My name is Julia, I’m twenty-four. From the outside, my life seems almost perfect: I’m married to Jordan, and together we manage a large shopping mall.
Every Friday, I go there to check on the employees. That day was perfectly ordinary—a quiet evening, the drive home, the same old thoughts. I was two months pregnant and just beginning to realize that a new life was growing inside me. Jordan was happy, and I tried to be the same.
Not far from home, I noticed a boy of about eleven. Dirty clothes, a bag of empty bottles—he clearly lived on the streets. When our eyes met, he stopped abruptly and stared at my belly.
“You have a snake inside you,” he said. “Abort the pregnancy before it’s too late.”
I was instantly overcome with anger.
“Are you out of your mind? Where are your parents?”
But he wasn’t afraid. On the contrary, he laughed quietly, as if he knew something I didn’t.
“It’s not a child,” he added. “It’s a snake.”
I threatened to call the police and took a step toward him, but he quickly retreated.
“Go to the hospital,” he said finally. “It’ll be too late.”
I tried to catch up with him, but he disappeared into a narrow alley.
At home, I chalked it all up to the ramblings of a crazy child. At dinner, I told Jordan—mostly for laughs. He actually smiled… and then said,
“I saw that boy today.”
I froze.
“And?”
“He told me the same thing.”
A chill ran down my spine.
“About the snake?”
“Yes. Word for word.”
We tried to convince ourselves it was just a weird teenager who scared people. But the aftertaste remained.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. His words kept playing in my head over and over.
The next morning, I decided to go for a walk. I wanted to clear my head. Before I knew it, I was back on the same street. The boy was gone. I’d almost calmed down when I suddenly felt a slight pain in my lower abdomen. It quickly passed, but left an unpleasant feeling.
I was about to head home when I heard a familiar voice:
“I told you, it’s not too late.”
I turned around. He was sitting on an old dumpster, still just as dirty, but his gaze was even more intense.
“You again?”
“You can still stop this.”
“Stop!” I snapped. “It’s a baby, and you have no right to say that.”
He slowly walked closer and looked straight at my belly.
“It’s already growing.”
“Of course it’s growing.”
He shook his head.
“It’s not a baby.”
A chill ran through me.
“Who are you?”
He paused.
“The one who sees it.”
“Sees what?”
“What’s inside you.”
I couldn’t take it anymore.
“If you don’t leave, I’ll call the police.”
He just sighed.
“The police won’t help when it’s born.”
“Why are you repeating that?” I almost screamed.
He looked me straight in the eyes.
“Because I’ve seen it before.”
I froze.
“What… do you mean?”
“A woman like you. Happy. Pregnant. No one believed her.”
He paused.
“When the baby was born, it was too late.”
“What happened?” I asked quietly, not understanding why.
“He wasn’t human.”
I felt my insides tighten.
“And what happened to her?”
The boy looked away.
“She didn’t survive.”
The world seemed to grow quieter. I wasn’t angry anymore—I just felt fear slowly filling me.
“Go away,” I whispered.
He didn’t argue. He simply turned and disappeared between the buildings again.
I returned home completely confused. That evening, I told Jordan everything. He tried to reassure me, saying it was a coincidence, that the boy was simply mentally ill.
But this time, his voice sounded uncertain.
That night, the pain returned. More intense. I woke up clutching my stomach. It felt like something was… moving inside.
Not right.
I woke Jordan, and we went to the hospital.
The examination didn’t take long, but the doctors looked strange. One of them called the other. They exchanged glances and whispered.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
No one answered right away.
Finally, the doctor turned to me.
“We need to run more tests.”
“Why?”
He hesitated.
“We… can’t clearly determine the shape of the fetus.”
My stomach turned cold.
I looked at Jordan. He had turned pale.
At that moment, the boy’s words hit me with renewed force.
“You’re not carrying a child.”
A few hours later, I was told that urgent intervention was necessary.
I didn’t resist.
When it was all over, I lay in the hospital room, devastated. Jordan sat next to me, silently holding my hand.
“It’s all over,” he said quietly.
But there was no confidence in his voice.
The next day, when I was discharged, I walked out of the hospital and stopped at the entrance.
Across the street stood that same boy.
He looked at me calmly.
I slowly walked up to him. “You knew…” I whispered.
He nodded.
“Now it’s over.”
I swallowed.
“What was that?”
He shrugged.
“Not everything that grows inside has to be born.”
I wanted to ask one more question… but he had already turned away and left.
And this time I didn’t stop him.
Because for the first time in all this time, I understood one thing:
He was telling the truth.
