It begins with a baby's cry. A soft, disgruntled whimper as pudgy arms flail in the bassinet placed at the end of the bed; the whimper escalates to be come a shrill, whining wail as fat legs kick off the blanket that had once been swaddled tight.
The woman on the bed shifts beneath her partner's arm where it drapes across her waist, coming too with a thoughtful moan and eyes cracking open to squint into the dim light filtering through the slitted shades. Her eyes move to the bassinet, and she sighs but sits up. Briefly the arm around her waist tightens, and she looks down at the man lying beside her, squeeze his forearm in recognition before gently moving it off her.
Crawling across the mattress, she settles cross-legged on the end of the bed, peering down at the mewling infant inside. A sigh escapes from her lips, and she tucks her hair behind her ear before reaching inside to lift the newborn into her arms, rocking it in a gentle rhythmic motion.
The infant gurgles and stares up at her with eyes alert but eyelids beginning to droop. His limbs kick in robotic protest for but a moment before it settles in its mothers' arms to stare up at her with the awe most babes seem to hold for the women that birthed them.
She brushes a finger from the infant's hairline, down his forehead, to tap on its nose.
The baby's eyes cross as it falls silent, narrowly managing to reach up and catch ahold of the offending digit in a tight fist. It looks at its own fist, bewildered, and its mother laughs, a low, soft sound as she presses a kiss to the child's head, humming a lullaby beneath her breath, and eyes staring down at her own child with unwavering devotion and tinge of sadness.
Slowly, the infant's eyes draft shut, falling asleep with a quiet sigh and becoming dead weight in her arms.
Her arms remain steady, holding her child to her breast and a sad smile on her lips as she strokes her fingers over its face.
"You're going to be okay," she whispers to it in the dead of night. As though it can hear her.
As though it can understand her.
"I'll always love you. No matter what," she promises herself as much as the newborn.
"Hey," his interrupts before touching her, careful not to startle her. He's always so careful. His fingers push aside the strands of hair that stick her shoulders, and he places a kiss on the tattoo on her shoulder before resting his chin there. "Everything alright?"
"Your baby was just fussy."
"My baby, huh?" He teases her with a smile in his words a rumble in his voice from being awoken from sleep. "Come back to bed," he whispers.
Smiling down at the infant, shepresses a kiss to its forward and rests it back in the bassinet. Her eyes never leave her sleeping child asshe edges away from it. "Yeah," shewhispers into the peaceful stillness, "I'm coming."
YOU ARE READING
Hands of Time
Teen FictionThe man bites his bottom lip and meets her eyes as his face begins to shutter. "I see, I'm early." "Do you know me?" "This was as close as I could get so suddenly, and I had to see you. I watched you die. I watch you die in my arms." One second...
