Died with My Daughter

Harith was rarely awake, then he looked at me with wide, quiet eyes, like he was afraid to say or do the wrong thing. I couldn’t bring myself to hate him, no matter what had happened between me and Beatrix. He was just a child—innocent and even less fortunate than Adeline in many ways. His life seemed to be used for his mother’s constant need for sympathy.

One night, as I watched over Harith, an uneasy feeling crept over me. A mother’s intuition, they call it. I couldn’t ignore it. I had to check on Adeline. Something didn’t feel right.

I stood up, trying to slip out quietly. But just as I reached the door, I heard a small, strangled gasp behind me. Harith was suddenly struggling to breathe, his tiny chest heaving. Doctors and nurses rushed in and I froze for a moment as they crowded around his bed, working to help him.

I glanced back once more but knew I couldn’t wait. I slipped out of the room and into the hallway, my mind set on getting to Adeline. But as I hurried down the hall, someone grabbed onto my leg, making me stop.

It was Beatrix, on her knees, her face wet with tears. She clung to me, shaking with grief and panic, her eyes wild and full of hurt.

“How could this happen?” she cried. “The doctor said this morning that Harith was doing well! He only had the soup you made…”

Her words stung, like a hidden accusation. She gripped my leg tighter, as if I was her only lifeline. “Alice, if you’re mad at me, then hate me, but don’t take it out on Harith. He’s just a child…he’s everything I have!”

I tried to pull my leg free, feeling her words jab at my already frayed nerves. “Move, Beatrix,” I said, keeping my voice firm. “I need to see Adeline.”

But she didn’t let go. Her eyes hardened with bitterness. “Of course,” she spat, her voice filled with anger. “Only Adeline matters to you, doesn’t she? Harith means nothing to you, just because he’s my child.”

I felt a flash of anger rise up, but I forced it down. I couldn’t let her words distract me from Adeline, not now. Beatrix’s constant accusations and need for attention were wearing me down. But her words stayed with me, making my heart feel even heavier.

Just then, Paul appeared at the end of the hallway. He walked over quickly, his face serious and tense. Without a word, he grabbed my arm, holding me firmly. He glanced at Harith’s room, his eyes flickering with worry, but he focused back on me.

“Stay here and explain,” he said firmly. “Harith can’t handle another complication, Alice.”

My heart pounded as I looked up at him, feeling trapped. “I need to be with Adeline,” I said quietly, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. But he didn’t let go.

“Alice,” he said, his tone softening a little, but his grip stayed firm. “This isn’t just about you. This is about Harith—a child who’s suffering. And Beatrix thinks you’re the reason. Talk to her. Help her understand.”

A lump formed in my throat and I struggled to hold back my emotions. I glanced over my shoulder at Harith’s room, where doctors were still working to help him. He looked so small and fragile, caught in a struggle he didn’t deserve. A strange feeling rose within me—something I couldn’t quite name, but it hurt all the same.

Beatrix’s tearful eyes were locked onto me, full of accusation and sorrow. Her hands still clung to my arm, shaking as she tried to steady herself. She took a shaky breath, her gaze never leaving mine.

“If you had any compassion, you’d understand what it feels like to fear for your child,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “To know that their life is hanging by a thread.”

Her words hit me hard. For a moment, I felt her pain—her fear for Harith’s life. A part of me wanted to reach out, to comfort her, even if just for a moment. But then, I thought of Adeline, my own daughter, lying in a hospital bed, needing me. My heart twisted painfully, torn between these two children caught in a situation neither of them could control.

Taking a deep breath, I gently placed a hand on Beatrix’s shoulder, looking into her eyes with as much calm as I could find. “I understand your pain,” I said softly. “But I need to be with Adeline right now. She’s my daughter, and she needs me.”

Beatrix’s grip on my arm loosened, and her shoulders slumped with sadness. She nodded slowly, and for a brief moment, it felt like there was a small understanding between us—two mothers bound by the love for their children, both caught in a struggle we didn’t ask for.

Without another word, I turned and walked away, the echo of my footsteps filling the hallway as I made my way back to Adeline.

A blinding flash of light pierced through my eyes.

“Get out of my way and don’t stop me,” I murmured, pushing through. “The doctor’s here; I’m useless here now. If you want to charge me with murder, there’ll be plenty of time for that afterward.”

Adeline—my Adeline—I could still hear her faintly calling for her mommy, but the movement on the hospital bed behind me had stopped.

The doctor removed his mask and looked at us with weary sympathy. “I’m sorry... my condolences.”

Beatrix collapsed, her sobs filling the room as she clung to me desperately. "Sister Alice, tell me, what did I do to deserve this? Why are you treating me this way?”

Paul’s grip tightened around my arm, making it impossible for me to move. His brows were drawn together in frustration. "What could you possibly have that’s more important than a life? Stay here and explain yourself.”

My heart thundered, but his words grew faint, drowned out by the relentless sound of Adeline’s cries in my mind. In the dark recesses of my mind, something dawned on me, and the heat of my anger turned to cold. I forgot to struggle.

Then Adeline’s attending doctor arrived, panting, clutching the door frame. “Adeline... she couldnt make it.”