The Pregnancy She Invented

My stepmother spent six months pretending to be pregnant, and my father nearly destroyed our family to protect a baby that never existed.

The day my younger brother pulled a fake pregnancy belly out of her purse, I was on my knees scrubbing the kitchen floor while she sat on our couch eating barbecue chips.

“Careful around the cabinets, Ariana,” Vanessa called, shaking crumbs from her fingers onto the cushions.

“I don't want to smell bleach all afternoon. It makes me nauseous.””

I stopped scrubbing.

The smell of bleach was the same smell she had demanded I use for the past three hours.

“Vanessa, you told me to clean the kitchen before Dad gets home,” I said.

“I'm almost finished. Can I please take a break?””

She looked at me as if I'd asked to borrow her wedding ring.

“Did you hear that, Daniel?”” she called toward the hallway, where my father was getting ready for work.

“Your daughter thinks I'm a servant who should accommodate her schedule.””

My father appeared in the doorway, adjusting his watch.

At forty-three, he still had the kind of face people trusted immediately. He was broad-shouldered, soft-spoken, and usually smelled of cedar cologne. Before Vanessa came into our lives, he had been the man who made pancakes on Saturday mornings and drove across town at midnight when I called him from a friend's house because I felt uncomfortable.

Now, he looked at me like I was a problem he had inherited.

“Ariana, what's going on?””

“Nothing,” I said, because I'd learned that explaining myself only made things worse.

Vanessa placed one hand over her rounded stomach.

“I'm trying not to stress myself out, Daniel. The doctor said I need rest, but apparently that's too much to ask in my own home.””

“I didn't say that,” I replied.

My father raised his eyebrows.

“Then why are you arguing?””

Because she wasn't pregnant.

Because I'd watched her eat sushi at a restaurant and then claim she couldn't keep anything down. Because I'd found her carrying heavy grocery bags when she thought nobody was looking. Because she had told me, on three separate occasions, that she was too exhausted to climb the stairs, only to sprint upstairs when her favorite television show started.

But every time I tried to explain, Vanessa cried.

And every time Vanessa cried, my father chose her.

“I'm not arguing,” I said quietly.

“I just think she's feeling better than she says.””

The silence that followed was worse than shouting.

Vanessa's lower lip trembled.

Daniel stared at me.

“You need to stop being selfish,” he said.

“Your stepmother is carrying your little brother or sister.””

The words landed with familiar force.

Selfish.

That was what he'd called me when I asked Vanessa to stop going through my bedroom drawers. Selfish when I complained that she had thrown away my mother's old recipe cards because they made the kitchen look cluttered. Selfish when I asked why I was suddenly responsible for cooking dinner, washing everyone's clothes, and cleaning the entire house.

My mother had been dead for four years. I was seventeen, old enough to remember how our home had felt before Vanessa moved in, but apparently not old enough to deserve a say in what it became.

“Okay, Dad,” I whispered.

He nodded as though the matter had been settled.

“Good. And please finish the floor before you go upstairs.””

He walked away.

Vanessa waited until his footsteps disappeared before leaning forward.

“You really need to learn when to keep your mouth shut,” she murmured.

I gripped the sponge so tightly that dirty water ran between my fingers.

She smiled and tossed another chip into her mouth.

“Now hurry up. I'm craving homemade lemonade.””

I said nothing.

That was when Malik appeared at the kitchen entrance.

My twelve-year-old brother had always been quiet, but lately he'd become observant in a way that made me nervous. He noticed things adults assumed children overlooked. He noticed Vanessa removing her supposed maternity pillow whenever she thought no one was watching.

He noticed that she never went to prenatal appointments. He even noticed that she had no baby pictures on her phone, despite showing our father imaginary ultrasound images she claimed the clinic had sent.

For weeks, he'd been asking me questions.

Questions I couldn't answer.

That afternoon, he stood beside the kitchen counter, watching Vanessa with an expression I couldn't quite read.

“Malik,” Vanessa said, “why are you standing there? Go do your homework.””

“I'm looking for something.””

“Then look somewhere else.””

He glanced at me.

I gave him the smallest shake of my head.

Don't.

I was tired of fighting. I didn't want another argument. I didn't want our father looking at me with that disappointed expression again.

But Malik had already made up his mind.

He walked into the living room and picked up Vanessa's handbag from beside the couch.

Vanessa's smile vanished.

“Excuse me. What are you doing?””

“Looking for your keys,” Malik answered.

“I didn't ask you to get my keys.””

“You said you needed them to go to the store.””

“Put my purse down.””

