“I see the head,” the midwife announced with excitement. “Keep pushing, weak woman.” Finally, I felt light. Something slipped out of me like a sandbag. The room went quiet. There was no sound. My ear buzzed. “Is she alive,” I demanded. My heart could not take the silence. “Give me the knife,” the midwife said to Lady Alana. Her voice was unusually high. She looked frantic, but her hands were as steady as surgeon’s. She cut the cord with a fast and perfect swing. I closed my eyes. It was too close to the neck. Still, the room was as quiet as a tomb. She rubbed the baby’s chest with gentle fingers. Finally, the baby opened her mouth. She took in a lung full of air and cried so loudly. The best sound in the world, I thought. After stabilizing the baby, the midwife gave her to me. She was smiling. All in a day’s work, I thought. I could not thank the midwife enough. She was my superwoman. I patted my daughter’s back. I nursed her. I kept looking a
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