I sob, collapsing in his arms even as I reach for the grave.
“I need to know!” I scream again, and he squeezes me tighter as JD comes into view, slamming his hands into the dirt to take over where I left off.
“Let me dig for you, Angel.” Ringo’s voice wraps around me like a warm hug. “Your fingernails are bleeding. If Daniel was telling the truth, you’re gonna need those hands to hold your daughter. Please let me finish this for you.”
He’s right.Ifshe’s alive, I’ll need my hands to hold her. To feed her. To care for her. I need my hands to be healthy and strong.
I nod through my tears, unable to speak, and Ringo’s beard brushes my cheek as his lips press a kiss there, grounding me.
Then he gently passes me to Jols, who wraps me up in a tight, steadying hug as we watch our men, and the Marx guys, dig up my daughter’s grave.
Some minutes later, the distinct sound of metal hitting wood echoes through the air, and my heart just about leaps from my chest as Jols tightens her hold on me.
“We got it,” one of the Marx guys calls out.
“Dig around it so we can get it out,” Ringo barks, and none of them stop. They just keep digging.
Each second stretches while I sit frozen in the damp grass, waiting to see if my world is about to shatter, or be made whole again.
I want to run in and help, tear at the earth with them, but I don’t.
I do as Ringo suggested and leave them to it, knowing they are doing it faster than I ever could.
More Marx men move in, their boots pounding against the earth, and I can barely see what’s happening through the wall of bodies.
Eventually, two men jump down into the grave, digging up more, dirt flying out of the hole as they work together for me.
It’s not long after that when the shovels are tossed aside, and they start lifting out the tiny casket.
Everyone moves back, giving me space as my eyes fall to the grotty white box that is supposed to hold the remains of my baby girl.
Sobbing, I crawl over to it as Ringo is handed a crowbar and starts prying it open.
I hold my breath, my heart racing so fast I fear it might explode in my chest.
The crack of wood splintering pierces the air, and Ringo stills, his eyes locking with mine like he’s silently asking me if I’m sure about this.
So, I just nod.
Then, he cracks the lid, lifting it open, his eyes falling to the contents as I hold my breath.
For a long moment, it’s like the earth stops breathing.
There’s not a single sound.
Not a single breath.
Not a singleanything. Just muted stillness.
Shrugging Jols off me, I crawl closer, my whole body trembling as I close my eyes, working up the courage to see what’s inside.
If I open my eyes and my babyisn’tin there, then what?
What was all of this pain and suffering for?
How do I find my baby?
How do I get over being ripped away from her and made to think she’s been dead all this time?
