I was seven months pregnant when I attended a family gathering at my husband’s mother’s house.
I was exhausted—physically and emotionally—but everyone expected me to smile, accept attention, and play the role of the glowing mother-to-be. Relatives surrounded me, touching my belly, asking questions, celebrating the baby.
Everyone—except Lily.
My six-year-old niece sat quietly in the corner, watching me in a way that felt… different. She didn’t come near me, didn’t smile, didn’t speak much. When I invited her to feel the baby kick, she refused quickly, her voice uneasy.
Something about her reaction stayed with me.
Later, when everyone went outside for cake, I remained inside for a moment. That’s when Lily approached me. Without saying a word, she climbed onto the couch and pressed her ear against my stomach.
At first, I thought she was just listening for movement.
Then she suddenly pulled back, her face pale with fear.
“Auntie…” she whispered, her lips shaking, “someone else is talking to the baby in there.”
I tried to dismiss it—imagining she meant a heartbeat or something innocent—but then she grabbed my wrist tightly and added something that made my blood run cold.
