Blair Bathory

She watched the screen obsessively. Junebug's crib bathed in the soft gray light of the camera. The baby barely moved at first, only a twitch here and there. But as the hours dragged past midnight, the movements changed. Junebug didn't stir like a newborn. Her limbs twitched too sharply. Her spine arched. Her tiny fists curled and clawed against the mattress. Mara leaned in, her breath catching.

On the monitor screen, the baby twisted unnaturally, her head jerking once, twice, almost like she was listening for something. Her husband sleepily called for her to come to bed, but when Mara tried to show him, Junebug lay still, serene, angelic. You need to rest, he said, pulling her back to bed. Days blurred into nights. Mara fed, rocked, and changed Junebug.

On the monitor screen, the baby twisted unnaturally, her head jerking once, twice, almost like she was listening for something. Her husband sleepily called for her to come to bed, but when Mara tried to show him, Junebug lay still, serene, angelic. You need to rest, he said, pulling her back to bed. Days blurred into nights. Mara fed, rocked, and changed Junebug.

On the monitor screen, the baby twisted unnaturally, her head jerking once, twice, almost like she was listening for something. Her husband sleepily called for her to come to bed, but when Mara tried to show him, Junebug lay still, serene, angelic. You need to rest, he said, pulling her back to bed. Days blurred into nights. Mara fed, rocked, and changed Junebug.

But the feeling grew, that deep, primal wrongness. Her mother came to visit once and offered an awkward, brittle hug. You're just overwhelmed, sweetheart, she said. Everything feels strange at first. But when Mara handed Junebug over, her mother flinched, a small, involuntary shudder she tried to hide. Mara noticed. She noticed everything now. By the third week, Mara couldn't sleep at all.

But the feeling grew, that deep, primal wrongness. Her mother came to visit once and offered an awkward, brittle hug. You're just overwhelmed, sweetheart, she said. Everything feels strange at first. But when Mara handed Junebug over, her mother flinched, a small, involuntary shudder she tried to hide. Mara noticed. She noticed everything now. By the third week, Mara couldn't sleep at all.

But the feeling grew, that deep, primal wrongness. Her mother came to visit once and offered an awkward, brittle hug. You're just overwhelmed, sweetheart, she said. Everything feels strange at first. But when Mara handed Junebug over, her mother flinched, a small, involuntary shudder she tried to hide. Mara noticed. She noticed everything now. By the third week, Mara couldn't sleep at all.

The house, once warm and comforting, felt too quiet, too expectant, like it was holding its breath. She started hearing it at night, the soft, wet slapping sounds on the floorboards. Tiny hands, tiny knees sliding across the wood. But Junebug wasn't crawling yet. She shouldn't even be rolling. Mara clutched her husband's arm one night, shaking him awake. Listen, she hissed.

The house, once warm and comforting, felt too quiet, too expectant, like it was holding its breath. She started hearing it at night, the soft, wet slapping sounds on the floorboards. Tiny hands, tiny knees sliding across the wood. But Junebug wasn't crawling yet. She shouldn't even be rolling. Mara clutched her husband's arm one night, shaking him awake. Listen, she hissed.

The house, once warm and comforting, felt too quiet, too expectant, like it was holding its breath. She started hearing it at night, the soft, wet slapping sounds on the floorboards. Tiny hands, tiny knees sliding across the wood. But Junebug wasn't crawling yet. She shouldn't even be rolling. Mara clutched her husband's arm one night, shaking him awake. Listen, she hissed.

They both strained to hear, but only the hum of the heater answered back. Mara, he said, more gently this time. She's asleep. Look. On the monitor, Junebug lay limp and still. Mara almost believed it. Almost. She began keeping the baby close during the day, watching for proof she wasn't losing her mind. Junebug stared up at her, wide-eyed and unblinking, lips working as if tasting the air.

They both strained to hear, but only the hum of the heater answered back. Mara, he said, more gently this time. She's asleep. Look. On the monitor, Junebug lay limp and still. Mara almost believed it. Almost. She began keeping the baby close during the day, watching for proof she wasn't losing her mind. Junebug stared up at her, wide-eyed and unblinking, lips working as if tasting the air.

They both strained to hear, but only the hum of the heater answered back. Mara, he said, more gently this time. She's asleep. Look. On the monitor, Junebug lay limp and still. Mara almost believed it. Almost. She began keeping the baby close during the day, watching for proof she wasn't losing her mind. Junebug stared up at her, wide-eyed and unblinking, lips working as if tasting the air.

She rarely cried, not real cries, not familiar newborn squalls Mara had prepared for. Instead, the sounds almost like a whisper speaking in tongues or some foreign language. The cries she made were low, guttural whimpers that grated at Mara's nerves.

She rarely cried, not real cries, not familiar newborn squalls Mara had prepared for. Instead, the sounds almost like a whisper speaking in tongues or some foreign language. The cries she made were low, guttural whimpers that grated at Mara's nerves.

She rarely cried, not real cries, not familiar newborn squalls Mara had prepared for. Instead, the sounds almost like a whisper speaking in tongues or some foreign language. The cries she made were low, guttural whimpers that grated at Mara's nerves.

One afternoon, Mara dug out an old recording from her phone, a video she had made two weeks before the birth, humming a lullaby she sung to Junebug every night in the womb. Heart thudding, she played it aloud. Junebug's face twisted instantly, not in recognition, but in rage. She wailed a thin, mean shriek that didn't sound like her daughter at all. Mara dropped the phone.

One afternoon, Mara dug out an old recording from her phone, a video she had made two weeks before the birth, humming a lullaby she sung to Junebug every night in the womb. Heart thudding, she played it aloud. Junebug's face twisted instantly, not in recognition, but in rage. She wailed a thin, mean shriek that didn't sound like her daughter at all. Mara dropped the phone.

One afternoon, Mara dug out an old recording from her phone, a video she had made two weeks before the birth, humming a lullaby she sung to Junebug every night in the womb. Heart thudding, she played it aloud. Junebug's face twisted instantly, not in recognition, but in rage. She wailed a thin, mean shriek that didn't sound like her daughter at all. Mara dropped the phone.

Desperation gnawed at her. She called the pediatrician. She's not responding normally, Mara said. There's something wrong with her eyes. She doesn't smile. She doesn't cry right. The doctor listened kindly but dismissed her fears, telling her maternal intuition is powerful. But sometimes, after a traumatic delivery, it turns on you. She's hypervigilant. But the baby is fine, Mara nodded.