Sin Fronteras Spring 2018 Sin Fronteras 2018 | Page 51

Vania Álvarez
Jiao ran through the white halls of the hospital, his dark hair flying. He
had gotten a call from his wife at four o’clock, telling him that it was time, that
the baby was coming, and that she was going to the hospital. Unable to contain
his excitement, Jiao left the office in a hurry, an indelible smile covering his
face. Happiness seeped out of him as his co-workers gave him encouraging
hugs and congratulatory words.
Now, Jiao approached an idle looking nurse and gave her his wife’s name.
Immediately the nurse’s face fell, an inconceivable sadness spreading over her
eyes. As she gave him his wife’s room number, apologetic remarks began to
tumble out of her mouth. The repeating words, “we did everything we could,
sir, we really did,” were left suspended in mid-air as Jiao ran to his wife.
Their baby was a girl, and she had been born dead. Asphyxiated before
the doctors even got the chance to notice, silently strangled by the umbilical
cord. Jiao did not know whether to be consumed by his grief, or relieved that
he hadn’t had to take her home. To have the joy of her presence for a few days
before he and his wife let her starve, the way they had agreed to if their baby
turned out to be a girl. Despite his anger at the Chinese government for creating
the one-child policy—for making him have these thoughts—he softly cradled
his lifeless baby girl in his arms, and pressed his forehead to his daughter’s,
taking her tiny, fragile fingers in his large, calloused hand, letting a single tear
slide down his cheek.
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