sharp things or blood. then the baby cries in her arms. it’s like she can breathe again for the first time. the baby is soft and real and whole and hers. she flees and takes the baby far, far away where no one will never find them. the woman does not forget what she’s done, cannot forget, so she lets the child’s name be a reminder of the things she did for love. she believes her soul still exists and that now, it sings.
at this very moment, the child brings her a bunch of wildflowers she’s picked from the meadow near their home. the woman smiles, brushes the girl’s golden 