting. “Who, Zoe? Tell me his name. Blake, she exhaled, and the word sounded like a sentence. Blake Dalton, our neighbor. The silence that fell over the room was deafening. Clara gasped and grabbed the chair to keep from falling. Jack closed his eyes and slowly shook his head, and Harvey just stood there, and the whole world was falling apart around him.

“Blake,” he repeated, his voice dead. the white guy across the street. You slept with the white guy across the street. It was just once, Harvey. Zoe tried to speak through her sobs. I swear to you, just once. We had a fight, remember, about the refrigerator. I left the house. I was so angry, so hurt. He was sitting on the porch.

We started talking. I don’t know what came over me. I went to his house. We had tea and and it happened. I’m sorry, Harvey. God, I’m sorry. I love you. I’ve always loved only you. Don’t you dare. Harvey hissed, his hands clenched into fists. Don’t you dare say you love me. If you loved me, you wouldn’t have done that. It was a mistake.

Zoe reached out to him. One terrible mistake. I regretted it every day. Every night, I couldn’t sleep thinking about what I had done. A mistake? Harvey laughed. And it was a terrible laugh. You call that a mistake? You carried another man’s child for 9 months. You lied to my face for 9 months. You let me believe it was a miracle.

You let my parents believe that God had answered our prayers. But it’s not a miracle, Zoe. It’s betrayal. It’s a lie. Clara approached the bed and her face wore an expression Harvey had never seen before. Hatred. Pure, undiluted hatred.

Yesterday, Clara’s voice trembled. Yesterday in the kitchen, I told you how happy I was that you had come into our lives. I said you had saved my son. I cried with joy and you stood there and said nothing. You knew the truth, but you said nothing. You let me believe a lie. Clara, forgive me.

Zoe tried to stand up, but her body wouldn’t obey her. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean to. You didn’t want to? Clara interrupted, her voice rising. You didn’t want to? Then why did you do it? Why did you sleep with that that white bastard? Mom, Jack began, but Clara wasn’t listening. 4 years. She moved closer to the bed, towering over Zoe. 4 years.

My son didn’t drink a drop. He was happy. He believed in miracles. He believed the doctors were wrong. That he was fine. And now, now what? You destroyed him, Zoe. You destroyed my boy. Harvey stood in the middle of the room, and something terrible was growing inside him.

Rage. Rage he hadn’t felt in 4 years. Rage he had drowned in alcohol when he learned of his diagnosis. It was coming back, rolling in waves, filling his entire being. He looked around, and his gaze fell on the vase of flowers his mother had brought. He grabbed the vase and threw it against the wall with all his might.

The vase shattered with a deafening crash, shards flying in all directions, water and flowers falling to the floor. For years, he shouted, his voice echoing through the ward. Four years I was a good husband. I loved you. I took care of you. I never touched a bottle. Not once, Zoey. And you? You. He couldn’t continue.

The words stuck in his throat. He turned and headed for the door. But Harvey, wait. Zoe tried to get up, reaching out to him. Please don’t go. Let’s talk. Let’s figure something out. Harvey stopped at the door and turned around. His face was contorted with rage and pain. Figure something out. What can we figure out, Zoey? You had a child with another man.

A light-skinned child who at a glance tells everyone everything. What can we figure out? He left the room, slamming the door behind him. The sound echoed in the hallway. Clara stood by Zoe’s bed, her hands shaking with rage. “Because of you,” she hissed. “Because of you, my son will start drinking again. I know him. He can’t handle this. He’ll pick up the bottle again, and it’s your fault, Zoe.

Your fault.” She grabbed her bag, a large, heavy leather bag, and hit Zoe in the face. Zoe screamed and covered her face with her hands, but Clara hit her again and again. On the head, on the shoulders, on the back. I hate you, Clara cried through her tears. I hate you for what you did to my son. Clara, stop it. Jack tried to pull his wife away, but she struggled. Let me go.

She deserves it. She deserves much worse. There was another bed in the ward against the opposite wall. A young woman was lying there with her newborn daughter in her arms. Fiona Wilmington, 25 years old, watched the scene with horror. She jumped out of bed and ran to the door screaming, “Help! Someone help!” A few seconds later, two nurses rushed into the room.

Janice Coleman, who was on duty that night, and a young nurse named Rachel. “What’s going on here?” Janice shouted. “Stop this immediately.” She and Rachel pulled Clara away from the bed. Clara was crying, screaming, trying to break free.