Instead, Malik turned toward the hallway.

“Dad?””

My father emerged from the bedroom, already wearing his jacket.

“What is it, buddy?””

Malik swallowed.

“I think you need to see something.””

Vanessa sprang from the couch so quickly that a handful of chips scattered across the floor.

“Malik, don't touch my things!””

Her hand flew to her stomach.

It was a reflex I'd seen dozens of times.

Except this time, her eyes weren't filled with concern for her imaginary baby.

They were filled with fear.

Malik pulled a small cardboard box from the open purse.

He placed it on the coffee table and lifted the lid.

Inside was a flesh-colored silicone belly, rounded and smooth, with adjustable straps tucked underneath it.

For one impossible second, nobody moved.

Then Malik reached back into the purse and produced a crumpled receipt.

“I found this when I was looking for the house keys yesterday,” he explained.

“I didn't know what it was, so I searched the store name on the internet.””

He unfolded the receipt.

“It's from a costume shop. The description says 'realistic pregnancy belly.''”

My father stared at the receipt.

Then he looked at the box.

Then he looked at Vanessa.

“Daniel,” she whispered.

He didn't answer.

“This is not what it looks like.””

Malik's voice shook.

“Then why does it have straps?””

Vanessa snatched at the box, but my father stepped between them.

“Don't touch it,” he said.

She froze.

I'd never heard him speak to her that way.

Daniel lifted the fake belly with both hands. He turned it over, examining the seams, the fastening straps, the pale imitation of a pregnant stomach.

His face changed with every passing second.

“Vanessa,” he said slowly, “tell me what this is.””

She pressed both hands against her real stomach.

“I bought it for a friend.””

“What friend?””

“A friend from work.””

“You told me you weren't working.””

“I meant an old coworker.””

“What's her name?””

Vanessa opened her mouth.

Nothing came out.

My father looked at the receipt again.

“Why was this in your purse?””

“Because I forgot to give it to her!””

Malik shook his head.

“You told Aunt Rochelle last week that you were going to have a natural delivery in March.””

“Stay out of this!”” Vanessa screamed.

He flinched.

I stood up so quickly that the sponge fell from my hand.

“Don't yell at him.””

Vanessa spun toward me.

“Oh, now you want to defend your brother? You've been trying to turn Daniel against me since the day I moved in!””

“No,” I said.

“I've been trying to tell him the truth.””

My father raised a hand.

“Enough.””

But his eyes were fixed on Vanessa.

For the first time in six months, he wasn't looking at me.

He was looking at her.

“Are you pregnant?”” he asked.

Vanessa began to cry.

It wasn't the delicate, carefully timed crying she usually used when she wanted him to take her side. This time, her shoulders shook. She covered her face and sank onto the couch.

“Daniel, please. You have to understand.””

“Understand what?””

“I was scared!””

“Of what?””

She lowered her hands.

And then she said something that made the entire room go silent.

“I thought if you knew the truth, you'd leave me.””

My father's expression hardened.

“What truth?””

Vanessa looked at me.

For a moment, I thought she might finally confess everything.

Instead, she pointed a trembling finger in my direction.

“She made me do it.””

I stared at her.

“What?””

“Your daughter has been tormenting me since we got married! She wanted you to choose her over me. She wanted to destroy our marriage!””

Malik stepped forward.

“That's a lie.””

Vanessa's eyes flashed.

“Go to your room!””

“No!””

His voice cracked, but he didn't back down.

“You told me not to tell Dad because you'd send Ariana away if I did. You said nobody would believe us.””

My stomach dropped.

My father turned toward him.

“Vanessa said what?””

Malik looked at me, then at our father.

“She said Ariana would be gone before the baby arrived.””

Vanessa went completely still.

The fake belly lay between us on the coffee table.

And suddenly, I understood that the lie had never been only about a pregnancy.

It had been about getting rid of me.

But before I could speak, my father's phone rang.

He glanced at the screen.

His expression changed.

“Why is your doctor calling me?”” he asked Vanessa.

Her lips parted.

The phone continued ringing.

Then a woman's voice came through the speaker after Daniel answered.

“Mr. Brooks? This is Dr.

Harris's office. We need to discuss a serious concern regarding your wife's medical records.””

Vanessa lunged for the phone.

“Daniel, don't listen to her!””

My father pulled it away.

The woman continued.

“Your wife has never been a patient at our obstetrics clinic. And there's something else you need to know about the documents she submitted under our doctor's name.””

Vanessa stopped breathing.

My father looked at her.

“What documents?””

The woman hesitated.