Page 9 of The Edge Of Us

The door creaked open, and a rush of familiar voices filled the room. My mother was the first to step inside, her eyes red-rimmed but alight with joy. My father followed closely behind her, his usual stoic expression softened by emotion. And then there was my stepbrother, Noah. Just a year older than me but always acting like he had decades of wisdom on me.

"Mom," I breathed, my voice trembling.

"Oh, my sweet girl," she whispered, rushing to my side and carefully sitting on the bed beside me. She brushed a few damp strands of hair from my forehead and pressed a lingering kiss there. "We came as soon as we could."

Noah chuckled as he leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. "And by 'as soon as we could,' she means she forced Dad to book the next available flight and nearly broke the airport speed limit getting here."

My father gave a resigned sigh but smiled nonetheless. "She wasn't going to take no for an answer."

I laughed softly, though it felt distant, like I was watching myself from outside my own body. "I'm glad you're here."

My mother turned her gaze to the sleeping baby in my arms, her hand hovering just above his head as if she were afraid touching him would break the spell of the moment. "He's so beautiful, Corine."

"He looks like Allen," I murmured, shifting so she could see him better. "But he has my nose."

Noah took a cautious step closer, peering at Kyle with the kind of curiosity that only someone who had never been around babies before could have. "He's... really small."

"That's how newborns work, genius," I teased, rolling my eyes.

Allen, who had been standing by the window, finally spoke. "Thank you all for coming. I know it was last minute."

My mother turned her gaze to him, her expression warm. "She's our daughter. There was never a question of whether we'd be here."

For the rest of the day, we talked, we laughed, we reminisced. It felt normal. Almost too normal.

Then night fell.

Something shifted in me. I didn't notice it at first, but I could feel the unease creeping in like shadows stretching across the walls.

Kyle's cries pierced through the dimly lit hospital room. I jolted awake, my heart hammering against my ribs. My body felt heavy, sluggish, like I was moving through thick water. Allen was at the bassinet, murmuring something soothing as he tried to rock our son back to sleep.

But the sound-it was unbearable.

I whimpered, curling into myself. "Make it stop," I whispered.

Allen turned to me, his brows knitting together. "Corine, sweetheart, it's okay. He's just hungry."

I shook my head frantically. "No, no, no. He won't stop. He hates me."

Allen's expression darkened with concern as he made his way to the bed. "That's not true. He loves you. He needs you."

But I couldn't hear him over the sound of Kyle's cries. They weren't just cries-they were accusations, screams, something unnatural. My breathing quickened, my vision tunneling. The walls of the hospital seemed to close in, suffocating me.

"I can't do this," I choked out, my hands gripping the sheets. "This isn't my baby. He's not mine."

Allen's hand found mine, squeezing gently. "Corine, listen to me. You're just exhausted. Your mind is playing tricks on you."

Tears burned hot against my cheeks. "No, no! He doesn't belong to me. I don't know him!"

Then, the crying stopped.

Silence.

It was more terrifying than the sound.

I sat up abruptly, my hands searching the bed, my heart slamming against my ribs. "Where is he?"

Allen hesitated. "He's right here-"

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