English

English

She cradled the mug in both hands and leaned her head over it in the rising steam. Pursing her lips, she blew softly over the clouded surface and let her eyelids drop. Her shoulders rose slightly as she breathed in, and she hummed with her head low. I lifted the tiny porcelain pitcher and poured a brief rotating arch of white into the black depths of my own cup. She opened her eyes, and we looked at each other across the table without speaking. This was the first time in three months that the doctor had not called back right away. The nerves set in as I looked into her blank stare. As the phone lite up bright yellow, she picked up her cup of coffee, took a deep breath and headed into the study. Screams filled the air and the pain rang in and around the house. I found her on the ground with her face buried in the frills of the pillows her grandmother had made; she sobs. Shaking in silence, she tries to scream for me. Helplessly, she looks up. “That was Dr. Urbanyati, she would like us to pack a bag and head up to Rochester.” In complete despair, my heavy feet wander over to her, and just hold her in my arms. I know what is going to happen next, yet my mind stays with her.
Arriving at our destination, we exchange nothing but sighs and eye rolling. As we panic in the waiting room as we await the news, she starts to cry. We sit there in the cold, bare office hand in hand. She is nine months pregnant, and carrying more weight in her puffy dark eyes than in her uterus. The doctor knocks, pushing the door open with her strong hand. There are no clipboards or no paperwork. The doctor put his hand on her arm and says gently, “You or the baby will survive. Not both. I’m sorry.
The last few months of her pregnancy were the happiest months of her life. Her hands would drift over her stomach, caressing not the stretched skin but the tiny body underneath. She had not spent nine months carrying this precious soul to let it die without a chance at life. “We have to...

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