What She Traced

The NICU was kept dim at night, the only light coming from the monitors and the soft glow of the incubators. Maya sat beside Lily’s isolette in a rocking chair the nurses had brought her, wearing a hospital gown over her own clothes.

Lily was still small — just over four pounds — but she was breathing on her own now. A tiny oxygen tube rested under her nose. Her skin was still translucent in places, and her fingers were no bigger than matchsticks, but she was fighting.

Maya reached through the small opening in the incubator and gently rested one finger against her daughter’s palm. Lily’s hand curled around it weakly.

“I’m sorry,” Maya whispered. “I should have protected you better.”

She had been coming here every night since they allowed her to walk again. During the day she worked on her laptop. At night she sat with Lily and let herself feel everything she had been pushing down.

She thought about the early months of her pregnancy, when Eric had started staying late at the office more often. She had told herself he was working hard for their future. She thought about the times Diane had “borrowed” money for “emergencies” that always seemed to resolve themselves right after Maya transferred the funds. She had told herself it was easier to keep the peace than to fight.

She had been so focused on building the delivery fund that she had ignored the slow erosion of everything else.

Maya looked at her daughter’s tiny face.

“I won’t ignore it anymore,” she said quietly. “I promise.”

A nurse walked past and gave her a small, sympathetic smile. Maya smiled back, but her eyes stayed cold.

She was no longer the woman who had fallen into that pool.