He still thinks he’s in his mother’s womb

At first, they agreed.

Youssef rarely cried. He didn’t seem startled by sudden sounds. He slept for long stretches, curled tightly into himself, his tiny fists tucked beneath his chin, his knees drawn up toward his chest. It looked… familiar. Not just cute or comforting—but familiar in a way they couldn’t quite explain.

Amira noticed it first.

“He doesn’t stretch out,” she whispered one night, watching him in his crib. “Even when he’s awake.”

Daniel shrugged it off at the time. “He’s just a baby,” he said gently. “They all do that.”

But she wasn’t convinced.