Dead? At the end of my shift, both mom and baby were doing great. That had only been 12 hours ago. My training had prepared me for this, but what had once been a yearly occurrence shifted to weekly in the past year. By now there should have been some data to suggest a correlation with this massive increase in infant mortality. There should have—

A strong kick interrupted my thoughts. In three months I could be another statistic. I forced the thought out of my head and continued my work. I had waited so long to get to this point. I couldn’t allow myself to give space to the what ifs.

“Good morning, Dr. Lee,” Maria greeted me with a faint smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Her smiles were often shallow, with the stench of grief suppressed just below. But I saw it. Everytime. We had become fast friends in medical school. As two of the only women in our cohort, we found refuge in eachother.

I never knew what to say to her anymore. Knowing this growing stomach was a reminder to her of great loss. Only three months ago, just after the announcement of my own pregnancy, Maria birthed a beautiful baby girl. Charlie lived twelve hours before suddenly, unexplained death. Like so many of our patients, she was healthy and thriving, until she wasn’t.

I nodded over my shoulder in greeting, adding “Good morning, Dr. Nelson.” I hoped she couldn’t see the pity in my eyes. She hesitated as she stepped past me. Battling a decision to speak or end the small talk where it stood. My throat swelled as I contemplated what she might be thinking.

“What are you doing tonight?” she asked in a hushed voice. The sudden change in volume setting off my internal alarm.

Turning to her, I whispered, “Nothing. Why?”

“Come over to my place after work. Mac is out of town, and” she looked around to assess for any eavesdroppers nearby. “I need to talk,” she continued in a shaky breath that barely met my ears.

Oh god, don’t do this to me. Don’t make me sweat all shift anticipating. “Are you ok?” I queried.

She shook her head quickly. “Just come over and we can talk,” her voice coming out in the same shaky breath as before.

I nodded in agreement. The rest of my shift went by in a blur. I relied on muscle memory as I panicked silently about what she might need to discuss.

I knocked on the elegant double doors of Maria’s beautiful brick home. What had once been a meticulously manicured yard worthy of Better Homes & Gardens was now overgrown and wilting. I could hear her sniffle as she opened the door, tears glistening down her red cheeks.

She pulled me in and hurried me to her formal dining room, dust and clutter abundant. “What-“

“Listen. What I’m about to say sounds crazy. I know it sounds crazy, but you have to listen.” She looked different. At the clinic, she appeared tired and defeated. Now, her eyes sparkled with tears and something else; something dangerous. Sensing my fear she added, “Mac won’t listen and you’re the only person I can trust.” Desperation rang through her words.

“Maria, you’ve been through so much. You’re not crazy, you’re grieving,” I chocked on the word as tears well up in my own eyes and gently touched her hand. She drew back.

“Not you too! Just listen!” she pleaded.

“I’m here, and I’m listening,” I spoke in a calm, low tone.

“I know you’ve noticed! I’ve been collecting my own data,” she shuffled through spreadsheets I hadn’t noticed were there before continuing, “Look!” she demanded.

My hands trembled as they accepted the papers she shoved into them. It was worse than I thought. One in four of babies born were dying within six months. She shoved another file in front of me. I ruffled through them to find a shocking rise in infants taken by child protective services. Waves of shock and anxiety pulsed through my body. I had no words as shock and anxiety pulsed through me.

“They’re taking the babies” her voice pierced through me. She sounded insane. But the data was here, in my hands. This was unprecedented, but that didn’t mean babies were being stolen. Something strange was happening, but this— these were the ramblings of an unwell individual.

“Maria,” I paused to adjust to the unsettling fear that snaked through my body, “you know as well as anyone what postpartum depression can do—“ she cut me off.

“No, you’re not listening!” She was yelling now. Erratically rifling through the overwhelming clutter once more until she found it. “It’s all here! Just look!” desperation now soiled her once quiet voice.

My eyes dashed quickly between the montage of pictures in front of me and her. I didn’t feel safe here. Had she lost her mind? Did she have a weapon? Was she going to hurt me if I didn’t pretend to agree with her. “They’re taking the babies!” she barked once more.

“Who?” I blurted.

“The government! Who else?” she yelled back. The tears in her eyes stung the papers closest to her as they raced down her face. “Look,” she croaked, no longer yelling. I did as she said.

My eyes were filled with images of babies. Rows and rows of infants. Where caregivers or nurses should have been, armed guards stood in their place. Whatever this place was, it was locked down. There were reinforcements on every door along with retinal scanners. My heart sunk as I recognized the needle in the haystack. It couldn’t be— but it was: Charlie. “Where did you get these?” I muttered, fighting through the sting in my throat.

“I can’t tell you” she sniffed and added “but do you believe me?”

I sobbed. It was all I could do as I embraced her. My limbs were numb as my body shook with fear and sadness. I couldn’t speak but she understood my unspoken answer.

An hour later, when we found our words once more, Maria shared what she could. It wasn’t much, but I agreed to meet with her group of informants. Maria said I could help from within the clinic, but couldn’t tell me how. It didn’t matter. I had to do this, and we had to be quick before my own baby endured the same fate as Charlie.

My body was heavy with dread as I dragged through the threshold to my own home. I had called Daniel on the drive home with a lie. I couldn’t lie to his face. I explained that I was overcome with emotion at the sight of Charlie’s unused nursery. He believed me. Of course he did. I had never lied to Daniel. I couldn’t tell him the truth. There was too much at stake. I had to presume normal life, as if I hadn’t seen that picture. That sweet baby Charlie in the sea of imprisoned infants.