Prototype
Her

Michelle played on the swing set for the third hour straight while Richie was kicking a ball against the wall and it bounced back to him. Michelle giggled when the swing would go high, and then would drag her feet along the ground to slow her down. Samantha tried to push her a few times, but Michelle asked her mother to let her do it on her own.

Samantha closed her eyes for only a moment, taking in a breath of the cool air, from her seat on the bench where she could easily watch both of her children. Autumn was the time the baby was conceived… the baby she never got to hold in her arms. The baby would have been three this year…

Her thoughts were interrupted by the honk of a horn. Both children stopped their playing and started to run toward their father’s black car yelling in unison, “Dad!”

Thomas got out of the car and hugged both of his children before walking slowly toward the park bench where his soon-to-be-ex wife was sitting.

“Let Daddy talk to Mommy, ok?” Thomas asked the children, which they promptly returned to playing and left their parents to sit next to each other.

“Were they good for you this weekend?” he asked.

“They missed you,” Samantha said flatly.

“They still don’t understand loss, and depression. They think it’s something they did that’s made you so sad,” Thomas told her honestly.

Samantha sighed deeply, “I want to be there like I used to be, Thomas, I really do. I just can’t move forward.”

Thomas put his hand on her knee, “I know Sam, and I remind them every day you’re just sad – that you still love them.”

“One day, we’ll be able to move on,” Thomas told her. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Did the baby ever matter to you?” Samantha asked, looking at him.

“Of course the baby did,” Thomas said softly.

She waited for an excuse, or a reason to not grieve, but Thomas didn’t offer one. He just looked at her. Their separation was necessary, but both really wanted to find a way to reconcile.

Samantha felt defeated. She hung her head to her knees and buried her fingers in her hair. Tears overtook her strength and conviction to speak and she cried softly on the park bench.

She was too busy crying to notice as Thomas encouraged the children to return home with him.

“Bye Mommy!” Richie called to her.

“See you next weekend!” Michelle said.

Night fell before her tears stopped and she was able to look up again. She couldn’t just sit here and cry any longer. Three years, and she received no answers to her burning question; not knowing the answer was destroying her, keeping her from sleeping at night, and forced her to quit her job with Dr. Granat’s company.

She would prove Dr. Granat stole her baby one way or another, but giving up was something she wasn’t going to do. She already lost her marriage and her children, her sanity would belong to her till the day she died. If she couldn’t find the proof she needed, then she’d find someone else to help her.

* * *

Samantha returned to her apartment and lit the single lamp in the living room. She took a seat across from the TV and pulled her legs up onto the couch and started to cry. She didn’t know what to expect exactly.

Her phone ringing stopped her from her crying spell. Quickly, wiping her tears from her face, she answered the phone.

“Samantha Parkhurst,” the voice on the other end of the line said when she answered it.

“Who is this?” she asked, already recognizing the voice.

“Dr. Granat,” he responded calmly. “Even though you are no longer an employee of mine, I still require a service from you; we need to talk in private. When would be the best time?”

“I’m not meeting with you,” Samantha insisted. “Over the phone is as good as you’re going to get unless you feel like meeting at the police station and turning yourself in for stealing my baby.”

“We both know that is not going to happen,” Granat said. “But meeting with you at my office would be appreciated. I know of a young individual who you would do well to meet. Perhaps some questions you have would find their answers?”

“You bastard,” Samantha breathed into the phone. She wished she planned ahead and decided to record this phone conversation, but recording now was out of the question. “You stole my baby and grew it?”

“Her, Samantha,” he said, “You know where to find me when you change your mind about meeting me.”

Then he hung up.

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