Page 93 of I Married Kayog
Chapter 22
Kayog
The following four months turned into a brutal emotional roller coaster. For the first few weeks, shame, guilt, and anger at the unfairness of it all ate at me. Why was I always broken? Why was there always something wrong with me that kept me from having the simple life everyone else got? Had I not suffered enough? Except now, my shortcomings were also causing pain and distress to the two people who absolutely didn’t deserve it: my beautiful mate and my innocent child.
And yet, the darkness swallowing me gradually faded thanks to those same wonderful two people. Seeing Linsea glow, her belly growing, and being surrounded by the joy and infinite love radiating from our baby’s blossoming mind defied description.
It was pure bliss.
Our little one—who turned out to be a female—loved hearing me sing and whenever I would tickle her mom. Daily, her song grew stronger and even more haunting. It increasingly harmonized with ours, which gave me goosebumps. I hadn’t seen my little princess yet, but I already adored her. Linseawould constantly bemoan what a hopeless girl dad I was going to be. And she was right. I would spoil the fuck out of my little angel.
Medical appointments became the bane of my existence. Every time Linsea had to undergo a scan, I braced for the devastating news that something had gone wrong. But as the weeks and then months went by, hope steadily grew in my heart. Our baby was going to be fine. She was going to make it.
And then, halfway through the fifth month, our entire world came crashing down.
The first signs of fetal abnormalities began showing up on the scans. In the following weeks, they became more and more notable until the verdict we dreaded came down: our baby would not be viable.
No words could describe the devastation we felt. For a while there, we truly convinced ourselves that things would workout. If the scientists had managed to save me, surely they could save our angel as well, right?
The question as to whether we would terminate the pregnancy was never addressed. For us, that was not even an option. It wasn’t selfish reasons, but the fact that Arafin had been right in his predictions. Our daughter was not feeling any pain. In fact, she was the one cheering us up when we cried.
Our little Thea—as we decided to name her—radiated endless love. The charts demonstrated that she possessed almost the same powerful empathic abilities as I did, except she had formed the proper neural pathways not to be assaulted by other people’s feelings. Even in this early stage of development, she could perceive and respond to surrounding emotions in a deliberate fashion. Whenever she perceived sadness from us, she would blast us with a wave of love until we started smiling. And then her own emotions would shift to the brightest, purest love.
This gave us the strength to cast away our sorrow. We redoubled the affection we projected her way, determined to savor every moment that life would grant us with her. During that time, we pretty much stopped any work-related activities. Thea became the center of our universe.
Just a week shy of the eighth month—a standard gestation period for our species—our daughter came into this world through natural birth. In my entire life, I had never seen anything as mesmerizing as our baby. Thea was the perfect mix of her mother’s white feathers and my maroon color. She had a beige skin, which took on a slightly darker tinge with a hint of red in her down feathers and wings. Where I had a golden chest and head, Thea had her mother’s white feathers with dark specks on her chest. But she gazed upon us with my silver eyes.
She was breathtaking.
A single look at her face and at the beautiful smile she gave us wiped away all sorrow. The doctors moved swiftly, providing her with an implant that would release the right level of nutrients to maintain her during her short stay among us. By their estimation, she would have two, maybe three days at best. But thankfully, they would be painless for her. And we made certain to make them the happiest we could.
As she loved when we sang, I composed a song specifically for her, just as I had done for her mother. Except this one thanked her for blessing us with her presence, however brief it would be. This time, I wrote the lyrics in Khelese—the Temern mother tongue—instead of Universal. She obviously couldn’t speak just yet, but that didn’t stop her from trying to mimic the main line of the chorus. It didn’t even qualify as baby speak, more the cutest cooing that was still recognizable enough for us to understand she was echoing our words.
Linsea and I would harmonize, and little Thea would jump in at the chorus to saycoo lee coo. It was beyond adorable.Naturally, she had no idea what those words meant. But they would translate as ‘I will always love you.’
Arafin allowed us to bring her home so that she would not spend her short life in a medical facility. We set up cameras to record every moment of our precious time with her. As Thea couldn’t use her wings, I would hold her up, zipping around the room while moving her up and down to create the illusion she was flying. Linsea would jump in, either playfully giving us chase, or pretending to run away only to let herself be caught.
The sound of Thea’s laughter filled the space, casting away the looming darkness. Every time it reared its head again, our angel would simply saycoo lee coofor us to instantly melt for her. She would immediately grin in response, having achieved her goal of cheering us up.
Nevertheless, watching her fade away a bit more with every hour was heartbreaking. We didn’t sleep during the sixty-eight hours of her passage in this world. A part of us believed that she understood that she would be leaving us soon. I also believed that she was trying to tell us that it was okay, and to not be sad because she wasn’t… because we made her happy.
During the last hour of her life, Linsea and I sang her song to her. Every time we would stop, she would saycoo lee cooand touch our beaks multiple times to tell us to sing it again. As soon as we would, she would smile and wiggle her tiny talons and hands as if to mark the beat.
After we concluded singing it one ultimate time, Thea grabbed her mother’s beak with both hands, drawing Linsea’s face closer so that she could rub her own beak against it in a gentle kiss. She then turned to me and repeated the gesture. In that instant, I realized she was saying goodbye.
“We’ll meet again, my little angel,” I said, my heart breaking. “In this world or the next, I promise that we shall meet again.And I’ll take care of you the way I couldn’t this time. Your mother and I love you, always.Coo lee coomy baby.”
“Coo lee coo, my little angel,” Linsea echoed, in a shaky voice.
“oo lee oo,” Thea whispered, her tiny beak stretched into a smile.
As the light faded from her silver eyes, her eyelids fluttered before shutting. Then her gorgeous face went slack. I picked up Thea’s fragile body and cradled her in my arms before drawing Linsea into my embrace.
I couldn’t say how long we held our baby while tears freely rolled down our cheeks. Despite my burning urge to shut myself down, I allowed Linsea to feel me without restriction. Yes, there was a great deal of sorrow, but also a tremendous amount of love. Perceiving the same emotions from my mate actually gave me comfort through this difficult moment. And granting her the same seemed to also appease her.
We washed our daughter and placed her in the delicate stasis chamber that the doctors had provided us with. She looked so peaceful, as if she was merely sleeping. I rested my palm over the glass lid, my heart heavy as I glanced at my mate.
“I’m sorry,” I said at last.
