Then his fingers seemed to brush against something soft. Something small and tender.
Darrell's hands went still.
When he didn't respond, Rebecca rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips gently against the beads of sweat rolling down his temples.
"Darrell, I know this is your flesh and blood too. But think about our child..."
The moment the words left her mouth, Darrell's hands moved with sudden, brutal force.
A loud, piercing wail split the air.
Through eyes blurred by sweat and tears, I saw my baby.
Eight years. Eight babies had lived inside me.
This was the first time I'd ever laid eyes on my own child.
"Darrell, what are you waiting for? Do it!"
He hesitated. Rebecca pulled out her phone and played a voice recording.
"Daddy, when are we going to be together again? I miss you so much..."
Rebecca wrapped her arms around Darrell's sweat-soaked waist from behind.
"Darrell, our child is waiting for you to come home. Hurry up."
The hesitation in Darrell's eyes drained away.
He spun toward the screaming infant and lunged.
The baby's cries grew weaker. Fainter.
No one was coming in time.