I sat on the edge of the bed, heart thumping, as I tucked the note inside the lid of the box. The scent of wrapping paper and baby powder lingered in the air—a cruel but hopeful touch. My hands shook, but I smiled, imagining her surprise come morning.
"Happy Mother's Day," I whispered to the stillness, hoping it would finally be true, if only for a day.
She reads the note with trembling fingers, a soft gasp escaping as the meaning sinks in. Her eyes glisten, and she clutches the infant onesie to her chest.
"You did all this for me?"
I nod, watching her wonder bloom into cautious joy. The vial sits between us, a sliver of possibility, its label unread.
I feel the world tilt as the potion’s magic creeps through me—limbs shrinking, vision narrowing, the couch looming larger. She kneels beside me, laughter and tears mingling as she lifts me, a baby now, into her arms.
"Oh my God… it worked. It actually worked," she whispers, rocking me gently.
He, her boyfriend, steps forward, capturing the surreal moment as she cradles me. She glances up, an unspoken understanding passing between them, a secret layered atop another.
"Smile for the camera—this will be one for the ages," he says, and she laughs, the sound both jubilant and bittersweet.
I, now incapable of reading, reach instinctively for comfort as she lifts her shirt, her hands trembling with anticipation and awe. A sensation of warmth, safety, and utter belonging washes over me as I nurse, unaware of the warning left unread. The world feels suspended, as if time itself holds its breath.
A strange heaviness overtakes me, and the memory of who I was slips away like a dream at dawn. She sits beside the cradle, a look of wonder and sorrow mingling on her face, while he stands behind her, hand on her shoulder.
"Happy Mother's Day, love. We'll start again together," she whispers, as the clock strikes twelve and the cycle resets—a mother’s wish, a husband’s gift, and a secret pact sealed by magic and milk.
