The Child Between Worlds

After stocking the house for the winter holidays and waiting for my wife to come home, I found an anonymous advice post online. "My lover died suddenly of an illness and left behind a baby boy. My husband is infertile. How can I convince him to raise the child willingly?" Someone in the comments offered a vicious solution. "Easy. Tell your husband you found an abandoned baby beside the road. Say the child feels destined for both of you and awaken his desire to become a father. "Once he believes the baby was sent to him, your desperate husband will treasure your secret child." The calculation behind it was breathtaking. Just as I was marveling at how impossible it is to read a woman's heart, my wife came through the door carrying a bundled infant. "Aaron, look at him. I just found this baby in the alley behind the campus. Somebody left him out there in the middle of winter. "Fortunately, he smiled the moment I held him. I think he was sent to us for a reason. We should begin the adoption process tomorrow." Chapter 1 My body went rigid. Was it a coincidence? I stared at Vivian. During our five years of marriage, she had always been a composed, reserved university professor. She never talked this much, and she certainly never wore such an eager, almost fawning expression. Her explanation matched the advice in the post almost word for word. The blood rushed to my head. My voice shook when I finally spoke. "Vivian, if you found him abandoned, shouldn't we call the police and child protective services first?" Vivian looked down and teased the baby in her arms. When she raised her head, her eyes were damp. "I already reported it. The police said finding his parents would probably be difficult. When I held him, he suddenly smiled at me. "In that moment, I thought maybe he was a gift sent to us because we have been alone for so long." Her voice was gentle and emotional. The tenderness in her expression left me cold to the fingertips. Years earlier, an injury had left me permanently infertile. When guilt drove me to suggest divorce, Vivian became furious. She insisted she didn't even like children and wanted the two of us to remain child-free forever. For five years, she kept that promise and never placed any pressure on me. She even defended me whenever our relatives demanded grandchildren. I had never doubted Vivian's love, which was why I still didn't want to believe she had betrayed me. After two seconds of silence, I stepped closer and examined the child. "He looks barely a month old. Are you certain you found him?" Vivian's gaze didn't waver. "Absolutely. Aaron, look how calm he is. He hasn't cried once. Can we keep him and apply to adopt him?" My heart sank. Had Vivian written that post? Cold spread through me, but I pretended to hesitate. "You always said you hated noisy children. You wanted our life to be just the two of us." Vivian smiled softly. "People change. "I had never met a child who felt meant for me. The moment I saw him, my heart melted. "Don't you feel a connection too? Even his eyes look like mine." Vivian was obviously trying hard to persuade me. But when she lowered her head and kissed the baby's forehead, the fierce love in her eyes was unmistakably that of a mother. None of it was false. I understood then. Vivian mistook my silence for uncertainty and hurried to continue. "I know this is sudden, but think about it. We have always wanted a child. "It's difficult to adopt when you know nothing about a child's background, but an abandoned newborn is a blank page. If we raise him from infancy, what difference would there be from our own child?" What difference would there be from her own child? For Vivian, none at all. Because this baby was hers. I suppressed the urge to throw the phone in her face and forced a stiff smile. "It's your call. If you feel that connected to him, then we'll raise him." Vivian brightened and wrapped one arm around me. "Aaron, you're wonderful. I promise I'll love you even more. The three of us will build a happy life together." Her embrace was warm, but a chill moved through my chest. "I'll go make him a bottle. I picked some formula up at the store downstairs." She handed me the baby and went into the kitchen. I looked down at the infant in my arms. He was beautiful, and the shape of his eyes faintly resembled Vivian's. With a bitter laugh, I loosened the blanket. The baby kicked his legs. A vivid red birthmark appeared high on the inside of his thigh. I stopped breathing. I had an identical birthmark in the exact same place. What was happening? Chapter 2 That birthmark kept me awake all night. Vivian assumed I was too excited about the baby to sleep. She got up several times to check on me and tucked the blanket around my shoulders. The way she looked at me was complicated, filled with grief and fear. The next morning, the moment Vivian left for the university, I sprang out of bed. I rushed into the nursery. The baby was still asleep. With trembling hands, I pulled several strands of hair from his head and wrapped them in a tissue. When I finished, I looked up at our wedding portrait. Vivian looked elegant and intelligent in the photograph, her gaze full of devotion. Who could have imagined such calculation beneath that beautiful face? Vivian, if this truly was your secret child, I would make sure you answered for it. I delivered the samples to AlderGen Diagnostics and paid for expedited testing, but the earliest result would still come