We all assumed the birth itself would be the most unforgettable part: four babies delivered naturally, a military dad who made it home just in time, and a room full of relatives half-crying, half-cheering through the chaos.
But the real surprise didn’t hit until two days later, while flipping through ultrasound prints for the baby books. That’s when someone paused and said:
“Wait… why are there only three?”
We crowded around the week-old image. It was clear: three labeled heads, three little heartbeats. Not four.
My cousin Arina didn’t freak out. She just went quiet—still, focused.
Then she asked to see the babies again, one by one.
Each was wearing a paper hospital bracelet: Ellie, Liam, Tessa, and Noah.
Ellie came first, asleep in my aunt’s arms. Then Liam, wide awake and ready to argue with the world. Tessa followed, alert and blinking. All three matched the ultrasound—their shapes, positions, even their profiles.
Noah came last. His skin was just a shade darker, with a birthmark on his left shoulder and a strangely serene look in his eyes—like he was studying us.
Arina held him longer than the others. Her husband Tomas asked softly, “What is it?”
She didn’t answer right away. Just stared at Noah and finally whispered, “This one… wasn’t inside me. Not like the others.”
We chuckled awkwardly, thinking it was sleep deprivation or hormones.
But Arina isn’t the kind of person to say things for attention.
She asked the nurse to double-check the tags. Everything matched. Four babies logged. Four wristbands. Four hospital numbers. All accounted for within minutes.
And yet… Arina stayed uneasy.
That night, she barely slept. She later told me about a dream that kept looping in her mind: a dense forest, a barefoot woman in white, holding something bundled in her arms, murmuring in a language Arina didn’t know—then gently offering it to her. It wasn’t scary, but it wasn’t comforting either.
The next morning, she asked for the pediatrician to review the birth log.
That’s when things got strange.
Ellie, Liam, and Tessa were weighed, tagged, and scored within moments of delivery—while Arina was still awake.
Noah, however, was recorded almost 25 minutes later.
The nurse on shift swore she brought him to the table herself—but when pressed, she paused and said, “Actually… I don’t remember where he came from. Just… that he was there.”
Hospital staff checked the hallway security footage.
There was a ten-minute gap.
Just static.
They called it a glitch. Said it happens sometimes.
But Arina hasn’t let go of it. And honestly? Neither have I.