"I'M SORRY, SIR." A long pause followed those words and as time grew, he found himself inching forward to the edge of the seat, consumed by agitation. "She didn't survive the procedures," said the nurse as she hung her head low, her face imprinted with sorrow. She gave him a sad smile before swiftly moving on with the bustling people that moved about the corridor of the hospital.

                The man instantly crashed onto the seat that was situated behind him, unable to withstand the sorrow any longer. His ears were blocked with non-existent earplugs. He had hoped and prayed that the procedures would go smoothly, that she wouldn't have to leave him like this after years of showing him nothing but kindness and hope. Who would care for him the way that she did? Who would be there for him to confide in, the minute he came home from a long day of meetings.

                Tears started to roll down the sides of the man's face as he silently recalled all the times that he had fought with the woman of his dreams. She had never once raised her voice to defend herself. She had always been the one to calm him down and apologize for something that she might not even have done. She had been the peacemaker of the family, and he had always acted on impulse. His face scrunched up in disgust as he envisioned himself being as cruel as he was to a woman like her.

                The sound of a noisy wooden door creak open brought the man out of his train of thoughts. He was rather annoyed to be rudely interrupted as he was reminiscing about his late wife. He turned to glare at the person who had exited the room, but the sight that invited him caused his eyes to widen. His heart stopped beating momentarily, and the blood quickly drained from his face. It was alive.

                Through the open door came a nurse, fully fitted in white from head to toe, and in her hands was a little bundle of white sheets. As the nurse walked closer towards the man, he found himself staring at her hands in shock, as if he could not register what was happening. The man could almost sense the danger that was hidden among those sheets in her hand.

                With a smile, she quietly handed him the bundle—placing it carefully in his arms—before quickly muttering a, "Congratulations," and walking away. The man was still seated rigidly and his eyes were glassy, looking through the bundle. He had not expected it to live. After the love of his life had passed away, he had not expected the cause of her death to have lived. It almost angered him.

                As if on cue, a small head poked out of the sheets, trying to make its presence known with all its shifting. As the man peered into the well of sheets to look at what all the commotion was about, a pair of eyes was directed right at the man, unblinking. Though it seemed as though it had no idea who it was looking at—or what it was looking at—it continued to stare at him. It was his baby, his creation.

                Even as the baby continued to shift around in his arms, wanting for more attention, he could feel no love for it. He felt rather cruel at that moment, but the word that could really describe what he felt was betrayal. This baby had taken his wife's life away. It had taken his only source of happiness. Even as he tried to convince himself that she was living in some way in the baby in his arms, he failed miserably. He had never felt so lost in his life.

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A U T H O R ' S N O T E

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