FanStory.com - A Brighter Tomorrowby Begin Again

A gentle breeze rustled through the leaves, carrying the faint scent of pine as Henry's shovel quietly pierced the soft earth. The pet cemetery was peaceful, its weathered gravestones leaning slightly, cloaked in a thin layer of moss and tangled weeds. Untouched but the final resting place of old memories.

It was the best he could do.

In the distance, the sanitarium stood like a forgotten sentinel — its painted walls faded over time. A woman's voice drifted out through the open windows — a sad cry that floated across the quiet grounds. A forgotten soul that needed someone to hold on to.

"I want my baby! Please — I want my baby!"

Henry paused for a moment, looking up, his thoughts troubled. He'd been taught to stay composed, not let emotions cloud his judgment, but something about the woman's pleas clung to him like the soil beneath his feet. The difference was that he found it impossible to brush the woman's pleas aside. The baby was her only connection to some form of reality, and losing that might be the final straw. He refused to be part of pushing too far.

He tossed the last mound of dirt onto the pile and stared at the tiny grave. He'd built a small wooden box and lined it with some colorful remnants he'd found in the storage room. He'd even found a few wilting flowers in the trash barrel and chose the best ones to adorn the grave. Deep inside his memories, a flash of his sister's best friend, hysterical with grief when her baby was stillborn, struck a chord, but his face remained a mask of calm.

It was time.

A nurse wheeled Susan across the yard and up the hill. A walk they'd taken every day, but today it would be different. Today, she was to give up her baby — her link to what life once was.

Henry glanced at her wild eyes, tear-streaked face, and the small bundle wrapped tightly in her arms. Brushing the dirt from his hands, he knelt and gently touched the swaddled baby. He whispered, "She's very sick. It's time to let go."

Susan rocked the tiny bundle and stared at him, maybe thinking she'd see a flicker of hope. "Henry — you always make her better." She stroked the baby's head, choking on her words. "Please fix her."

Her pleas felt like daggers ripping at his heart. He lifted the bundle from Susan's arms. "Not this time. The angels —" Susan's agonizing cries sent chills down his spine. His voice caught as he tried to explain. "The angels have come to take her to heaven."

He turned away, wiping his brow, not because of the heat but to hide the stinging in his eyes. He nodded to the nurse, hoping she hadn't noticed, but he knew she had. Nurse Helen didn't miss anything.

Susan whimpered, begging, "Take me, too! I want to go, too."

Henry stiffened his lip, digging deep to remain calm. "You can't go, Susan. It's not your turn. Remember how we talked about waiting patiently and taking turns."

Reluctantly, Susan sniffled and nodded.

When he decided to help Susan adjust to losing her baby, he wasn't prepared for the emotional factor. He thought he could remain calm and detached, but suddenly, he realized that wasn't the case. He needed to move the moment forward before he, too, unraveled.

He nodded to the woman, Susan's sister, who visited once a week. She approached the wheelchair and knelt beside it. The bundle in her arms made a sound — a soft cooing noise. As she placed the blanket in Susan's arms, her voice was filled with love. "Look — it's a new baby. Your baby. She's got red hair like yours."

Confusion washed across Susan's face as she glanced around, her mind searching for something she'd lost, but not quite sure what it was.

Having placed the bundle out of sight, Henry knelt beside Susan again, gently patting the blanket. "The angels asked if I knew anyone who would take good care of this baby."

A seldom-seen smile brightened Susan's face and reached her eyes as well. "I will, Henry. You know that I will. I'll be the best mommy ever."

Henry nodded. "I know, Susan."

A nurse and the sister turned and pushed Susan's wheelchair back toward the sanitarium. Susan's childish laughter filled the air.

Helen stepped forward, her shoes crunching on the gravel as she peered at the freshly dug grave. "Why did you go to all the trouble, Henry?" Her voice was soft but tinged with curiosity. "It's not like she knows —"

Helen had been at the sanitarium for as long as Henry could remember. She was the one who had shown him the ropes and taught him how to deal with patients who couldn't see reality anymore. She'd always said the hardest part of the job was learning when to bend the truth, and Henry had never really understood — until today.

He leaned against his shovel, staring at the disturbed ground. He shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck, wondering if Helen was judging him. "She didn't have anything else," he muttered. "Just the baby."

The nurse raised an eyebrow, watching as the young woman entered the sanitarium, cradling the lifeless bundle in her arms. "But it's just a doll."

Henry shrugged, forcing a half-hearted grin. "Susan doesn't know that. Besides, it wasn't a big deal. Amazon carries the exact same one."

Helen smirked. "Yeah, but you could've replaced the old one and not said anything."

Henry stared at her for a moment, then chuckled. "It didn't seem like the thing to do. She thinks the doll is her baby. I didn't want to take that away from her. It might be her last bit of reality."

Helen smiled — a rare, almost maternal gesture. "You're learning, Henry. That's exactly why you'll make a fine doctor someday."

A butterfly fluttered past as Henry returned the dirt to the hole. Blessings come in small packages - even ones delivered by Amazon.