Jack held her by the shoulders, trying to calm her down. Clara, stop. Please stop. Zoe was lying on the bed with her hands pressed against her face. She had a bruise spreading across her cheek and her lip was split and bleeding. Janice approached her and took her hands away from her face.

Oh my god, she murmured. Rachel, bring some antiseptic and ice. Then she turned to Clara and Jack, her voice firm. You need to leave right now or I’ll call security. We don’t need security. Jack nodded. We’re leaving, Clara. Let’s go. I’m not done. Clara was still trying to break free. I haven’t told her everything yet. You’ve said enough.

Jack led his wife to the door. Let’s go home. They left and Clara cried so loudly in the hallway that she could be heard even in the ward. Rachel brought antiseptic and an ice pack. Janice carefully treated Zoe’s broken lip and applied ice to the bruise. “Does it hurt?” she asked quietly. Zoe shook her head.

The physical pain was nothing compared to the pain that was tearing her apart inside. “You need to rest,” Janice said. You need to calm down. I can give you something to help you relax. No, I don’t need anything, Zoe whispered. Janice stood there for a moment, then sighed and left the room with Rachel.

Fiona returned to her bed, holding her daughter in her arms. She didn’t know what to say. The silence in the room was heavy and oppressive. Finally, she asked quietly, “Is there anything I can do to help?” Zoe shook her head. She lay there staring at the ceiling, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Her son woke up in the bassinet next to the bed and began to cry. It was the thin plaintive cry of a newborn who wants to eat. Zoe didn’t move. She didn’t even look at the baby. Fiona waited a few seconds, then got up and went to the crib. She gently picked up the boy and brought him to Zoe.

He’s hungry. You need to feed him. Zoe mechanically took the baby, unbuttoned her hospital gown, and put him to her breast. The boy quieted down, and began to suckle. Zoe looked at him at his fair skin, his blonde hair, and there was nothing in her eyes. No love, no hate, only emptiness.

Fiona returned to her bed, but continued to glance at her neighbor. Something was very wrong with this situation. Something that frightened her. Listen, she began cautiously. I don’t know what happened there, but this is your child. He’s not to blame for anything. Zoe didn’t answer. I saw the way your husband looked at him, Fiona continued.

And his parents, they saw something that shocked them. Is the baby not your husband’s? Zoe nodded slowly. No, he’s infertile and I I cheated on him once and I got pregnant. Oh my god. Fiona exhaled. That’s hard. Really hard. You don’t understand.

Zoe’s voice was barely audible. Harvey is black. I am black. And the child’s father is white. One look at this boy and everything is clear to everyone. I couldn’t hide it. I couldn’t lie. The truth is right here in this cradle and everyone can see it. Fiona looked at the sleeping boy in Zoe’s arms.

Now she understood. light skin, blonde hair. It was obvious. “What are you going to do?” she asked. “I don’t know,” Zoe closed her eyes. “I don’t know.” The rest of the day passed in oppressive silence. Zoe lay on the bed, not talking, hardly moving. Fiona tried to distract her, but Zoe hardly responded. In the evening, the nurse came with dinner, but Zoe didn’t touch her food. The night was long. Both babies woke up, cried, and wanted to eat.

Fiona fed her daughter, then helped Zoe with her son because Zoe seemed unable to even get up on her own. Around 3:00 in the morning, when both babies finally fell asleep, Fiona said quietly, “You know, life goes on. No matter how hard it is, it goes on. You have a son. Maybe your husband will leave.

Maybe his family will turn their backs on you, but you have this little boy and you have to live for him. I ruined everything, Zoe whispered. I ruined my life, Harvey’s life, his parents’ lives because of one mistake, because of one stupid mistake. We all make mistakes, Fiona sighed. Some worse, some better, but we’re human.

We’re imperfect. Zoe didn’t answer. She just lay there in the dark and thought about Harvey, about how he looked at her the last time, about the hatred in his eyes, about how he would never forgive her. Never. The morning of November 23rd was gray and rainy. Zoe hadn’t slept all night. When the dim light of dawn began to seep through the window, she was still lying with her eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

Around 900 in the morning, there was a knock on the door. Zoe turned her head and saw Blake Dalton standing in the doorway. He was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, holding a bouquet of flowers in his hands. There was an awkward expression on his face. “Hi, Zoe,” he said quietly. “Can I come in?” “Zoe didn’t answer, but she didn’t refuse either. Blake came in and gently closed the door behind him.

