Lily didn’t let go of the nurse’s hand while they waited for news of the twins. Her small fingers, covered in dirt and dried blood, gripped with a strength that seemed beyond that of a seven-year-old. She didn’t cry. She didn’t speak. She just stared at the emergency room door, as if her gaze could keep her brothers alive.
The nurse, Patricia, had seen it all in her twenty years of service. But never anything like this. Never a barefoot girl, her feet mangled, pushing a rusty wheelbarrow under the scorching sun. Never two babies so cold, so still, so close to not coming back.
When the pediatrician finally came out, his face said it all. They were alive. Dehydrated, hypothermic, but alive. The twins had arrived at the hospital just in time. One more hour, maybe two, and the story would have ended differently.
Lily exhaled. It was barely a sigh, but miles of pain were released within it. Then, for the first time since she arrived, she closed her eyes. And collapsed.
