Page 14 of Crimson Flames

I swallow, my throat caught between a cry and a sob as I reach out to take my daughter. She carefully places a tiny baby, the size of my palm in my hand, a tiny pink blanket under her small body.

“A girl,” I say in a whisper. I can’t take my eyes off of her. I never knew a human could be so tiny and also look so real. I can count all of her fingers and toes, I can even see the little bump of her nose and the outline of her lips.

“Doc believes she was eighteen weeks.”

Tears burn my eyes as I hold our perfect baby girl.

“She’s so real,” I try to say, but end up choking on my words, unable to hold back any longer. My throat burns and my nose waters with the effort of trying to hold it all in.

Boris comes to my side and kneels, together we look at the tiny little girl I hold in my hands, at the life that was taken away too soon. His finger reaches out to curl under her little hand. Her fingers spread and lay over his single one as he shakes his head.

I can see the war in his eyes. The fight between wanting to scream and break. I reach a finger to hold her other hand.

“She is perfect,” Boris says.

“She’s so small.” My voice shakes as a single tear splashes next to our daughter on her blanket.

I thought I knew pain when I heard the fake news of Nessa dying, but this is an agony greater than I believed was possible. I wish there was a way to save her, to do CPR of some kind or hook her up to machines and bring her back to us.

Logically, I know that she’s too small for all of that, but it doesn’t feel like it while I hold her. She’s real and here, and I am doing nothing to fight for her.

It’s like a form of torture. One that I know will never be topped because this is already breaking me.

“Boris,” I whisper. “What do we do?”

All he can do is shake his head as he stares at our baby girl’s tiny form.

I bring her body close to my chest, hoping that if her soul is still inside, she’ll be able to feel the way my heart beats for her.

Boris strokes her tiny head as he kneels on the floor in front of me. I never thought I would see the day when this man kneeled for another, but it seems fitting that the only one who deserves the honor is our daughter.

The nurse approaches, her voice low.

“I know this may seem wrong, but if you would like, I can take a picture for you. Some think it is disrespectful, but Nessa won’t get the chance to say goodbye, so pictures can help sometimes.”

I want to say no, but then I look at the woman I love as she battles for every breath. She deserves to say goodbye in whatever way she can.

I look to Boris and he nods, handing the nurse his phone. She is silent as she sits in the background and allows us to say goodbye. I see the phone raise a few times, but it is less intrusive than I thought it would be. The only thing on my mind is my little girl.

“I would have given you the world,” I breathe, placing a soft kiss on her little head.

“Prostite,moya kroshka,” Boris adds before doing the same.

Forgive me, little one.I don’t know much Russian, but this I do know. He called her moya kroshkaa few times when we were designing the nurseries. I always loved the way it sounded.

I hand her over to him so that he can hold her for the first and last time too. He stands and cradles her to his body, directly in front of his heart as he murmurs sweet words to her in a language I don’t understand.

It’s not fair that she was stripped of her chance to know us, but even if she is watching us from above, I want her to hear our voices and feel our love every minute that I can possibly provide.

Time passes slowly until the nurse approaches us again. “I am sorry, but she will not look like herself much longer. Could I make a suggestion before I take her?”

A part of me wants to snap at the woman and refuse to give her my daughter. There will never be enough time to hold her or say goodbye.

“Please,” Boris says, keeping our girl close to him until the very last second.

“Since Nessa will not get to say goodbye, I have found that mothers heal better knowing that they got to hold their little ones. If you place her on Nessa’s chest, I will get a photo for her.”

We nod as I stand, and the nurse moves some of the tubing so that we can lay our daughter over Nessa’s heart. I don’t see the moment the picture is taken, but I place my hand on Nessa, right under our little girl, to feel her heart beating.

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