I was on a business trip abroad. On the third day, my wife texted me, demanding that I return promptly since our son had an accident. When I arrived, my wife exclaimed, “I didn’t send you a text!” I showed her my phone. Her color changed. She said, “I did not text you! “I decided that our son is fine.”

But the SMS was there, coming from her phone number. She turned to face me, her voice quivering. “I did not send that.” I planned to surprise you on your trip because I discovered I was pregnant the day you left. But then I changed my mind—I became nauseated.”

A wave of happiness washed over me at the possibility of becoming a father again, but it was quickly replaced with an uneasy sense. Neither of us could express the message. Then we both became pale. Another warning stated, “Be careful. Your boy is not feeling well.”

We tried to figure out who could have sent the SMS but eventually gave up, assuming my phone had been compromised. We decided to move on since these were the only two weird communications we had received. Several months later, my wife miscarried unexpectedly. We have lost a baby boy. It’s been ten years, and the thought of it still gives me goosebumps.