The funerals come to pass—of the innocents, with beautiful goodbyes; of the convicted, with cursed farewells.
The grave, they say, is equal for all: every man returns to the dust, for we are born from the earth, and to the earth we return.
Yet the life one leads leaves its trace. You, who grazed one or two souls—turned forlornness into blessedness, tranquility into ruin.
The flesh burns and shreds, ashens and disappears; death liberates the soul, and it flies unscathed—away, far from the mortal realm.
For the soul is breath, air—purifying the world through the vines and olive trees, and polluting it through meadows of black dahlias. The unclouded air strengthens heaven; the tainted smokes rise from the burns.
It has now been a full month—a month of tragedy, and of bearable miracles, a month of making truce with twisted fate. The reckoning declares: fifteen lives lost, and fifty more, wounded—fatally and otherwise.
Still, the countrypeople must move on. So long as breath remains in flesh, they rise, they endure. Scars etched into the mind's hollow will, in time, yield the blossom of the bud.
The thieves who came to kill and steal were betrayed by their own kind. Most of the exiled troops are caught. But there remains no trace of the more experienced men—the ones who patrolled the church and tried to bomb it down.
Only their dead bodies were found. The rest had fled.
The month now elapsed is truly a knit of sorrow and grace, of ruin and resurrection.
♡
The night before dawn, Neva lies awake. Her husband slumbers behind her, one arm loosely draped around her waist. In her hand, the phone's bright screen slices through the dark haze of the room.
She keeps track of her contractions. The timer glows.
Neva exhales, a soft cry escaping her lips as pain clenches through her uterus.
Her face scrunches. She sucks in a sharp breath. Moments later, she exhales in relief, the ache subsiding.
She turns to glance at her sleeping husband. "Rhett?" she whispers.
"Rhett," she says again, patting his arm.
"Hmm?" he groans, voice deep, not yet moving.
She shifts to face him fully. "Wake up. I think I'm going into labour."
His eyes open slightly, dazed. "What?"
"The baby's coming," she says, her voice low, uncertain.
He blinks fully awake now, soft concern stirring in his gaze. "Are you sure? How do you feel?"
"I've been awake for almost four hours. The pain isn't going away," she murmurs, curling up into his chest.
He holds her closer, kisses the top of her head gently. "Why didn't you wake me up sooner?"
"I wasn't sure. It started off like mild cramps… now it just keeps getting worse," she murmurs, her voice muffled against him.
"Is it too painful? How long does it last?" he asks, brushing her hair away from her face.
"It's getting more intense. Lasts about thirty seconds… comes around every seven minutes." She looks up at him, her eyes shimmering.
He strokes her cheek with his thumb. "Are you having one now?"
"No… not right now," she whispers, and suddenly, a tear rolls down her cheek. "Rhett… I'm scared."
He wipes the tear away, tenderness filling his eyes. "Don't be. I'm here."
She shakes her head, more tears falling.
"W-we don't even have the crib ready—" she sobs softly.
"Shh…" He draws her close, resting his chin atop her head.
She clutches his shirt in her fists.
He sighs. So much has happened this month. He had bought the crib—he just hadn't had the time to assemble it. And the due date was still over two weeks away.
"I know. I'm sorry. I'll get it ready after the baby's born," he murmurs, kissing her head again.
"It's not your fault," she says quietly.
"What time is it?" he asks after a long moment.
"Almost four," she replies, curling into him as he gently combs his fingers through her hair.
---
(At the hospital)
Neva lies in a warm birthing tub, the water cradling her like a mirror of her own heat.
Her back leans against the tub's wall, body half-submerged.
She moans in pain, her face contorted, sweat pearling on her brow. Loose strands of her curled hair cling to her skin.
Her body tenses, muscles contracting. She cries out, gripping Rhett's hand, knuckles white from pressure.
Rhett kneels beside the tub, fear etched into every line of his face. He's terrified—watching Neva suffer makes his own chest ache. He can barely process the pain she's enduring, only feel the fierce grip of her hand crushing his.
