A Month Later
Eleanor's condition had plummeted again.
The baby's demands were growing—too fast, too much. The human body couldn't keep up. She was back to being too weak to move, barely able to speak. Every breath she took sounded like it might be the last.
Ethan hadn't slept in days. He had no room for sleep—not when time was slipping away. Not when he was so close.
And finally, after countless failures, he stood holding a glass vial of clear liquid. Barely distinguishable from water—except under the light, where faint traces of shifting color danced in the fluid like whispers.
This was it.
The first working prototype of his solution.
The chemical was designed to enhance the body's internal efficiency—making a single unit of nutrient multiply within the bloodstream, enough to meet the demand of even a devouring fetus. Once injected, it would be absorbed into the bloodstream, interact with the immune system, and trigger rapid nutrient duplication.
A miracle in a bottle.
It just hadn't been tested.
Yet.
In Eleanor's Room
Rei sat beside his mother, her hand in his. He refused to be anywhere else. Daycare didn't matter. Nothing else did.
Then the door opened.
Ethan entered, holding the vial like it was made of glass and hope.
"Rei?" Ethan said softly, spotting him. "Shouldn't you be in daycare?"
Rei looked away, refusing to let go of his mother's hand. "Sorry, Father..."
Ethan saw the fear in his son's eyes and didn't press further.
He stepped to the bed and knelt beside them. "Rei, could you do me a favor? There should be a doctor in the staff room next door—it's their off-shift. Can you ask them to come here?"
Rei hesitated, then nodded and slipped off the chair. "Okay."
A few minutes passed. Then Rei returned with a doctor—mid-thirties, sharp eyes, a clipboard still under one arm. He was someone Ethan had briefed days ago, someone discreet.
Rei sat silently on the desk again, legs swinging slightly, listening.The doctor approached the vial Ethan had placed on the table. "So this is it?" he asked, peering at the liquid. "The solution you've been working on for weeks?"
Ethan nodded. "It's ready. I've triple-tested the chemical composition. Everything checks out—on paper, in micro samples, simulated bloodstreams."
"And in a human body?"
"No live tests. She'll be the first." Ethan looked at his wife, pale and motionless on the bed. "But it's the only chance I have left."
The doctor picked up the vial and turned it in the light, observing the soft shimmer. "Tell me again how it works."
Ethan exhaled slowly. "It works by bonding to the blood plasma, then rapidly spreading through the vascular system. Once it reaches the immune cells, it activates a catalytic sequence—targeting and multiplying existing nutrient molecules already present in the bloodstream."
The doctor furrowed his brow. "Multiplying nutrients? How fast?"
"Slow at first. Then exponential. The moment the body registers deficit, it begins to compensate. Within an hour, it can raise nutrient levels to match what even this baby is demanding."
The doctor looked skeptical. "And the risks?"
"Minimal. I designed it to avoid interference with hormonal signals, cellular structures, or major organ functions. If the body lacks nutrients entirely, the chemical is inert—it won't create anything from nothing. But if there's even a trace of nutrients to start with, it replicates that."
The doctor paused. "And if it fails?"
"Then nothing happens," Ethan replied. "It passes harmlessly through her system. No reaction. No toxicity. At worst, she could feel nauseous due to the extra liquid in her system but the chances are low—below 5%"
The doctor stepped back slightly, crossing his arms. "Do you realize what this is?" he asked, his tone quieter now. "If this works... It's a medical revolution."
"I didn't make it for the world," Ethan replied. "I made it for her." his gaze got to Eleanor.Silence passed between them.
Rei watched, still too young to understand every word—but he understood the weight of them.
The doctor looked down at Eleanor. Then at the vial. Then back at Ethan. "...You're sure?"
"Less than 20% chance of failure. No adverse effects even if it fails."
The doctor hesitated.
Then finally, slowly, he nodded. "Alright. Let's do it."