Ten…

Birds nesting in trees draped in auburn and goldenrod leaves—sunshine streaming through the gaps. A gentle breeze came whistling by, causing some of the browner foliage to fall to the earth below. Cigarette smoke from the designated zone pulled away with the wind—patients infectiously smiling at one another. Today is the day, the day we are finally taking our little one home. Claire.

Nine…

Born 11:42AM on October 22^nd. Seven pounds, eight ounces. Twenty inches long. Her piercing squeal was reminiscent of Marie’s loud mouth—something all of the Smithton girls innately have. Each cry sent a lightning bolt down my spine, which coursed through my body and exited through my toes into the linoleum floor beneath my feet. But, when our eyes met, the tension between my wife and I subsided. Our daughter was here, and she was healthy. Claire.

Eight…

I always associated the hospital with death row—a marginal amount of the populace rotting away as they walk their own Green Mile. All through the halls, sounds of coughing and somber moaning surface between beeps and squeaking cartwheels. However, today is significantly different. Today, as the automatic doors close behind us, I picture the gates of heaven closing and a cherub in Marie’s arms. Claire.

Seven…

Luckily, Marie and I were the planning type, so our baby making an early appearance didn’t catch us off guard. After the news of the unexpected pregnancy, we kicked our asses into high gear. Or should I say, Marie kicked my ass into high gear, ordering me around. I always knew that gag-gift whip from her bachelorette party was going to backfire. By the end of the first trimester, I had already baby-proofed the house and had a new IIHS top safety pick sitting in the garage bay. Claire.

Six…

As ready as we were, nothing can prepare a new parent for putting the carrier in the car for the first time, which I failed to do until Marie’s water broke. “Damnit, Henry! I told you to get that done a week ago!” Marie exclaimed between her contractions. Now, with Marie silent in the front seat and our daughter asleep in the back, all of that seemed pointless—the nagging and the screaming and the fighting—because our sweet angel is going home. She’s finally going home. Claire.

Five…

Smooth roads are something for which West Virginia is not known, a fact I knew too well having worked for the Department of Transportation for the past few months. “I thought you were supposed to fix all these holes, not make them worse!” Something Marie doesn’t realize is the entire state is sitting on quicksand. No matter how many times you patch something, it’s going to come back—sometimes worse than it was before. Even parking lots are Swiss cheese. “I just need to make sure I don’t…” I begin to say before hitting a crater at the top of the street. “Shit. So much for the baby having an easy first car ride.” Claire.

Four…

“Henry, can’t you do anything right? I can’t even trust you to drive home without messing up,” Marie said. I know it’s difficult to believe, but Marie has redeeming qualities. She keeps the house clean, makes dinner every night, and respects my mother, which can be quite difficult considering Marie’s short temper; and—let’s be honest—my mother isn’t always the easiest person to get along with. Let’s just hope our daughter doesn’t inherit the short fuse. Claire.

Three…

Red rings began forming around the angel’s eyes from all the crying. I turn around in the driver’s seat and begin singing a lullaby to the bundle of fire, crackling raucously. “Hush, little baby, don’t say a word. Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird. And, if that mockingbird won’t sing, papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.” Marie chimed in, sarcastically, with a “Yeah, I’m sure,” probably referring to the fact that I couldn’t afford a proper engagement ring given the circumstances. In the few moments it took to glare at Marie contemptuously and glance back at our baby, the wailing had ceased, and all was calm once more. “Well, Marie. If this is a telltale sign of what parenting is going to be like, I think we’ll be just fine.” Claire.

Two…

Staring at my baby, I gently press the gas pedal to begin into the intersection. High-pitched screeches fill my ears. A truck hits us and sends us careening onto our side. Through my winced eyes, I caught glimpses of my surroundings. Glass shards glimmering in the same sunlight that was filling the gaps in the trees just minutes before. Sparks as friction brings our vehicle to a stop. A pacifier flies from the back of the car, rattles off of the dashboard, and rests just out of reach. Complete silence. And then, nothing but black. Claire.

One…

Everything is hazy; reality is coming back to me in waves. The car is resting on the passenger side. The faint smell of gasoline fills my nose. “Marie? Marie, are you okay?” I see blood, forming a pool under her head. “Marie?! Answer me!” Why isn’t she responding?! But, wait…the baby…our daughter. “Claire, honey?!” Her arm is limp, hanging across her body. “Someone help!” I began screaming through coughs. The smoke filling the cabin is starting to grow more dense. But, just then, I heard the Smithton squeal and glanced quickly enough to see her hand clench into a fist. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here. Daddy’s here. Hush, little baby, don’t say a wo…” Blackness fills my eyes once more.

Zero.