The mother peeled pages from the newspaper, crumpling them into a ball in her hand while the father went outside to collect kindling from their shack. When he returned, he lit a fire, and they impatiently watched as the orange-blue flames doubled and tripled in size. The mother plucked the creature from her baby’s stroller and held it with outstretched arms, as far from her person as possible, approaching the fire. She released the creature from her grip, dropping it in. Engulfed in flames, the changeling began to burn, screeching and crying. Sizzling, demonic smoke-shapes floated overhead as it crumbled to black ash. Then, from the ashes, their son appeared: naked, giggling, newly pure.

Chapter 55

I lay on my back with my sweater pulled up, exposing my swollen belly. Staring at the fluorescent lights in the ceiling, I examined the dots in the speckled white tiling as the technician smeared a clear, gooey substance on my stomach. I wondered what my baby thought of the world so far: whether they liked their home, whether they felt safe inside me. The coldness of the gel caused me to inhale sharply and recoil.

“Sorry,” the technician apologized. “I should have warned you.”

My head throbbed as if someone were consistently rapping on my forehead with their knuckles. I imagined my baby asking who was knocking.

“I’m sorry?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

“Oh.” Did I say something out loud? “Nothing.”

The smell of the gel was unbearable, sweet and sickly, like cherry Coca-Cola. I began to cough, covering my mouth with my sleeve.

I hadn’t told Jack about the appointment. He was at his studio, so it wasn’t hard to sneak away. I needed to be alone. Just me and my baby. I knew I would never be able to ask the questions I needed to ask in front of Jack. Better to ignore everything and pretend it’s okay, that was his method.

The screen to my left displayed a black-and-white alien. A little head, perfectly round in profile, the tip of a nose curved upward, just like mine. I could see my baby’s brain and skeleton; the sheer bones of its legs and toes. I stared at the image, grasping for emotion, but I couldn’t connect.

“There’s the baby,” the technician announced, smiling. “Do you want to know the sex?”

Jack didn’t want to know, but I already did.

Two days prior, in an attempt to walk off a panic attack, I was pacing the streets, staring at the sky, watching the clouds take shape. The outline of a teddy bear, fluffy and soft, comforting in its circular symmetry, swiftly began to stretch and narrow until, coiling, it transformed into a serpent. I lowered my gaze to the sidewalk once again, hurrying onward. My knees ached with each step forward, bearing the force of percussion between my feet and the concrete. Unaccustomed to the additional weight I now carried in my midsection, I was forced to walk in a new and foreign way, pulling my centre of gravity backward. My feet went forward first, my upper body followed. I was constantly afraid of toppling over like a bowling pin that had just been struck.