"Okay, Mrs. Lei," the doctor encourages, voice firm but gentle, "you've almost made it. Keep pushing."
A nurse and midwife stands nearby, aiding the doctor. Together, they guide her through an unmedicated, natural birth.
Neva sobs, head falling back.
She feels a soft caress on her hair, turns her head toward Rhett. Her lips tremble.
"It hurts so much," she whispers, tears streaming.
He kisses her temple. "You're doing so well, Angel. You're so brave."
She closes her eyes, trying to rest in the tiny gap between contractions, drawing strength from his closeness.
"It's time. Push, Mrs. Lei," the doctor urges.
A contraction floods through.
Neva bears down, her face contorted in pain. Her voice breaks in a raw groan.
Nothing.
She slumps back, gasping, "I can't… I can't do this..."
Rhett leans in, his voice steady, heart breaking for her. "Yes, you can.
I'm here. You've got this, Angel. Breathe," he murmurs, wiping the sweat from her brow, demonstrating a steady breath with his own.
She sobs, drawing in a trembling breath. Another contraction hits—sharper, meaner.
She cries out and pushes again, and again—three waves in a row—her strength flickering.
"I see the head," the doctor announces. "Just a little more."
The nurse and midwife exchange quick glances, tense but hopeful. If this doesn't work, they may have to intervene.
The air grows still and taut.
Neva, in labour now for nearly fourteen hours, has never known such searing pain.
Her body burns. It's as though she's being torn apart.
Neva lets out a cry—a primal, breaking sound—as she bears down again.
The doctor nods quickly. "You're almost there! One more push!"
"I can't—" she gasps.
Rhett's hands cup her face. "Look at me, Angel.
Just one more. You're right at the end."
She clenches her teeth, eyes locked on his—and when the next contraction roars through.
Her whole being blurs. In that wild, near-death haze—when all seems about to vanish—she gives one final, fierce push with everything she has left.
A long, desperate scream splits the air.
And then—
A release.
A gasp. A slip. The water stirs. A breath catches in Rhett's throat.
The doctor lifts the baby up through the surface.
Neva collapses back, dazed and breathless.
"Oh my God," Rhett gasps, eyes wide.
"12:04. September 11, 2019," a nurse announces.
The baby cries—loud, sharp, insistent—and Neva blinks through her haze.
It's... It's real.
"Are... Are you alright?" Rhett asks, wiping the sweat off her temple. He's still stunned, voice barely above a whisper.
Neva nods slightly, meeting his concerned eyes.
Her gaze trails to the nurse, helping clean and wrap the baby in a white cloth.
She soon approaches and places the tiny bundle of love onto Neva's bare chest.
She inhales shakily. Her arms fold protectively around the tiny form.
The baby quiets immediately, nestling into her warmth.
Rhett wraps his arms around them both, trembling with emotion. He kisses her damp forehead. "I'm so proud of you."
Neva's eyes flutter up to meet his. She smiles faintly. He kisses her lips, soft and slow.
They both look down.
The baby—pink and little—covered lightly in vernix, a bit of blood still on the towel—lets out a small, sleepy sound.
A nurse smiles at the sight. "Congratulations. You have a beautiful baby boy."
Neva's eyes brim with tears.
Their boy. Their little boy. Her lips tremble with joy.
And then—just for a second—his lips curl. A miracle smile.
Neva gasps softly. "He has your smile," she whispers, looking up at Rhett.
He smiles, eyes glassy, and leans down to kiss her again, gently. "I love you."
He rests his forehead against hers. "From the moment we met… you've made me the happiest man alive. Thank you. I love you so much, Neva."
"I love you too," she whispers, eyes closed in relief. In a grateful prayer.
Then she gazes down at their child.
The baby's eyes are closed, his little hands curled near his cheeks.
She smiles at him, then strokes his tiny head. "We love you too, little Rhean."
She lifts her gaze to Rhett, who mirrors the same awe, the same devotion.
A boundless love already weaves between them and their son.
Their sunshine boy. The bud of their love.