At the clinic gate, a 7-year-old collapsed, crying, “Mommy has been sleeping for three days, please save them.” The doctor rushed to help the newborn twins, but as he lifted them, his hands shook. Underneath the babies was a handwritten note from the mother that made the doctor freeze in terror…
glass, wiping tears from their eyes. They whisper about miracles.
Whenever I visit, I don’t see a miracle. I look at the rusted iron frame, and I remember the metallic smell of blood. I remember the abrasive sting of the dirt, the agonizing fatigue in my bones, the sheer, unadulterated terror of holding life and death in my blistered hands.
