I used to have a husband. I used to have a son. They are no more. I used to have sisters and brothers, but I left them when I married. I used to have Miriam and Joshua, but now they have left me, too.
I am alone.
My marriage was one of joy. I was lucky in that the man my father chose for me was good and kind. We labored together and the work became light. I miss his laugh. It was beautiful. When I told Nathan I was with child, he was filled with delight. I had never seen him so pleased. We anticipated the birth of our firstborn with excitement. But he never met his son. Sickness swept the city, and then Nathan was gone.
I met Miriam the day he was taken. She followed the same cart that I did: we farewelled our husbands only to welcome our sons. We mourned together and supported one another. Miriam became my friend, my confidant, my sister. We made a home together, knowing we would need one another when our babies arrived -- and we did.
My Nathaniel came first, but Joshua arrived only two days later. I expected the arrival of my son to bring me joy. I saw Nathan's features in our little boy's face and wanted to feel joy: all I felt was despair. I ached for the warmth of Nathan's arms: instead I heard the anger in Nathaniel's cries. I was tired, exhausted by the hours of labor and the agony of delivery. My body had become something I no longer recognized. I was miserable.
Miriam understood none of my pain. When Joshua arrived, she glowed. She was radiant as her son suckled and slept.
I could only cry. I was crushed by the loneliness I felt inside, jealous of the joy I saw in Miriam. I tried to love Nathaniel, for his father's sake, but my heart was not in it. I was angry that Nathan had left me. Angry that God had taken him. Angry that He had sent me this burden that I could not handle. Angry that I could not calm Nathaniel.
I tried. All I wanted was for the crying to stop. All I wanted was a moment of silence. But then the silence came and I was afraid. The silence was deafening. It was too long. My ears roared with it. I screamed for noise, any noise, but it would not come.
The anger and sorrow were replaced by fear: fear of the law, fear of God, fear of what I had become. I panicked. But then I heard a cry and my heart soared again. God had given me a second chance. I no longer held a baby white and still; This child was pink and fresh. He looked into my eyes and cooed, his tiny plump fist curled around my finger as he suckled at my breast. Yes, this was as it should be. Nathan would be proud of this tiny child who would carry his name.
When Miriam returned from bathing she tried to take my babe away from me. She screamed that he was her own. The woman was raving, a lunatic. I had taken her in in her time of need and this was how she repaid me. She ranted at me, clawed at me, but I would not release my child to this madwoman. I needed this child and he needed me.
When the guards came to take us to the king, Miriam was still wild. They took the child from me, but assured me that he would be safe in the arms of the king's guard. So long as he was not given to Miriam, I was content. She had become like an animal.
The King heard our stories. I knew he would judge fairly. It is said he is the wisest man ever to grace the earth. And so, when he declared that we should cut the child in half, I agreed. The baby was crying again, unable to cope without his mother holding him. Did I want to be shackled with this burden all my life? No. And the king was right, after all. Perhaps the child would be better off not knowing the pains of this world. And I would be free to leave this city, to find another husband, start another life.
I was shocked by Miriam's outburst. At least she finally admitted the truth. The baby was mine. The truth of her statement reminded me of the love I felt for Nathaniel. He truly was my child. How could I have been so foolish? I was pleased when she told the king to give me my child. I reached for him, eager to put his warm mouth to my heavy bosom, but then king halted me.
With uncomprehending eyes, I watched him place my baby in Miriam's arms. He called her his true mother. He told her to go. Miriam put her lips to the baby's and I see her eyes in his face.
And now I am alone. I don't know what to do. I am not the baby's mother.
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