— “Outside,” Mrs. Gable repeated firmly. “Or I can’t do my work.”
Martha put an arm around Anna and led her back to the porch.
— “Come on, honey. Let her work. She knows what she’s doing.”
The door clicked shut. Anna sat on a wooden bench, Sam leaned against the truck, and Martha sat beside her. From inside the cabin, they heard a low, rhythmic humming—a sound that felt older than the trees. An hour passed. Then two. The humming didn’t stop. Anna stared into the woods, her mind a blank slate of exhaustion. Eventually, she drifted off into a fitful sleep, her head resting on Martha’s shoulder.
A sharp, loud cry jolted her awake. Anna nearly fell off the bench. Her heart hammered against her ribs. The cry came again—strong, demanding, the sound of a healthy infant.
— “Is that… is that her?” Anna looked at Martha.
— “Go!” Martha urged.
Anna burst into the cabin. Mrs. Gable was standing by a table, blowing out several candles. The room was filled with a sweet, herbal smoke. And there, on a soft pile of blankets, was Lily. She was crying—really crying—her face red, her arms flailing with energy.
— “My baby!”
Anna scooped her up. Lily was still crying, but it was a beautiful sound. She turned her head, rooting against Anna’s chest, her mouth wide open.
— “She’s hungry,” Mrs. Gable said, looking tired but satisfied. “Feed her.”
Anna fumbled with her shirt and began to nurse. Lily latched on with a strength she hadn’t shown in months. She gulped greedily, her tiny hands gripping Anna’s shirt. Tears of pure relief poured down Anna’s face.
— “How did you…” Anna began, but Mrs. Gable held up a hand.
— “Not now. Go home. Feed her, let her rest. Come back in two weeks when she’s stronger. Then we’ll talk.”
— “Thank you,” Anna said, clutching her daughter. “Thank you so much.”
The drive back was quiet. Lily fell into a deep, peaceful sleep, her breathing steady and rhythmic. The sun was high now, and the world looked different—brighter, as if a veil had been lifted.
For the next twenty-four hours, Lily woke up every two hours like clockwork. She’d cry out, eat hungrily, and fall back asleep. Anna barely slept herself, just watching the rise and fall of that tiny chest, terrified the miracle would fade.
On the second day, Anna pulled the baby scale out of the closet. She set Lily on it, holding her breath. The scale read seven pounds, two ounces. A week ago, she’d been barely six. It seemed impossible, but the scale didn’t lie. Lily was coming back.
— “You’re growing!” Anna whispered, kissing her forehead.
Mark came home on the third day. He walked in, tossing his jacket on the chair.
— “I’m back,” he called out.
Anna was on the sofa with Lily. The baby was awake, looking around with bright eyes and a drooly smile. Mark stopped in his tracks.
— “Is that…?” He stepped closer. “Is that really her?”
— “Yes,” Anna said.
He knelt down, touching Lily’s cheek. She turned her head and grabbed his finger.
— “But how?” he whispered. “The doctors said…”
— “I took her to a healer,” Anna said. “Mrs. Gable. She saved her.”
Mark looked at her, his expression unreadable.
— “A healer?” he repeated. “Anna, that’s… that’s just superstition.”
— “Look at her, Mark. Three days ago she was dying. Now she’s thriving. That’s not superstition. That’s a fact.”
He was silent for a moment, then rubbed his eyes.
— “I don’t know how it happened,” he muttered. “But as long as she’s okay… that’s what matters.”
He sat beside them and put an arm around Anna. She leaned into him, but the memory of him refusing to come to the hospital was still there, a cold stone in her stomach. But for now, Lily was alive. That was everything.
The days turned into a peaceful routine. Lily ate, slept, and grew. By the end of the week, she was cooing. Anna sang to her while she did the laundry, the house finally feeling like a home instead of a waiting room.
— “Look how much bigger she is,” Mark said one evening.
— “She’s almost eight pounds now,” Anna smiled. “She’s making up for lost time.”
One afternoon, while cleaning out her diaper bag, Anna found the silver pendant Sarah had given them. She’d taken it off Lily at the hospital and forgotten about it. She held it in her hand. It felt cold and heavy. She remembered Sarah’s insistence: “She must wear it always.” Lily had started getting sick right after she put it on. And she’d gotten better the moment it was removed. A coincidence? Or something else?
Comments are closed.