I throw open the basement door and immediately Harriet starts screaming hoarsely for help. “Shh, this stress isn’t good for the baby,” I say, wiping away her tears.

“Get away from me, you monster!” she shouts with incredible strength. Her red hair flies all over the place as she tries to wrench herself free from her shackles. I raise my hands in mock defeat and set my drink down on the table. I go to the corner to retrieve the hamper. Just because I’m holding her captive in my basement, doesn’t mean I’m impolite.

It’s been nearly three days since I stole Harriet Ruth Birmingham-Smythe. Her family has grown desolate and even the most enthusiastic cops are losing momentum on her case. I’m not surprised, I cleaned up after myself really well. Id planned it perfectly. I’d watched her for months, making notes of her schedule and relationships. Just like I’d done with the others.

It’s easy for me to be inconspicuous: I’m a reporter who’s made himself known for walking around town in search of a good story. It also keeps me close to the action. I pretend to be ecstatic when I get an “inside scoop” from the police, knowing that, really, nobody could give a more inside scoop than me. Or Harriet. But as long as she delivers our baby without too many complications, I won’t have to worry about that.

Harriet has a lot of mobility down here. I’ve learnt from all my past mistakes. Whereas I’ve failed previously with leaving sharp objects lying around, nowadays I don’t even give them knives or forks. I chain them to the far wall, and they can walk all around the basement- just not up the stairs. I did a segment on First Aid a few months ago, and went through the courses, so I can tend to her medical needs pretty well.

The first time I tried this was really botched. Maggie had preeclampsia and I had to put her out of her misery after only 26 hours. The second time went a little smoother; Rhonda went into labour as planned, but I lost her and the baby when she drank rat poison. The one before Harriet was Estrella. She almost managed to escape, and I couldn’t have that kind of insubordination from the mother of my child.

I have high hopes for Harriet. She might be the one who finally gives me a second chance at having a family.

A family that was stolen from me by a party bus full of expectant fathers: the husbands of Maggie Rose Stillwater, Rhonda Washington, Estrella Montague, and Harriet Ruth Birmingham-Smythe.

Soon they will all understand my pain.