Chapter 85 Grandma Chichi’s help
I am floating.
Like I was suspended in a place without edges, without pain, it is quiet here. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that feels like an ending pretending to be peaceful.
Then I hear it.
My name.
It was spoken the way it always was when I was a child and had scraped my knees or cried myself sick from fear.
"Amarien."
I turn toward the sound. The darkness thins, like mist burned away by morning sun, and she is standing there.
Grandma Chichi.
She looks just as she did before sickness hollowed her cheeks. Strong arms. Straight back. Her wrapper is the same faded blue she used to wear when she cooked, when she scolded, when she loved without restraint.
I sob at the sight of her.
"I'm tired," I say. "I can't do it anymore."
She doesn't smile. Not yet. She looks at me the way she did when I wanted to quit something hard: school, chores, life itself.
"You think rest comes before the work is finished?" she asks gently.
"I'm scared," I whisper. "It hurts. I don't know if he's alive. I don't know if I am."
She steps closer. The ground beneath her feet becomes solid, real, and suddenly I can feel again. I could feel myself, faint and frayed at the edges.
"You are not done," Grandma Chichi says firmly. "And neither is that child."
"I tried," I pleaded. "I swear I tried."
"I know," she says. Her voice softens. "And that is why you must try again."
She reaches out.
Her hand closes around mine, warmly.
The moment she touches me, the world rushes back.
Pain slams into me like a tidal wave.
I gasp violently, dragging in air like I've been drowning. My chest heaves. My body jerks, no longer weightless.
I am back!
The room crashes into my senses: heat, candle smoke, blood, sweat. My body feels split in two, stretched past breaking. A scream claws up my throat before I can stop it.
"There! She's back!"
"Gods, she's conscious! We thought she was dead!"
I don't hear them properly. All I hear is Grandma Chichi's voice, now close to my ear, though I know she is not truly there.
"Listen to me," she says. "That child chose you. Do you hear me? He chose you."
Another contraction builds, slow and cruel.
I cry out, shaking my head. "I can't!"
"Yes, you can," she snaps, sharp now. Commanding. "You have endured worse than this and still lived."
I feel her hand press against my back.
"Push," she tells me. "Not for them. Not for him. For your child. Your baby!"
My baby!
The word ignites something inside me, something fierce and feral and alive.
I feel him move again.
Weak.
But there.
A sob rips out of me.
"I'm here," I whisper hoarsely. "Mama's here."
The pain swells, cresting higher than before, threatening to tear me apart completely.
"Now!" Grandma Chichi cried. "With everything you have left!"
I scream in defiance.
I bear down.
Hard.
My body obeys with a raw, animal instinct. Muscles tighten. My vision whites out. I feel the burn, the tearing, the impossible pressure, and I do not let go.
I push like my life depends on it.
And I push.
And I push.
And I push.
The sound reaches me before the light does.
I heard a cry!
It was thin, sharp, furious with life.
It slices through the darkness like a blade, and something deep inside me answers.
My eyes flutter open.
The world swims into focus slowly. Candlelight trembles above me. Faces hover, blurred by tears, mine or theirs, I cannot tell.
Then I see it.
Joy.
Pure, unguarded joy shining on the midwives' faces.
"He's here!" one of them breathes, almost laughing. "Gods above… he's here!!!"
Another voice, trembling and laughing. "A boy!"
The cry of my baby grew louder, stronger, and indignant.
My heart stutters.
"A boy?" I whisper.
My throat burns. My body aches in places I didn't know existed. Every breath scraped from the bottom of my lungs.
They bring him closer.
And the moment I see him, the world changes.
He is small, so impossibly small, but alive. His skin is flushed, fists clenched tight as if he's already ready to fight. His mouth opens wide as he cries, demanding, uncompromising.
Life.
Raw, stubborn life.
"Here," the midwife says gently, lowering him into my arms. "He's yours."
The instant he touches me, something breaks open in my chest.
I sob.
I cry like someone who has survived a war she never expected to win.
My arms close around him instinctively, trembling as I cradle his warm, wriggling body against me. He is heavier than I imagined, solid and real, his cries vibrating against my skin.
"Oh," I whisper, tears streaming freely now. "Oh, my love!"
His tiny fingers curl, grasping at the air and then at me. One wraps around my finger, impossibly strong.
It's as if my heart has left my body and taken shape in my arms.
I felt an urge so powerful it almost hurts. I want to shield him from the world, from pain, from cruelty, from ever knowing fear.
I press my forehead to his, breathing him in.
He smells like blood and warmth.
"I'm here," I whisper to him, my voice shaking. "Mama's here. I won't let anything hurt you."
His cries soften, just a little, as if he hears me. As if he knows.
A warmth spreads through my chest that has nothing to do with blood or pain. It is love in its purest form, wild, unconditional, terrifying in its depth.
I glance down at him again, tracing the curve of his cheek, the tiny nose, the dark lashes already clinging to his skin.
And then I see it.
At the center of his chest, just above his heart, is a mark.
A perfect full moon, pale and unmistakable, etched into his skin as if the heavens themselves claimed him.
My breath catches.
The room seems to tilt.
The midwives notice my sudden stillness.
"What is it?" one asks softly.
But I'm no longer fully there.
I feel a strange lightness creeping into my limbs. The way my hands tremble, my vision blurring at the edges.
No.
I clutch him tighter. "I can't leave him. I just got him."
The room starts to fade.
The midwives' voices grow frantic.
"Her pulse…"
"Amarien, stay with us!"
I try to answer them, but my voice won't come.
Everything sounds distant now, as if I'm sinking underwater again.
My arms feel weak.
The baby's weight slips slightly, and the midwives rush to support him.
"No…" I gasp faintly. "Don't take him!"
"Amarien!"
Their voices echo, distorted, panicked.
The world pulls away from me inch by inch.
The last thing I see is my son's face, his mouth opening in another cry, his tiny fists waving angrily at the air, alive and furious and beautiful.
Then…
Darkness.
Silence and Black.