that afternoon. Back at home, I sat staring at Vivian's computer. She was careful. Her phone never left her side, and the computer required a password. But I knew the password to her private notes. It was our wedding anniversary and my birthday. I had never opened them before because I trusted her. Now that trust was like paper torn through the center. It couldn't be put back together. I took a deep breath and opened the notes. I expected intimate messages with another man or records of hidden payments. Instead, the screen displayed a series of strange numbers and dates. I frowned. Vivian taught theoretical physics. Were these research calculations? But the farther I scrolled, the colder I became. The newest entries had been written during the past few days. "He can't hold on much longer. His vital signs are collapsing." "The transfer must be completed before the designated moment. The child is the only key." "Aaron will accept this gift. As long as the child remains beside him, he will survive." My hands began shaking, and I nearly lost my grip on the mouse. Who was he? The lover who had supposedly died? Why did Vivian describe his death as a transfer? And what did she mean when she wrote that Aaron would accept the gift? What did she think I was? She had delivered another man's baby to me like a present and claimed it would keep me alive? The logic was so absurd that I almost laughed. I continued scrolling and found an address at the bottom of the file. [Hollow Creek Estates, House 16.] Beside it was another sentence: [The ending is also the beginning.] I stared at the address. Hollow Creek Estates was a failed luxury development on the western edge of Briarwood, Franklin, abandoned for years and rumored to be haunted. Why would Vivian go there? Had that man been hidden there? Or had the empty house been their private meeting place? I photographed the screen with my phone. Then I shut down the computer, cleared every trace, and restored the room exactly as I had found it. By the time I finished, cold sweat had soaked the back of my shirt. Vivian, what have you been hiding from me? Chapter 3 At three o'clock that afternoon, the paternity results arrived. [DNA analysis supports Aaron Scheffler as the child's biological father.] [Probability of paternity: 99.99 percent.] The laboratory had originally requested a sample from Vivian, but the birthmark had made me submit my own instead. The world tilted around me. I braced one hand against the wall to keep from collapsing. I was the baby's father? How was that possible? I had never touched another woman, and I was medically infertile. My hand moved instinctively toward my lower abdomen. Five years earlier, Vivian had been caught in a laboratory explosion. I dragged her from the fire, but a collapsing steel support crushed the lower half of my body. The surgeons saved my life, but they said the damage to my reproductive system was permanent. Vivian knelt beside my hospital bed and swore that only my survival mattered. Children meant nothing if she still had me. Then what did this paternity report mean? If I couldn't father a child, where had this baby come from? No. It was impossible. I slept beside Vivian every night. I would know if anything had happened. And I had never seen her pregnant, unless... I ran from the clinic and hailed a cab. "Take me to Hollow Creek Estates." The driver gave me a strange look. "That development's empty, buddy. Nobody lives out there." "Just drive. I'll pay double," I shouted. An hour later, the cab stopped outside the abandoned development. Following the address from the notes, I found House 16. Unlike the surrounding ruins, this house had sealed windows and a maintained entrance. I pushed the door open. A familiar trace of cologne drifted toward me. It was my favorite scent. When I saw the interior, my blood ran cold. The decorating style, furniture placement, and even the color of the throw pillows matched my current home. It was an exact copy. The only difference was the absence of ordinary life. The house was silent as a tomb. I walked toward the second-floor bedroom. My legs shook with every step. The bedroom door stood partly open. I pushed it inward. A framed memorial photograph rested on the cabinet directly across from me. So that was Vivian's lover. Anger surged through me, and I seized the frame. The man in the photograph wore a gentle smile, his eyes crinkled with happiness. That face... It was mine. The same features. The same expression. Even the tiny beauty mark beside his eye occupied the exact same place. I covered my mouth to keep from crying out. Trembling, I stepped closer to the photograph. Only then did I notice a slight difference. His hair was longer and fell carelessly across his forehead, giving him an artistic appearance. I had worn my hair cropped short since beginning my career and had never allowed it to grow that way. There was no incense or ceremonial display beneath the portrait, only a thick journal resting on the table. Two words had been written across the cover in firm handwriting. [Elias Rowan.] It was my handwriting. I was certain those letters had been formed by my own hand. But I had never heard that name. Why would I have written the name of Vivian's lover? Fear closed over me like deep water. Who was Elias Rowan? Why did he look exactly like me? Why was his handwriting identical to mine? Why had Vivian rebuilt our home in this abandoned house? With shaking hands, I opened the journal.