He walked over to the bed and placed the flowers on the nightstand. I heard what happened,” he began. his voice cautious. Last night, your mother-in-law came to my house. She was screaming, crying, accusing me. She said, “I destroyed your family. Then she went to the neighbors and told everyone. Now the whole street knows.” Zoe closed her eyes. “Of course. Of course,” Clara told everyone.

Now the whole neighborhood knows about her shame. “I’m sorry,” Blake continued. “I didn’t mean for it to turn out this way. Honestly, I thought I don’t know what I thought. That we were just comforting each other that night. That it didn’t mean anything, but it did mean something, Zoe said quietly, opening her eyes. “It meant a lot. It ruined my life.”

Blake walked over to the crib and looked at the sleeping child. A strange expression appeared on his face, something between tenderness and fear. He looks like me, he said quietly. I see myself in him. Don’t say that, Zoe turned away toward the wall. Just don’t say it. Blake returned to the bed and sat down on a chair nearby. Zoe, listen. I know everything is terrible right now.

I know you’re suffering, but I want to help. I’m ready to take responsibility. I’m ready to be a father to this child. A real father. We can try to build something together for his sake. Zoe slowly turned and looked at Blake. There was sincerity in his eyes, but it didn’t matter. You don’t understand, she said wearily. I love Harvey. I’ve always loved only him.

What happened between us was a mistake. The biggest mistake of my life. I don’t want to build anything with you. I want my life back. But I can’t. I destroyed it with my own hands. Where’s Harvey now? Blake asked. I haven’t seen him since the night his mother came to me. Did he come to see you? He did?

Zoe touched the bruise on her cheek. Yesterday he brought his parents. They saw the baby. They saw that he was light-skinned and everything everything fell apart. What did he say? That I ruined him. That he hates me. His mother beat me. She screamed that because of me he would start drinking again and then they left and I don’t know where he is now.

Blake shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Zoe. I really am. Your pity won’t help me,” she said sharply. “Nothing will help. It’s over.” Blake stood up, standing awkwardly. If you change your mind, if you need help, I’ll be here. With money, with a place to stay, with anything, you know where to find me. Go away, Zoe whispered. Please, just go away. Blake nodded and left the room.

Zoe remained lying down, staring at the ceiling. Fiona sat on her bed, feeding her daughter, and looked at her neighbor with concern. Is that him? The baby’s father? Yes, he wants to help. He can’t help. Zoe turned to face the wall. No one can. Everything is ruined. Fiona got up and walked over to Zoe’s bed. She put her hand on her neighbor’s shoulder.

“Listen to me,” she said firmly. “I know it feels like your life is over right now, that everything is lost, but you have a son, a little boy who needs you. You can’t give up. Do you understand? You have to be strong for him. “I’m so tired,” Zoe whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m so tired of all this. I don’t know how to go on.” “Nobody does.” Fiona squeezed her shoulder.

“We just live day by day. That’s all we can do.” Zoe didn’t answer. She lay facing the wall and felt something slowly dying inside her. hope perhaps or the will to live. She didn’t know for sure. She only knew that nothing good lay ahead, that the worst was yet to come, and that she wasn’t ready to face it. Her son was sleeping peacefully in the crib next to her, unaware that in a day his mother would be dead, that his biological father would also be killed, that he would be left alone in this cruel world.

He was just sleeping, so small, so defenseless, and no one could save him from what was about to happen. The evening of November 23rd was cold and dark. Zoe was still in the maternity ward at St. Vincent’s Hospital. The doctors wanted to observe her for another day before discharging her. After the beating incident, they were concerned about her condition.

Zoe lay on the bed by the window, staring into the darkness beyond the glass. It was around 8:00 in the evening. Fiona sat on her bed feeding her daughter, quietly singing a lullaby to her. The room was warm, quiet, almost cozy. But Zoe didn’t feel cozy. She felt nothing but emptiness. She had spent the whole day in a kind of stouper. The nurses came, checked her vitals, brought food, but Zoe hardly reacted. She mechanically fed her son when he cried.

Mechanically answered the doctor’s questions, but inside there was only emptiness. Harvey didn’t come. He didn’t call. Nothing. And Zoe knew he wouldn’t come. He would never come again. The door to the room suddenly flew open with a bang, hitting the wall. Harvey was standing in the doorway. He looked terrible. His clothes were dirty and wrinkled, his shirt unbuttoned. His eyes were red, his face swollen. He staggered, holding on to the door frame.

