Chapter 1: The Bump in the Road

"Are you sure you're not too warm, sweetie?" Mom asked, placing a hand on Chloe's forehead. "You look a little flushed."

Chloe smiled, a soft, patient smile that Liam had seen more and more lately. "I'm fine, Mom. Really. Just hungry."

"Hungry!" Mom clapped her hands together. "That's good. What are you craving? I can make anything. Eggs? Oatmeal? Maybe some fruit with yogurt?"

Liam watched as his mother listed options, her voice bright and eager. Chloe laughed and said she'd like some toast with strawberry jam, and Mom nodded as if it were the most important request in the world. She moved to the counter, humming, and Liam felt a familiar pinch in his chest. Not jealousy, exactly. More like being invisible.

For the past few months, the house had revolved around Chloe. Her pregnancy had become the family's main event. Every conversation spiraled back to her appointments, her cravings, her tiredness. Even Dad, who was usually quiet, had taken to rubbing Chloe's shoulders and asking about her blood pressure. Liam had tried to be happy for her. He was happy. But sometimes, he wondered if anyone remembered he existed.

He took a bite of his toast, but it tasted like cardboard. Chloe's toast arrived, and it looked perfect—golden, glistening with jam. She took a bite and sighed contentedly. "This is exactly what I needed."

"I'm glad," Mom said, sitting down next to her. "You need to take care of yourself. Growing a baby is hard work."

Liam looked at his own plate. His toast was slightly burnt. He had made it himself. No one had offered to make him anything special. He felt a sudden, childish urge to complain, but he swallowed it. Instead, he finished his breakfast in silence, listening to Mom and Chloe discuss baby names.

That evening, Liam was in his room, lying on his bed. The window was open, letting in a cool breeze that smelled like cut grass and honeysuckle. He could hear Chloe downstairs, laughing at something on TV. Mom and Dad were in the living room with her, their voices a gentle murmur. Liam felt a wave of loneliness. He wanted to be part of that warmth, but he also didn't want to sit and listen to more baby talk.

He glanced at his reflection in the window. He was just a teenager. A boy. What did he know about growing a baby? But the thought lingered. What did it feel like? To have something alive inside you? To be so important that everyone fussed over you? He didn't really want to be pregnant. That was ridiculous. But he wanted to understand why Chloe seemed so... special.

He sighed and turned off his lamp. The room darkened, except for the silver glow of the moon. He stared at the ceiling, listening to the distant sounds of his family. "I wish I could know what it's like," he muttered, barely above a whisper. "Just once." He didn't mean it as a real wish. It was just a tired thought, released into the quiet air. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

The next morning, Liam woke with a lurch. A wave of heat washed over him, followed by a deep, rolling queasiness. His stomach twisted, and he felt a familiar warning in his throat. He scrambled out of bed, his feet tangling in the sheets, and made it to the bathroom just in time.

He knelt on the cold tile, catching his breath. What was that? He never got sick. Not like that. He waited, but the nausea faded slowly, leaving him shaky and pale. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. His face was washed out, with dark circles under his eyes. He felt worn out, as if he hadn't slept at all.

He splashed water on his face and brushed his teeth, but the taste in his mouth remained, metallic and sour. He decided he must have eaten something bad. He'd be fine.

But he wasn't fine. At breakfast, the smell of eggs made his stomach turn again. He pushed his plate away, unable to eat. Mom noticed immediately.

"Liam, you're not eating. Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," he said, but his voice came out weak.

Chloe looked at him, concern in her eyes. "You look pale."

"Just tired," he said. He didn't want to explain. He didn't know how.

Over the next few days, things got worse. He woke up nauseous every morning. Bright lights made him dizzy. Certain foods, like coffee and fried chicken, made him gag. He was constantly tired, even after a full night's sleep. He found himself craving pickles and ice cream, which was so weird he laughed about it, but the laugh was hollow.

He tried to hide it, but his family noticed. Mom asked him every day if he was sick. Dad gave him a long, quiet look, his brow furrowed. Chloe kept offering him blankets and tea, the same things she was always offered.

One afternoon, Liam was sitting on the couch, exhausted, when Chloe sat down beside him. "You've been off lately," she said softly. "Is everything okay?"

Liam wanted to tell her. He wanted to say, "I made a wish, and now I feel like you look all the time." But it sounded insane. "I'm just tired," he said again.

Chloe nodded, but she didn't look convinced. She put a hand on his shoulder. "If you need to talk, I'm here."

He looked at her hand. Her fingers were warm. He felt a strange pang of something—maybe jealousy, maybe connection. He didn't know. "Thanks," he mumbled.

That night, Liam stood in front of his mirror. He had been avoiding it for days, but now he looked. He lifted his shirt. His stomach, which had always been flat, looked slightly rounded. Not much, but enough to be noticeable. He pressed a hand against it, and it felt firm.

His heart pounded. This wasn't normal. This wasn't a bug or bad food. This was exactly what Chloe had described: the bloating, the tenderness, the constant hunger and nausea.

He remembered his wish. He remembered the moonlight and his tired voice.

"Oh no," he whispered. "What have I done?"