Chapter 10 - First Breath in the Shadows
The agony was absolute, blinding her until the world dissolved into streaks of white fire against the cedar walls. Clara pushed through the peak of the spasm, her breath tearing through her throat in ragged, rhythmic grunts. She could feel the infant crowning, the searing ring of fire testing the limits of her physical endurance.
She reached down with one hand, guiding the baby’s head as another wave seized her without mercy. With a final, desperate heave that emptied the air entirely from her lungs, the baby slid into her waiting hands, slick with vernix and blood.
The shed fell dead silent.
Clara pulled the tiny, fragile body up onto her bare chest, collapsing backward against the canvas drop cloth. The infant was limp, its skin a dusky, terrifying blue in the dim light of the shed. It wasn't crying. The airway was congested with fluid from the traumatic, accelerated labor.
Fighting the darkness closing in on the edge of her vision, Clara rolled onto her side. She cleared the infant's mouth and nostrils with the tip of her clean pinky finger, then placed her mouth over the tiny nose and lips, administering two soft, controlled puffs of warm air. She rubbed the small, fragile spine vigorously with a dry shop towel.
For three agonizing seconds, nothing happened.
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Then, a tiny, sputtering cough broke the silence, followed by a thin, indignant wail that filled the cramped interior of the shed. The baby drew its first deep breath, the dusky blue skin blooming into a vibrant, furious pink.
Clara pulled her child against her collarbone, weeping silently as she wrapped them both in the canvas cloth. It was a girl. Perfect, whole, and alive despite everything designed to erase them both. But as Clara reached for the sterile twine on the workbench to tie the umbilical cord, the sudden hiss of air brakes sounded at the top of the driveway.
