My baby was born on April 26th, just a few days short of my due date. I had given birth in my room under Mrs. Williams' close supervision and midwifery--I was intensely lucky that the late Mr. Williams had been a doctor.

My baby was a sweet boy of six pounds and seven ounces; he fit comfortably in the crook of my arm. It was like I had been built to hold him--it was so natural, so comfortable for me. He rested at my chest, heartbeat against heartbeat, and I cried with happiness.

It was my baby, my son. Chubby cheeks and big eyes of soft brown--such a darling. I never wanted to let him go. I loved him more than I had ever imagined before--his happiness was my happiness, his sadness mine. Those nine months had connected us in an impossible and brilliant way, and I was irrevocably tied to him.

Mrs. Williams and the other women let me be in my secluded ecstasy as I played with my son. I tickled his tiny, wrinkled toes, and marveled at his perfect hands. I watched him yawn to sleep every night and blink awake every morning. Every cry was silenced within minutes--it pierced my heart to see my angel upset.

When the coughing started, I didn't think much of it--everyone coughed, right? I started to get worried when I caught Mrs. Williams staring at my son intently.

"Yes?" I asked, annoyed, as I shielded him from her gaze. Her eyes flickered up to mine, dead serious.

"Babies shouldn't cough like that."

"Oh." I looked down at my son and stroked his cheek. "I think he's fine, though--"

"How long has he been like that?" The question was quick, cold.

"A few hours, I suppose--"

"Give him to me," she demanded. I stuttered a protest, but I couldn't deny her long as I examined her face. It terrified me; I handed him over.

She cradled him in her arms before heading to her own bedroom--I'd never seen her walk so swiftly, so erect, before. I ran to catch up.

"What's wrong?" I asked, panicked.

"I'm sure he'll be fine--go back to your room and rest, Anne--you need your rest." She slammed the door in my face.

I slid down to the floor, numb. Had that really just happened? I hadn't hardly let go of him since he was born, and I'd just handed my son over so easily! I could still hear him coughing on the other side of the door, and my breathing sped in anxiety. What was wrong with him? I had never seen Mrs. Williams look so serious before now--even during my labor she had been smiling and relaxed. And if there was--God forbid--something wrong with my dear baby, well, I had to be with him.

I knocked furiously on her door.

"Go back to your room, darling, it's fine," her voice responded, but it seemed strained.

"Please, just let me see him! Hold him!" I begged. She ignored me.

"I'll call you back a little later," she promised a few minutes later. "Go rest, Anne." \

"But my baby!" I cried, a few tears trailing down my cheek. I pounded again on the door, my anxiety at its highest.

She did not respond, so I fell, sobbing, against the door, waiting and listening. Every time he coughed, I knocked and pleaded to no avail.

Then, when everything was dark, it went silent. I caught my breath, straining my ears. I scrambled to stand up as the door creaked open slowly. Mrs. Williams looked incredibly empty. She did not hold my son in her arms.

"I'm terribly sorry, Anne," she apologized in a monotone voice, "Your son--he must've had an affection when he was born, something I didn't notice before. He--he couldn't breathe; there was liquid in his lungs. I'm so sorry, Anne, but your son has died."