Sarah searched for a lifeline. “Nobody,” the boy shook his head. “Mrs. Gable from next door helps sometimes, but she’s in the hospital right now.”
The infant stirred, letting out a thin, weak wail. The boy immediately began to sway, an instinctive, awkward motion. “My name is Nathan,” he said, his eyes never leaving the baby.
“And this is Ben. He’s five months. He’s a good baby, he only cries when he’s really hungry.” The protective tone in his voice broke Sarah’s heart.
She looked at this boy who had taken on an impossible burden, acting as the sole protector for a helpless infant. “I’m scared they’ll take us,” Nathan whispered, his voice trembling for the first time. “The state. They’ll split us up. I won’t see Ben anymore.”
Ben’s crying grew louder. His tiny hands escaped the blanket, waving helplessly in the cold air. His face scrunched up, turning a deep red. “He’s starving,” Nathan said, panic flickering in his eyes.
“I tried to give him some old milk, but it was sour, and I don’t have any money.” Time seemed to stop for Sarah. She saw the crisis for what it was—life or death.
The decision came without the usual internal debate that governed her life. “Come on,” she said, reaching for the bundle. “Can I hold Ben? I’m going to get you both fed and warm at my place, and then we’ll figure out what happened to your mom.”
Nathan hesitated, searching Sarah’s face for any sign of a lie. Finally, he nodded and carefully handed over the baby. The feeling of the warm, tiny body in her arms sparked a tenderness she hadn’t felt in years.
The baby quieted for a moment, staring at the new face, then resumed a soft whimper. “We’ll stop at the pharmacy first for formula and bottles,” Sarah said, standing up. “I have some chicken soup and roast beef at home for you, Nathan. We’ll take it one step at a time.”
Nathan followed her, gripping the edge of her coat. He looked like a man who had finally found a safe harbor but was still waiting for the storm to return. As they walked through the crowd, Sarah’s mind swung between “What am I doing?” and “I can’t leave them.”
Memories of her own failed dreams of motherhood bubbled up, but she pushed them down. Now wasn’t the time for self-pity. She glanced at Nathan, who was holding onto her coat for dear life.
There was a resilience in him that only comes from early loss. He reminded her of herself years ago, learning to survive alone when her world collapsed. “It’s going to be okay,” she said, mostly to herself.
Nathan didn’t answer; he just held on tighter. The wind picked up, bringing the first heavy drops of rain. That evening, after the boys were bathed and fed, Sarah laid Ben in a makeshift crib—a large laundry basket lined with soft blankets and new linens she’d rushed out to buy.
She sat on the edge of the sofa, exhaustion finally hitting her. Nathan was curled up in the armchair nearby, refusing to sleep in the guest room. “I have to stay with Ben,” he had insisted with the stubbornness of a sentry on duty.
In the silence of the apartment, the past came rushing back like a flood. “You’re the most beautiful bride in the world,” Tom had whispered, spinning her around on the pier after their wedding. The September sun had turned the water into a sheet of diamonds.
Sarah had laughed, her veil fluttering like a white cloud. She felt weightless. The wedding had been small, not because Tom’s family couldn’t afford more, but because they wanted it to be real—no corporate guests, just family.
Tom’s mother, Hope, had initially frowned at the guest list, but eventually admitted the intimacy was nice. “Honey,” she had told Sarah, “I’m just so glad Tom found you.”
Hope was a high-powered cardiologist, a woman of sharp intellect and impeccable manners. Sarah had always felt a mix of admiration and intimidation toward her. She was a woman used to making life-and-death decisions, her posture always perfect, her hair always in a neat bun.
Tom’s father, John, was a history professor—a classic academic with messy gray hair and glasses that always slid down his nose. He lived in the world of the 18th century and seemed perpetually surprised by the modern world. Sarah felt like she had married into a storybook family.
The first two years of marriage were a dream. Tom, a rising architect, treated her like his muse. He brought her breakfast in bed on Sundays and surprised her with weekend trips to the mountains. “My girl,” he’d say, burying his face in her hair.
“I’m so lucky I have you.” In their sun-drenched apartment, they planned their future. “She’ll have your eyes,” Tom would say.
“Big, brown, with those gold flecks when you laugh.” “And your stubborn chin,” Sarah would tease.
“An architect’s trait,” he’d laugh. But as the months turned into years, the pregnancy tests stayed negative.
At first, they weren’t worried. They were only twenty-six; they had time. Hope would occasionally glance at Sarah’s midsection during dinner, but she was too polite to ask. That tact was something Sarah had always respected.
But toward the end of their second year, the atmosphere shifted. Sarah couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment the cracks appeared. Tom started coming home later. He was quiet at dinner, avoiding any talk of the future.
Sometimes she’d catch him looking at her as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t solve. “Is everything okay?”
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