I squeezed Penelope’s hand again as she inhaled, readying herself for the battle ahead.
22
Something was wrong.
The baby was not coming.
Penelope had been pushing for what felt like days, wringing her body of every ounce of energy it had left. Yet still, the baby had not appeared.
It felt as if time had ceased to exist, and we were trapped in this repeating nightmare of Penelope pushing and pushing and pushing, trying to rip apart her own body.
Exhaustion had its teeth around Penelope now. She was slumped against her sweat-soaked pillows, barely able to keep her eyes open as she caught her breath. Her skin was so pale it looked almost gray in the draining light.
I glanced to Eurycleia, who was instructing Penelope with that sharp, steady voice of hers.Breathe. Take a moment. Now push.Yet I could see her uneasiness now. It gathered in the tightness of her shoulders, the thinness of her lips.
“You’re doing great,” I told Penelope, trying to curb the anxiety in my voice.
Her head lolled to the side like a child’s doll.
“Something’s wrong,” I told Eurycleia.
The old maid watched Penelope, face grave. She then motioned me over, and I reluctantly let go of Penelope’s hand, watching it falllimp against the bed. As I approached Eurycleia, I saw the blood staining the sheets around her.
“The baby is in the wrong position,” Eurycleia murmured to me.
“What? What does that mean?”
“Calm yourself, girl.”
I glanced back to Penelope, who was rousing slightly, mumbling incoherent words.
“She’ll be all right, won’t she?” I whispered.
Eurycleia held my gaze, her silence sickeningly loud.
“She needs to push harder if we’re going to dislodge this baby,” she said.
“Lookat her! She’s exhausted.”
“She has no choice.”
I returned to Penelope’s side. In that moment, she looked heartbreakingly fragile—broken and lifeless and so very young. Only seventeen summers old. I felt the overwhelming urge to take her in my arms and protect her from all this pain. But I could not. She was trapped in the midst of this, and there was nothing I could do but force her to keep going.
I took her hand again. and a horrible question tugged at me—What if she dies?
For so long, I had been trying to drive Penelope away. Now, faced with the reality of losing her, truly losing her forever, I could scarcely breathe. But I pushed that thought far away, forcing my mind to focus.
“Penelope?” I leaned forward and brushed her hair from her damp face. I was surprised by how easy this intimacy felt, as if I had done it a thousand times before. “Penelope, can you hear me? I need you to start pushing again.”
“I cannot,” she murmured, voice frighteningly thin.
My hand tightened around hers. “You can. Just a little longer. That’s all.”
“I am…not strong enough…”
I knelt on the edge of the bed now, pressing my face close to hers.“You can do this. I know you can. We need you to push so we can get this baby out. All right?”
“Cut him out,” she whispered.