The smell of alcohol was so strong that Fiona could smell it even from her bed. “Harvey,” Zoe whispered, her heart sinking with horror. He didn’t answer. He just stood there and looked at her. There was something frightening in his eyes, a mixture of pain, rage, and madness. This was not the Harvey she knew. This was the man she had only seen in photographs four years ago. The man who drowned his sorrows in alcohol.

Harvey, please. Zoe tried to get up, but her body wouldn’t obey her. Please, let’s talk. Harvey stepped into the ward and the door slammed behind him. Fiona held her daughter close to her chest and froze, not daring to move. Something was very wrong. Something terrible was about to happen. Two days, Harvey said, his voice and drunk. Two days I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t breathe. You know what I did, Zoe? I drank.

For the first time in 4 years, I bought a bottle. Then another, then another. And you know what I thought about while I was drinking? Zoe was silent, staring at him with wide eyes. I thought about the day I was 23, Harvey continued, taking a step closer. When the doctor told me I was infertile, that I had no chance of having children. Do you know how I felt at that moment?

I felt like I was no longer a man, that I was incomplete, that I would never be able to give a woman a child. And I started drinking. I drank to forget. I drank so I wouldn’t feel the pain. He laughed, a hollow, broken laugh. And then you came along, Zoe, my savior. You helped me quit drinking. You loved me no matter what. And when you told me you were pregnant, I believed in miracles. I thought the doctors were wrong, that I was fine, that I was normal. For 9 months, I was the happiest man alive.

For 9 months, I believed. His voice broke and tears streamed down his cheeks. And then I saw him, that child, light-skinned, and everything fell apart. Everything, Zoe. The doctors were right. I’m infertile. And you? You slept with another man, a white man, and you let me believe a lie. I’m sorry, Zoe whispered, tears streaming down her face. I’m sorry, Harvey. I’m so sorry.

You have no idea how sorry I am. Sorry? Harvey stepped closer. You’re sorry? Does that make me feel any better? Does it make my mother feel any better? She’s been crying for 2 days. two days of saying you destroyed me. And you know what? She’s right. You destroyed me, Zoe. Completely and irrevocably.

He reached into his coat and pulled out a gun, an old revolver that had once belonged to his father. Fiona screamed and recoiled against the wall, shielding her daughter with her body. Zoe froze, staring at the weapon. “Harvey, no!” she whispered. “Please, no! I loved you, Harvey said, his voice trembling more than anything in the world.

You were my light, my hope, and now I look at you and see only lies, only betrayal. Harvey, think about the child. Zoe reached out to the cradle where her son was sleeping. He’s not to blame for anything. He’s just a baby. He’s not my child, Harvey hissed. He’s your lover’s bastard, and I don’t want him in this world reminding me of what you’ve done. He raised the gun and pointed it at Zoey.

His hand was shaking. His face was wet with tears. “Harvey, please,” Zoe cried, reaching out to him. “I love you. I’ve always loved only you. It was a mistake. One terrible mistake. Don’t do this. Please don’t. It’s too late.” Harvey whispered. “It’s too late, Zoe.” The shot rang out deafeningly loud in the cramped ward. Zoe flinched, her eyes wide open.

Then she slowly looked down at the red stain spreading across her hospital gown on her chest, right in her heart. Fiona screamed loud, piercing. Her scream echoed down the hallway.

Zoe slowly leaned back against the pillows, her arms falling limply. Her breathing became ragged, wheezy. She looked at Harvey, and there was no hatred in her eyes, only sadness. Boundless sadness. I’m sorry,” she whispered, and those were her last words. Harvey stood holding the gun, looking at his wife, at the blood flowing from her wound, at her face, which was growing paler by the second, and something inside him broke completely, something that would never heal. He turned and left the room.

Fiona was still screaming, holding her daughter close. A red alarm light flashed in the hallway and a siren wailed. Nurses and doctors rushed to the room. Harvey walked past them like a ghost, not looking at anyone. Janice Coleman was the first to rush into the room. She saw Zoe on the bed, saw the blood, and her heart stopped. She rushed to the bed and began checking her pulse and breathing. “Rachel, call resuscitation immediately!” she shouted.

Rachel ran to the phone. Two more doctors rushed into the room and began trying to stop the bleeding and perform CPR, but the blood was flowing too fast. The bullet had hit her right in the heart. There was no chance. Zoe Pennington died at 8:23 p.m. on November 23rd, 2024. She was 27 years old. Harvey was already getting into his car in the hospital parking lot.

