I flinched at the sound of a shrill, grating whimper before I realized that it was coming out of my own throat. I grabbed my belly, swallowing the urge to be sick all over the foyer floor.
“I can’t,” I whispered, resting my palm against the cool glass. “I can’t let people hurt each other over me. I can’t just stand here and watch this.”
Before anyone could stop me—before I could stop myself—I twisted the lock and flung the door open, hurtling myself down the front step and onto the porch.
“Stop!” I screamed, my one voice nothing against the howling of the warring mobs. “Stop!” I tried again. “Just stop!”
One person noticed me, and then another, until word of my appearance snaked its way through the crowd. Fists and feet froze midfight, and faces tilted toward me, alone on the porch in my baggy maternity sweatshirt and plaid flannel pajama pants.
“Stop!” I yelled again, this time with all eyes on me. “Stop fighting over me. Go back to your own lives and let me live mine. I never asked for this. I never asked for your opinions. Let God—or some other higher power—do the judging here. You have no right to ask anything of me.”
“Mina, get back in here,” my dad called from behind me, his voice shrill and panicked. But before I could turn back to him, I watched as the crowd surged forward—my supporters first, excitedly chanting my name, and the anti-Mina protesters chasing close behind them.
There was a large man leading the pack, tall and broad, his silvery hair long and gnarled around the shoulders of his ratty black leather jacket. He was on the steps, and then the porch, and others were right behind him, reaching out toward me, touching my belly, yelling my name. Soon there were more people, more and more, and somehow I fell down—no, I was pushed—my back slamming against the wooden boards below me, and I looked up and saw faces, so many faces . . .
Iris, that was Iris just above me, fighting back that man who was two or three times her size. She looked so strong, so furious.
And then in a blurry whirl of skin and lips and teeth and hands, clawing hands, everything stopped.
Everything disappeared.
• • •
I heard a faint rustling, a crisp, familiar sound that I tried to place. My eyes were still closed, but everything around me seemed bright, too bright, white and sharp and hot against my eyelids. I focused on the ground beneath me instead, hard and solid, with uneven grooves that pressed into my back. A breeze laced with pine and damp earth swept over me, and I knew. The tree house. I was in the tree house. But I was warm, and it was February, and none of it made any sense. How was I in the tree house?
I willed my eyes open, clenching my fists as I put all my energy into that one tiny movement. Light spilled in and I squinted, tears pricking from the brightness.
“I’m here, Mina.” A soft voice floated above me. “I’m here with you.” I tilted my head and saw a hazy form, a silhouette darkened by the sunlight pouring in from behind.
“I’m sorry that it all went so far, Mina. I’m sorry that you faced that kind of danger. I should have helped sooner. I know that now.” She sighed as she stepped forward, the details of her face filling in.
“Iris,” I whispered. My hand reached out, needing to touch her, to feel her skin beneath my fingers. She knelt down next to me, resting her warm palm—her wonderfully real, solid palm—on my forehead.
“I had hoped that I wouldn’t have to step in, Mina. That there was enough good in this world to protect you without our help. I wanted to believe that. But it’s obvious now that the world needs you and this baby more than we had even realized.”
“But why me, Iris? Why me? What can I do? I’m no one. I’m nothing.” I wanted to scream, wanted to cry, but I didn’t have the energy for either.
She smiled at me as she reached to clasp my hand in hers.
“Why not you, Mina? That’s the right question. Because you are so much more than nothing. You are so much more than you realize. No matter how scared you felt, or how alone, or how angry, you always chose this baby. Even before you could admit it to yourself, you believed in this baby. There are very few people who could have been capable of that. You possess so much more strength and resolve than you give yourself credit for.” She paused for a breath and squeezed my hand even more tightly. “Remember that you are special, too, Mina—you have never been just a simple carrier. You are very much an essential part of all this. Your life matters, too.”
I breathed in her words, letting them fill every dark, empty place where I had hidden away any of my lingering doubts. I valued this baby, of course I did—but I valued myself, too, and I deserved my own happiness. College, a career, goals for my future. And love. I deserved to let myself be in love. And that didn’t make me selfish or flawed or destined to be a bad mom. It just made me human. It made me whole and full and alive.
I let the relief linger for another brief moment, a shimmering golden bubble floating within the grasp of my fingertips. But I needed to focus now—there were still so many questions, so much more I needed Iris to tell me before she left again.
“But what now, Iris? What do I do now?” I closed my eyes, the weight of so much emotion pressing down against me.
“You wait, Mina. You just take care of yourself and this precious baby for now. The time will come. You’ll know when it does.”
Her voice was fading now, her hand seeming to melt away from my own.
“Have faith, Mina—in this child, but also in yourself. You must always have faith. Because faith . . . faith is what makes our lives worth living.”
When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at a tile ceiling, a strip of fluorescent lights beaming down on me. I turned my head, desperate, searching for Iris, until the details of the room clicked into place—the counter crowded with swabs and cotton balls, the collection of brown medicine bottles and shiny metal instruments, the slick crinkle of paper on the exam table beneath me.
“Mina?”
Dr. Keller appeared, hovering over me, her eyes lit up with relief.
“You’re awake, thank God.” She reached a hand out, pressing her cool, smooth skin against my cheek. “You’ve been in and out for almost an hour now. Do you remember what happened?”
I shut my eyes and reached back toward Iris, the intense light that I could still feel, burning, radiating inside of me. She had been real. She had to have been real. I squeezed my hands into balls, fighting against the sudden emptiness I felt without her standing next to me.
But I realized as I squeezed that there was something in my right palm, the hand Iris had touched just seconds before. I released my fingers slowly and glanced down, trying not to draw Dr. Keller’s attention.
It was a leaf. A bright green maple leaf.
Which was impossible, because it was February, and all the maple leaves had long ago fallen to the ground, shriveled into broken flecks of brown and black under the winter’s snow.
But there it was, in my hand.
I had been in the tree house, warm and sunny.
I had seen Iris.
I wrapped my fingers back around the leaf. It was my secret, at least for now.
Strength swelled through me, filling every last piece of me with reassurances. Or maybe, it was as Iris had said—not just strength, but faith. A laugh and a sob both hit me at once, a hysterical choking sound that made Dr. Keller reach out for me in a panic.