Affection's Facade

When all was lost

Author's pov

It was unexpected. Maybe even threatening, that evening as he drove, his life found itself in the hands of confusion. As he tapped the steering wheel, to ease his nerves Mr. Chang's eyes darted to his phone in the next seat. After ensuring Elera was safe, he returned to the hospital.

Led by one of the nurses through hushed hallways, a heavy sense of melancholy settled around him. When he finally set eyes on the fragile infant, a knot tightened in his chest, she was being placed away, ready to be disconnected. Grabbing onto the hands of the nurse he asked " Is there anything we can do can you get Dr. Cha to look at her again?"

"She's gone," the nurse declared with a resigned sigh, her eyes devoid of the earlier spark of hope. "Even if, by some slender thread of fate, she were to survive, it wouldn't be for more than a week. She is gone, Mr.Chang. The delivery was too early."

Refusing to accept the grim prognosis, he walked about the room "Transfer her," he demanded with desperation.

The nurse looked stunned, her eyes widening. "Sir, she's..." She hesitated, grappling with her professional demeanor. "She's gone."

"I refuse to believe that," he retorted. He gestured for one of the staff to get the child. Under the guise of taking the child out for cremation, later that evening arrangements were hastily made, around this time his phone buzzed once more. Seeing the caller ID, he took a deep breath and answered, "Mrs. Park."

" I heard the awful news, from Mr.Cha. I just wanted to check in."

"It's true, The child has passed away," Mr. Chang replied, voice devoid of emotion.

There was a pause, the kind that stretches into an eternity. "That's truly tragic," Mrs. Park finally murmured, her tone somber. Though underneath one could tell she didn't care much.  "I hope Elera is taking it well."

Mr. Chang clenched his jaw, holding back a flood of thoughts. "She's devastated, as any mother would be."

He could almost feel Mrs. Park nodding on the other end. "Very well, keep me updated," she responded, her tone returning to its usual detached, business-like manner.

The call ended, leaving Mr. Chang with the child, and being transported.

Upon reaching a private hospital, he was met with another wave of clinical detachment, as the doctor examined the child. She sighed, casting a sympathetic glance at Mr. Chang, "This baby is likely brain-dead. Infants born before 24 weeks...they're so fragile that they're not even legally required to have a funeral. You know this Mr.Chang. She couldn't even take the child home if she wanted."

Her words were intended to be a soft blow, but to Mr. Chang, they landed with the force of a sledgehammer. "The odds of her pulling through are barely one percent," the doctor continued her tone low and even.

Mr. Chang's eyes met hers. "Give me two months," he pleaded, voice firm.

After hours at work, Mr. Chang would navigate to reach the hospital. As days turned into weeks, the nurses began to recognize the familiar silhouette of the man who'd walk in every evening, hope etched onto his weary face.

And then, against all odds, a miracle began to unfold. The rhythmic beeping of the monitors started showing a regular pattern. The baby's heart, once erratic and weak, began to stabilize. Every tiny heartbeat was a symphony of survival.

Every evening, the room was filled with Mr. Chang's voice, a melodic lullaby of stories. He believed that, somehow, through the veil of unconsciousness, she could hear him.
Desperate to ensure every potential aid was utilized, he hired professionals to delicately massage her tiny form. Their expert hands worked to ensure her blood circulated well, maintaining muscle tone and skin health, and preventing bedsores. Every therapy, every session, was a battle against time, a fight against the cruel odds she faced.