She gave birth quietly and handed over her child
For years, Ive worked as a midwife, drifting through strange days and stranger nights. Some moments have been soft and warm, others colder and unwelcome, like old coats left in the rain. Usually, the nurses keep away from family affairs, hovering like ghosts in the corridors, but recently I found myself drawn into the curious orbit of a young student who, with barely a whisper, brought her daughter into the world and immediately wished to give her away.
Her name was Editha name that felt like antique laceand she arrived at the hospital carrying her secret for nine months. She never visited a doctor, vanishing into her studies and silence, refusing to answer my simple questions, and the storm of labour left me no time to ask for more.
Ediths labour was flawless, as if she had rehearsed for it in a forgotten theatre. Unlike the mothers who attended childbirth classes, she let out the smallest sighs, followed every instruction with gentle precision, and gave birth smoothly, her body remembering what modern hands try to teach. When the little girl slipped into my arms, her cry was thunder in a distant valley, announcing new life to everyone. Edith wept a rain of quiet tears, and I told her, Youve a healthy babyshes wonderful!
But in the strange geometry of the postnatal ward, Edith announced her plan to surrender the child for adoption. She spoke gently, requesting we alert the proper authorities.
We tried to persuade her otherwise, spinning encouragement like thread at an old spinning wheel, but the young mother only shook her head. She refused to nurse her daughter, begged for solitude as if the warmth of touch was too heavy to endure.
The baby, unlike others who took to formula, turned her head for the scent of milk, mouth wide and rootless, seeking a breast that wouldnt appear. She began losing weight like autumn leaves drifting from branches, and, on my next shift, I found myself compelledI gathered her up in my arms, ignoring warnings from others, and carried her back to Edith. I explained that her behaviour was putting the baby at risk and, with a sternness I rarely summoned, I insisted she feed her child.
Reluctantly, Edith offered her breast, and the little girl latched with ravenous energy as if shed found the path home after years of wandering. I feigned urgent matters elsewhere and left, letting the two of them drift together in their own bubble of time.
Returning half an hour later, I discovered them asleepa tableau painted softly in the afternoon sunlight, Ediths arms curled protectively around her daughter. After a while, Edith woke, wrapped the baby in her shawl, and wandered out to the corridor. She settled near my desk and began her strange, dreamlike confession.
The childs father, it turned out, was a well-known businessman in the citya figure whose shadow fell across boardrooms and tea shops. He was married and had greeted Ediths pregnancy with a grimace and the offer of an escape. But Edith, stubborn as moss on stone, decided to keep the baby. The man confessed everything to his wife, who received his remorse but hurled all her fury at Edith, demanding the child be sent away. Money and threats fluttered around like moths, but Edith stood firm, and eventually the businessman vanished from the cityabsent as if swallowed by fogwhile his wife pressed harder for adoption.
Edith finished her tale, meeting my eyes without flinching. “I want to keep her,” she said, words trembling on the edge of hope. “But Ive got no room for her in the student halls and not a penny to my name…”
Hearing this, I praised her and tried to set courage in her chest. Our head doctor was well-connected, like a spider at the centre of a web, so it was almost effortless to arrange contact with the childs father. Astonishingly, he did not try to evade us. He appeared, almost on tiptoe, several hours later, and we unravelled all the tangles of Ediths and the childs futures. To be honest, none of us expected such decency from him.
Once Edith was discharged, she found a small flatwalls still echoing with strangers laughterand the girls father paid for twelve months up front, letting her rest easier. He gave her sufficient fundshundreds of pounds, enough for comfortand promised care for his daughter in the future. Perhaps a new conscience flickered in him, recognition of what hed set in motion. I cant divine what awaits Edith and her little girl. I hope, somewhere down the winding lane of life, she fashions a family, and her beautiful daughter grows up surrounded by love and wildflowers.
