When at last Thomas turns , Sarah is already elbow deep in damp , dark soil . A tu of red hair pokes through the dirt like freshly pulled carrots . Thomas cries out , the woman calls for security . But it is too late . Sarah ’ s hands are frenzied , churning through dirt as easily as air . She unearths the child , and a fresh , newborn scream rends the sky .
Thomas yells . The woman yells . The world is frantic with it . Amidst the salvo , Sarah clutches the baby to her chest . The cotton is back in her throat , and mud-streaked and disheveled , she weeps . “ Take it back ,” Thomas shouts . “ I demand a refund .” Beneath the dirt and fluid , a red birthmark flares across the skin of the baby ’ s cheek . An unforeseen mutation in the genetic pool . A whole field of daughters , sisters , mothers , le to senesce because of it . Thomas recoils with disgust , but Sarah clutches the baby to her chest , and smells the sweet , petrichor scent on her skin . “ She ’ s perfect ,” she whispers . No one hears her , but it hardly matters . This baby is hers . Thomas will not get his refund . A baby , once pulled , cannot be returned .