Resurrection of the Heart

I hear a chair scrape across the floor, and I want to squeeze his hand. Tell him not to let go. And I remember he came for me. He was racing to get to me.

But where was I?

Warm fingers brush my forehead. He’s pushing my hair back. I like when he does that. And then he’s close, and I can feel him, feel his warmth. Smell his scent. Familiar. I breathe it in. 

I make a sound, but it’s hard to move. Everything feels heavy, but I hear a choked sound come from him as he lays his cheek against mine. I want to hug him. I want to hold on to him. 

And when he pulls back, I try harder to open my eyes. I force all my energy into just opening my eyes, and I see him. I see his face close to mine, inches from mine. I see his hazel eyes. I see tears inside them, and then his hand is on my face cupping my cheek, and he’s so beautiful. Even sad like this, I love him so much. It’s all I can think about. All I can feel. 

But then I hear the baby’s cry again. It’s coming from farther away, and I see Santiago’s mouth move into a smile when he hears it, and he shifts his gaze in the direction of the sound. I follow it too, and I see figures in white coats, maybe six of them standing around me, looking down at me, their faces blurring as I struggle to keep my eyes open. I look down the length of my bed to the door but stop, confused, and I close my eyes and force all of my energy to move my hand over my belly. 

It’s flat. 

They all go into a panic when the beeping becomes frantic, and Santiago’s hand is gone. He’s gone. And my baby’s gone. And all I feel is the trickle of a tear slide down along my temple before I sleep again.