Amber doesn’t listen. She speaks, however, and her voice is barely louder than a whisper. “Because Dad says she died when I was born. I feel like that would make her mad, if she were here.”
My chest tightens.
I move before I even think about it, scooting closer to her on the bed. Pickles moves, shifting to Amber’s feet and laying across her legs so I can pull her gently into my arms. She comes willingly, curling against me with the same instinctive trust she’s always seemed to show me.
Just a little girl looking for her mother everywhere she can.
Her little fingers clutch the front of my shirt as I hold her tightly. “No, sweet pea. Not in a million years, okay? Your mother could never be mad at you for being born.”
Amber sniffles against my shoulder. “But she died.”
My hand moves slowly up and down her back. “Yes. She did. But death isn’t an angry thing.”
“It feels angry to me,” she mumbles.
“But that doesn’t mean it’s your fault. Anger does not equate to fault.”
Amber shifts a little so she can look up at me. Her eyes are shiny with tears and her cheeks are flushed. “But if I wasn’t born?—”
I cup her cheek before she can finish the thought. “Then the world would be without your light. You think your mother would have wanted that? For the world to be robbed of you?”
Her lower lip trembles. “Do you think Daddy is angry with me?
I can’t help the tears that line my own eyes. I remember when I was this lost in my ARS. Bouncing between anger and grief and not knowing where to settle. I remember the days where I laid there, wondering if this was somehow brought onto me because of some sort of mismanaged karma.
“No,” I manage to choke out. “Not even a little bit. You think your father would trade you for anything in this world?”
She sniffles softly. “No.”
“Exactly.” I brush a stray piece of hair away from her forehead. “Your mom carried you for months. She felt you kick. She heard your heartbeat. She probably talked to you and dreamed about you and imagined what your life would be like when you grew up.”
Amber’s grip tightens on my shirt.
“And when you were born,” I say quietly, “I promise you the very last thing she would have felt was anger.”
Amber sniffles again. “What would she feel?”
I press a kiss to the top of her head. “Pride. Love. Probably the biggest love anyone can feel. I bet she heard your cry for the very first time and felt relief that you were alive and breathing.”
She goes very still against me. “But she died.”
“Yes,” I say softly again. “She did. And that’s really sad. It’s okay to feel sad about that. But don’t ever think for one second that she would have regretted having you just because of what happened to her. Parents all around the world, every day, make decisions that cost them their lives for the sake of their children. It’s what parents do, and they do it out of love. Not out of anger.”
Pickles nudges her arm gently with his nose, as if to comfort her in his own way. She reaches over, absentmindedly petting him between his ears.
Pickles’ eyes fall closed at the scratches.
“You know what?” I ask.
“What?” Amber asks as she nuzzles her head against my shoulder.
“Bodies do amazing things to bring new life into this world, but sometimes those things are really hard, too. Like you, I presented early.”
That makes her look up at me. “You did?”
I nod. “Yeah. Earlier than I was supposed to. I was about eleven when it first came around.”
“What happened?”
