“I think I failed. I think. . .” I cried out the words, trailing off in a heartbreaking sob.
“Breathe,” he spoke a silent instruction. One, he still had no idea how to follow. “Breathe. . . you haven’t failed.”
“It doesn’t feel right. . . I couldn’t protect—”
“Shhh. . . none of this is your fault. Breathe. . .”
I did, slow and steady, in and out, and he copied my actions, choking every time his breath caught.
“It's too soon. There's something wrong. It doesn’t feel right!”
My words—things he already knew, by looking at the blood coming from my body and listening to my already spoken words—sent him into a panic. He twitched, and with his eyes blinking rapidly, he left me, and Woody took over again.
“I don't know what to do.” Woody was terrified, his anxiety rivalling the strength of mine.
The twinges continued. The time between the tightening in my stomach decreased between each one. The pressure moving down my body intensified, and I couldn't fight the urge to push.
I followed the instructions my body gave, and I pushed. My scream ripped through the foundations of the old house. I took a breath, feeling uncomfortable and stretched, but there was no sign of a baby.I pushed again. My fingers wandered between my legs, trying to feel how far into this I was, with no one guiding me.
I felt a grip around me that couldn't have belonged to a child. Woodrow was back for the moment I needed him most.
“Go look.” I pushed his arm from my shoulder. “I need help. I'm in too much pain.”
He gave me the quickest kiss, his mouth pressing delicately against my pounding temple.
He kept my hand in his, and I squeezed him through the pain.
I sunk lower to the ground, parting my legs.
My face scrunched, telling of my pain, and Woodrow used his initiative to try and minimize it. He lifted my legs onto his shoulders. His knees, against my thighs, stopped my body from sliding.
I pushed again, trying to read the changing expressions on his face.
I thought of Jesus, and of how I’d abandoned him in the basement, and I appealed for his forgiveness as I prayed he'd do something to keep Ville and Wynter on the other side of the room.
And they stayed away, occupied with each other, and the whispers of love they had for each other.
I didn’t listen to any of it. I only listened to Woodrow and the whispers of love and encouragement he had for me.
I pushed again, the pressure growing.
“I see something. Keep going, Moonlight. You're doing so well.” Woodrow's hand moved up and down my legs, my unshaven hair piloting beneath his fingertips.
I squeezed his hand, unable to respond verbally.
I pushed again, my hand squeezing harder, my teeth clamping down until I felt relief.
The urge to push again didn't come. Our baby was born.
So, so tiny.
So, so still.
The delicate body lay motionless in Woodrow's hand, barely filling it. My blood covered him to his elbow.
Our baby didn't make a noise.
And neither did I, staring down at them,eyes wide with shock.
