Chapter 2

The community baby shower was held in the local church hall, a bright, airy space filled with pastel balloons and well-wishing neighbors.

Tables overflowed with tiny clothes, stuffed animals, and an enormous diaper cake.

Mark was beaming, accepting congratulations, his arm protectively around my shoulders.

I tried to relax, to soak in the love and support. But a knot of anxiety tightened in my chest every time Chloe came near.

I saw him then, Uncle Ray, Brenda' s brother. He was lurking near the refreshment table, looking out of place in his faded denim jacket. He had a shifty, uneasy look about him.

I watched as he sidled up to Chloe, who was pretending to admire a pile of knitted booties. He leaned down, whispered something, and I saw him slip a small, unmarked vial into her hand.

Chloe' s fingers closed around it, and she gave him a quick, conspiratorial nod before skipping away.

My blood ran cold.

Later, Chloe approached me, her face a mask of angelic sweetness. She held out a steaming mug.

"Mommy Sarah, I made you some special herbal pregnancy tea. My mom, Brenda, used to drink it all the time when she was expecting me. She said it was really good for babies."

Her projected thought hit me like a physical blow: "This will make sure those little parasites never see the light of day."

My hand jerked reflexively. The mug flew from her grasp, hot tea splashing across the pristine white tablecloth and my dress.

"Oh!" I cried, feigning a sudden dizzy spell. "I' m so sorry, Chloe! It... it just smelled so funny, all of a sudden. I feel a bit faint."

A few women rushed forward. Mrs. Henderson, a retired nurse and a pillar of the church community, was among them.

"Are you alright, dear?" she asked, her expression concerned. She picked up the spilled mug, sniffing the dregs of the tea. "Hmm, smells a bit like chamomile and... something else I can' t quite place. Nothing obviously wrong with it."

The substance, I knew, wouldn't be obvious. It would be slow-acting, subtle, designed to cause problems that could be dismissed as pregnancy complications.

Chloe burst into theatrical tears. "I just wanted to do something nice for Mommy Sarah!"

Her projected thoughts were a storm of feigned hurt and confusion, aimed directly at Mark. "She hates me. She thinks I' m trying to hurt her."

Mark rushed to my side, his face a mixture of concern for me and growing embarrassment.

"Sarah, what' s going on?" he hissed, his voice low. "You' re making a scene. Mrs. Henderson said the tea is fine. Are you feeling alright?"

He looked at Chloe, whose tears were now flowing freely. "Honey, don' t cry. Mommy Sarah is just... not feeling herself."

But his eyes, when they met mine, were filled with a new doubt, a flicker of anger.

"You' re being paranoid," he mouthed, his lips tight.

I looked from Mark' s frustrated face to Chloe' s carefully crafted victimhood, to Uncle Ray who was now conveniently absent from the refreshment table.

I realized with a sickening lurch what they were doing.

They weren' t just trying to harm the babies. They were trying to make me look unstable, crazy.

And it was working.