“Claire!” Elle woke up with her daughter’s name on her lips. Startled, she sat up and looked around the living room with her heart still beating loudly in her chest. A dream, she realized dazedly.
Slowly, she crossed the way to the back door. With unseeing eyes she gazed out into the garden.
She remembered waking up in the hospital six years ago and seeing her husband sitting next to her. She remembered how he took her hand into his and looked at her with eyes full of despair. He told her that the doctor thought Claire might not survive. That she might die before she was even born, die before she had a chance to look into her mum’s eyes, feel a kiss on her forehead, clench her little fist around her dad’s finger, hear them speaking to her without a belly barrier between them… It was a silent, terrible death. It was the death of someone so precious, so innocent, so tiny…
Elle took a shuddering breath.
I first drew my hand (I like that bit more) and then I tried to draw a butterfly. Then I sketched one of my plants, and I realized it looked like a hand in a garden. BTW I have no idea how to draw a butterfly.
After a gorgeous sunny day in the garden, the wind picked up in the late afternoon. Too windy for a walk, so I drove my son to the GG bridge for his nap and stopped at the welcome sight of St. Ignatius on the way back.
Today we at Schmancy Mansion allowed our servants outside to romp. Our butler smelled the flowers and befriended a fox. Our nanny calmed her nerves in the garden. It was fine for them, we suppose, but now they have to get back to work.
