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003 A Mother’s Last Wish
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2025-04-21 13:38:28(Ava)
The machines beep in slow, steady rhythms, a cruel mockery of the life slipping away from my daughter.
Her doctor clears his throat. I barely glance up.
“Ms. Lancaster, we’ve done everything we can.” His voice is measured, careful. Like I might shatter if he speaks too plainly.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “You’re saying she’s going to die?”
He hesitates. “Yes.”
The air is thick, suffocating. My ears ring.
“I can call a priest if you’d like,” he offers. “For last rites.”
I blink, staring at him like he’s speaking a foreign language.
Last rites? What good is praying to a god that could let this happen?
“No.” My voice is hoarse, raw. “She’s not dying here.”
The doctor’s expression falters. “Ava—”
“She’s not dying in this place,” I snap, sharper this time. “She’s coming home.”
His brows knit together, hesitating, clearly not wanting to argue. “I understand how you feel, Ava, but the law—”
“Don’t speak to me about the law,” I cut him off, my voice ice. “Look at her! My baby has spent months being poked, prodded, and used like a spare parts bin. And now, now that you’re done with her, now that she’s given enough of herself to save the son of the man who abandoned her, you’re just going to let her die here? Like she’s nothing?”
The doctor has the nerve to look sympathetic. Like that means anything to me. “I know this is unfair—”
“Unfair?” My laugh is hollow, bitter. “Unfair is what happened when my husband turned on me because of what is now proven to be a lie. But who’s asking that question? Who’s asking how the paternity results were wrong?”
He just stares back at me.
I’m not done yet. “Unfair is me losing everything and still fighting to be a good mother, only to have my daughter stolen from me in my weakest moment. Unfair is you telling me that the child you all used is now disposable.”
I push myself up from the chair, my legs shaking but holding.
My body might be weak, but my rage is a force all on its own.
“I’m taking her home,” I say again, my voice calm now. Too calm.
His jaw tightens. “Ava, if you remove her against medical advice, it will be considered kidnapping.”
I scoff. “Kidnapping? She’s my daughter.”
“Not in the eyes of the law.”
“She’s mine,” I whisper. “I carried her. I gave birth to her. I have rocked her to sleep every night, held her when she cried, kissed every single one of her little scrapes and bruises.”
My voice shakes, but I press on. “Where is Zach? Huh? Where is her so-called father?”
The doctor is looking at me harder now. “You are free to leave. Nico could wheel you to the taxi cabs.”
“I’m not free to leave with my daughter.”
“If there was anything under your blanket while I took you to the taxis, I couldn’t tell.” Nico add with a shrug.
I shot them both appreciative nods.
At the end, they show kindness to a desperate mother.
“Just a little longer, baby,” I whisper to Lila. “I’m taking you home.”
***
I get Lila inside and we head for the little playroom with the big sofa we always snuggled on. It’s sunny and bright with large windows that open out onto the front yard and street.
She always loved this room. I did too.
The way the afternoon light came through, how she’d curl up on the couch with her favorite stuffed toys, how we snuggled with books and singing funny songs under her fluffy pink blanket.
I press my lips to her forehead. “Mommy’s here, baby. Mommy’s here.”
I sing her songs and we stay like that for a long time.
I rock her gently, pressing my lips to her forehead, letting my tears fall freely onto her soft curls.
I hold her closer, rocking her gently, singing the lullaby I always sang when she couldn’t sleep.
“Hush, little baby, don't say a word…”
My voice cracks, but I keep singing, forcing the words past my lips as sobs rack my body.
“Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.” But there’s nothing left to buy her. Nothing left to give.
Her lashes flutter. Her gorgeous green eyes are looking at me.
Her tiny lips part.
“Mama?”
She knows me. She remembers me. I don’t know how but I’m so grateful.
A ragged sob rips from my throat.
My hands cradling hers. “I’m here, baby. Mommy’s here.”
She tries to smile. “Love you.”
Tears spill down my face. “I love you more.”
Her fingers twitch in my grip. She’s so weak.
“Dada…? Sss senna?”
My stomach twists.
Before I can answer, her little eyelids flutter closed.
Her grip slackens.
I place her gently on the couch,with the cushions protecting her from falling off.
Arranging her small body like she’s just napping.
I grab every stuffed toy, every blanket, every little thing that brought her comfort and place them around her.
Her books, her music, everything. Then I step back, taking in the sight.
It looks almost peaceful. Almost. I exhale a long, shuddering breath.
She’s still warm, but I know…
I know she’s already gone.
My beautiful, perfect little girl.
The child I carried for nine months, the baby I nursed, the toddler who reached for me when she was scared, who giggled in delight when I spun her around.
Gone.
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