My husband lifted the blanket, thinking I was faking it, but he saw my bru!sed legs and heard my plea: “Don’t let them take my baby away”

I forced myself to breathe through the burning pain spreading across my lower back.

My baby moved beneath my palm.

Strong.

Warm.

Alive.

Mine.

Caleb cleared his throat and adjusted his silk tie.

“The documents have already been executed, Ryan. We only need verbal confirmation from you as her spouse. You must formally approve the temporary transfer of medical and physical custody to Mrs. Whitmore until Claire is declared mentally competent by an independent board.”

Ryan didn’t look at him.

He looked at me.

Then at my bruises.

Finally, his eyes moved toward Caleb’s open folder.

“She signed those?” Ryan asked quietly.

“Of course,” Margaret replied instantly.

Her smile never changed.

“She experienced a brief moment of clarity and accepted that she isn’t well.”

“No,” I whispered.

My voice shook, but it carried through the room.

“They held me down. They forced my hand onto those papers.”

Margaret sighed dramatically.

“There it is,” she said. “Classic paranoia. Exactly as expected.”

Dr. Lawson stepped closer.

“Ryan, your wife has demonstrated increasingly concerning symptoms of prenatal psychological distress and delusional thinking. For the infant’s physical safety, immediate separation following delivery is medically recommended.”

I stared directly into his eyes.

I didn’t see a doctor.