Chapter 5 - The First Step into the Light
The hallway upstairs was dark, illuminated only by the faint blue glow of the nightlight coming from the sage-green nursery.
Mara stood at the open door. Her breath hitched in her chest.
Inside the crib, wrapped in a pink-and-white blanket, tiny Wren was squirming. Her little fist was pressed against her mouth, her tiny nose flushed pink, small whimpering sounds escaping her lips.
Mara took a deep breath. It felt as though she were stepping off a cliff.
She crossed the room, her bare feet making no sound on the soft rug. She reached the edge of the crib and looked down.
Wren opened her eyes. They were wide, dark, and clear, reflecting the soft blue nightlight. She stopped crying for a fraction of a second, her little chest heaving with quick, shallow breaths, as if she recognized the presence above her.
Mara felt a tear slip down her cheek, hot and fast.
“Hello,” Mara whispered, her voice barely audible.
Wren let out another small whimper, her little hand reaching up, waving uselessly in the air.
Mara reached out her shaking hand. Her fingers hovered an inch above the baby’s chest. The fear was still there, a cold weight in her stomach, warning her to pull back, warning her that loving this fragile creature meant risking absolute destruction.
“She needs you,” Jonah’s words echoed in her mind.
Mara let her hand fall gently onto Wren’s chest.
Warmth.
The immediate, intense, unmistakable warmth of life radiate through the thin fabric of the baby’s onesie. Mara could feel the rapid, steady beat of Wren’s tiny heart against her fingertips. Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.
It wasn’t the rhythm of a dying child. It was the fierce, energetic rhythm of a new life fighting to grow.
Wren’s little hand bumped against Mara’s index finger. Instinctively, the baby’s tiny fingers curled around Mara’s finger, gripping it with surprising strength.
Mara gasped, a sob rising from deep within her throat.
Slowly, carefully, Mara reached down and lifted Wren out of the crib. She pulled the tiny, warm bundle against her chest, supporting her fragile neck.
Wren nestled instantly into the curve of Mara’s shoulder, her soft cheek pressing against Mara’s skin. She let out a long, contented sigh and grew quiet.
Mara walked over to the rocking chair by the window and sat down. She pulled the soft knitted blanket around both of them.
In the dim light, Mara gently lifted her hand and stroked the baby’s fine, dark hair. Her fingers moved carefully, hesitantly, toward the back of Wren’s left ear.
She brushed the soft hair aside.
The crimson mark was there, distinct in the twilight.
Mara stared at it, but this time, she didn’t close her eyes. She didn’t run away. She stared directly at the mark, tears blurring her vision.
“I am so sorry,” Mara whispered into the quiet room, resting her chin on top of Wren’s head. “I’m so sorry I left you alone. I was so scared…”
Wren squirmed slightly, snuggling deeper into Mara’s collarbone.
“I don’t know what this mark means,” Mara continued, her voice trembling with raw honesty. “I don’t know if you’re sick. I don’t know if we have a month, a year, or eighty years together. But I promise you… I promise you, Wren… I won’t let my fear steal another second from us. I am your mother. And I’m right here.”
When Jonah walked into the nursery at 6:00 AM, his eyes heavy with sleep, he stopped dead in his tracks.
The morning sun was just beginning to rise, casting a warm golden glow through the window.
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Sitting in the rocking chair, fast asleep, was Mara. And curled up on her chest, sleeping peacefully with her hand resting over her mother’s heart, was Wren.
Jonah stood in the doorway, his eyes filling with tears, feeling the suffocating weight that had hung over their home finally begin to melt away.
