[ WP ] Your baby starts crying everytime you leave their room . Finally , you pick up your child and leave the room together . As soon as you step out , you hear crying coming from the room .

Jane fumbled for her glasses again. It knocked against the glass of water on the bedside drawer. She thought it would have made a soft, clear sound, like the sound of two wine glasses clinking against each other, or the sound of wind-chimes on a quiet summer night. But she could not hear this sound. A shrill wail pierced her ears even now, stopping intermittently to rise again, even louder than before, demanding that a need be met. 
 
 She drained the glass of water. As Ben stirred in the bed beside her, grazing her thigh with his fingertips, she looked out the bedside window and thought about what life had been before Brian. It felt to her that the softer things in life had been dashed against the wall, or faded at least, in this NEW CHAPTER OF LIFE that she had begun. They had purchased and read books together, had ogled over different garbs with which to decorate their child, and there had been at least two nights when Jane watched from the hallway, her arms akimbo as Ben assembled a crib that had been purchased from Eddie Bauer and not IKEA. They believed they were as prepared as any expecting couple - that they had devoted enough waking time getting prepared for something they could not be really be ready for anyway. 
 
 Her child grew silent. As she braced for the next round of wails, she finally noticed what she had been staring at outside the window.Between the white, laced curtains, the hint of a moon gazed back at her from a sky pockmarked with heavy, languid clouds. A hint of a sprinkle could be heard through the glass, but she could not be sure if it was the rain, or just the rogue sprinkler going off in the Fergusons' lawn. She slipped off her side of the bed as quietly as she could, and walked down the hallway to the child's room. 
 
 The crying started almost immediately as she stepped into the hallway again. She was more awake, and wondered what it could be that he needed. It was three in the morning, so he could n't possibly be hungry - he should have been fine until four thirty or even five. Did his diapers need to be changed? Had he somehow managed to escape the crib? Had he fallen in the process? Was he hurt? Of course not, she thought, and turned the knob on the door. 
 
 Jane fumbled for the switch, over the case of miscellaneous soccer trophies and boy scout medals that could be such a nuisance to dust sometimes. It clicked on, and once her eyes had adjusted, she saw that her boy was no longer crying. Instead, he lay in his crib, smiling, his arms stretched upwards, reaching towards her. She picked him up and pressed him against her bosom. She felt a warmth that seemed to radiate from him as she carried him slowly out of his room. One of his hands rested on her shoulder, and as she gazed upon it she was amazed again by how small his hands were, like a leaf on a small poplar tree. Pressing the baby against her chest, she walked out of the nursery, back to her room, slowly as to not frighten him. 
 
 The next day, when she told the story to her husband over breakfast, he looked at her strangely. When she told him the story again, now a little bit frightened herself, he asked if she was joking, if she thought this was her idea of a good prank. Then he picked up the briefcase and walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him. After he left, she walked back into Brian's room. With a rag, she went over each one of Brian's soccer trophies, his boy scout medals, the framed pictures he had put on the walls. Then she sat on his bed, put her hands together, and prayed for the first time she had in the last ten years. 
 
 It took her husband a day to forgive her, after they got the call from a certain Lieutenant Harris from the third infantry division.