His hands were shaking as he put the key in the ignition. The gun was on the passenger seat. He started the car and drove across town to Blake Dalton’s house. The drive took 20 minutes. Harvey drove slowly, carefully, obeying all the rules. It was strange to think about traffic rules after what he had just done after killing his wife.

But his brain was working strangely, automatically, as if it wasn’t him behind the wheel, but someone else. He parked near Blake’s house. The lights were on in the windows. Blake was home. Harvey took the gun and got out of the car. He walked up to the porch. He climbed the steps. He knocked on the door.

A few seconds later, the door opened. Blake stood in the doorway wearing slippers and an old t-shirt. When he saw Harvey, his face turned pale. “Harvey,” he began, taking a step back. “Listen, I you knew,” Harvey said quietly. his voice devoid of emotion, only emptiness. You knew I was infertile. All the neighbors knew. My mother told everyone when I started drinking. And you slept with my wife anyway. You knew she would get pregnant.

You knew it would destroy me. I didn’t know. Blake raised his hands. I swear I didn’t think it would turn out this way. It just happened. We were both lonely. We Shut up. Harvey interrupted. Just shut up. He raised the gun and fired once in the chest. Blake staggered, grabbed the door frame, then slowly sank to the floor. His eyes were wide open, filled with shock and incomprehension. I know everything,” Harvey said, looking at the dying man.

“And now you’ve paid for what you did.” He turned and walked back to his car. Blake Dalton died on his doorstep 2 minutes later. He was 34 years old. Harvey got into his car and drove away. He didn’t know where. Harvey arrived at his parents’ house around midnight. He parked by the porch but didn’t get out of the car. He just sat there and looked at the lit windows.

His mother was awake. She never slept when she was worried about her son. Harvey knew that if he went in now, she would rush to him, hug him, cry, and he couldn’t bear that. Not now. Harvey put the gun on the seat and leaned back. He closed his eyes. And for the first time in 4 years, he didn’t want to drink. Alcohol no longer helped. Nothing helped. Nothing could drown out the pain that was tearing him apart inside. He woke up to a knock on the window.

It was morning. It was light out. Two police officers were standing next to the car. Harvey slowly rolled down the window. Are you Harvey Pennington? One of them asked. Yes. Get out of the car slowly. Keep your hands where we can see them. Harvey got out.

The police officers saw the gun on the seat and the blood on his hands. One of them grabbed his arms, twisted them behind his back, and handcuffed him. The cold steel dug into his wrists. Harvey didn’t resist. Harvey Pennington, you are under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Zoe Pennington and Blake Dalton.

You have the right to remain silent. Harvey wasn’t listening. They took him to the police car and put him in the back seat. The trial took place 6 months later. Harvey pleaded guilty. There was no point in denying it. Too many witnesses, too much evidence. Fiona Wilmington testified crying. The nurses testified. Blake’s neighbors testified. It all came together in one terrible picture.

A picture of a man driven mad by his wife’s betrayal. The jury reached a verdict quickly. Guilty on two counts of first-degree murder, life imprisonment without the possibility of parole. Clara and Jack Pennington sat in the courtroom. They had aged over the past 6 months. Clara had lost weight. Her hair had turned completely gray. Jack slumped as if the weight of everything that had happened was pressing down on his shoulders.

When the judge read out the sentence, Clara covered her face with her hands and burst into tears. Jack hugged her and tears ran down his cheeks, too. They had lost their daughter-in-law. They had lost their son, not physically, but they had lost the person he used to be. Harvey, who was leaving the courtroom in handcuffs, was a stranger. There was nothing in his eyes.

No remorse, no grief, no hope, only emptiness. On the other side of town, in a baby shelter, a boy with no name was growing up. More precisely, he had the name given to him at the hospital, just a name written in the documents. No one came to take him away. Clara and Jack couldn’t.

Every time they looked at the child’s fair skin, they saw the destruction of their family. Blake had no relatives. He was alone. Zoe had no relatives either. Her mother had died long ago, and she didn’t know her father. Social services looked for a foster family. They searched for a long time, but it was difficult to find a family for a fairkinned child with such a history.

Too much baggage, too much pain. The boy remained in the orphanage. He grew up without knowing who his parents were, without knowing what tragedy had brought him into this world, without knowing that his birth was the beginning of the end for three people. His mother, his biological father, and the man who was supposed to be his father.