Helwayneh

Lambert sat at his desk, delicately touching the picture in his hands and feeling that already all too familiar ache in his heart. It had been two weeks since his daughter had been born, the little princess he had anxiously awaited nine long months for, and he still had yet to touch her. He just couldn’t bring himself to. The nation was still celebrating the birth of the princess and mourning the loss of the queen, but he could only mourn. They were supposed to raise a family together, share life’s ups and downs, and then one day grow old together. Instead, he was alone.

Well, not quite. He thought bitterly to himself. You have a daughter now. You’re a dad, and you need to act like it.

But he couldn’t. He felt nothing but pain.  He stared at the picture of him and his wife a little longer. It was from before they were married; the night he became king and they had their first dance together. He thought he could never love her more than that moment, but each day had proved him wrong. Their love only grew, and now, years later, it had reincarnated into a child.

A child whom had once felt like a gift; the opposite felt true now. He knew he had to move on; the country and his daughter were depending on him, but he didn’t see how he could. He sighed and set the picture down.

“You’re probably disappointed in me,” he said, resisting the tears that were welling in his eyes. “In fact, I know you are, but what can I do?”

As if in answer, a familiar wail was coming down the hall. He sat tall; the tears disappeared as quickly as they came and the squeeze on his heart resumed. He knew that wail. The first time he heard it, he was so happy he thought his heart might burst. When he had heard it again 15 minutes later, it did burst, and he had wanted to wail as well.

His door opened. Annoyed by the lack of a knock, he got up and started walking towards the door to confront whoever was on the other side, but he stopped in surprise. The wail got louder as the door opened wider, and a crib started to appear. His eyes widened at the sight. “Who-“

“Who do you think?” said a flustered voice from behind the crib.

“Mother?” he asked, slowly approaching her and the crib. The door closed, and his mom stopped pushing. She walked away from the crib and towards her son, whom had stopped when he was still about a foot away.

“That’s right, son. It’s Mother. You know, the one who took good care of you when the palace nannies could have? Or would you have preferred I disappeared and you never knew who I was?”

That was his mother: Jolene, the picture of a noble lady until her feistiness was unleashed, and then she was one hell of a woman. It was unleashed right now, and despite the fact that she looked like she hadn’t slept in days, it was obvious he was about to lose whatever fight she had brought in with her.

He crossed his arms. “Point taken, Mother.”

She shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”

She pointed at the crib; the wailing continued. “She is well loved, but not by the one person she needs the most. Do you think she can’t feel your absence? If so, then why do you think she won’t stop?”

He refused to look in the direction she was pointing. “I can’t make it better.” I might even make it worse.

Jolene sighed sadly. “Son, I know you’re hurting, and you deserve to mourn.” She walked over to the crib and looked down at her only grandchild. “But she’s hurting too. She needs you Lambert; don’t turn your back on your family when you need each other most.”

She started to walk away. Realizing her intentions, his eyes went huge and he felt panic take ahold of him. “Mother, no! I can’t-“

“You can and you will. We gave you your space son; now you need to try. Hold her at least.”

With that, she walked out. He looked at the crib and thoughts consumed him. No…no…I can’t do this. What if the pain worsens? What if I hold her and nothing changes?

The wailing continued. He sighed, knowing it wouldn’t stop by standing there. He finally walked over and looked down into the crib. This was the first time he had seen her since the delivery room, and he felt his original feelings of blame and resentment beginning to return.

Suddenly, the crying stopped. His daughter seemed to sense him, and she calmly looked up at him in wonder. He felt a tug on his heartstrings, and to his surprise, it wasn’t associated with pain.

“My family,” he muttered, leaning in to get a closer look. She had his blue eyes and her mother’s red hair, and she was looking at him with a tenderness he had never received from anyone until now. The tug on his heart grew, and he felt himself reaching out for her. What if…

He picked her up and held her in front of him. She was so little, but he could already tell she possessed her mother’s gentle heart and fighter’s spirit. He felt a new beat in his heart, and he knew it was because of his daughter.

He cradled her softly in his arms. “Our gift,” he whispered, suddenly aware that he was rocking her back and forth. “I’m sorry you cried alone, little one, but you won’t again. I’ve got you.”

He was both parents for her now, and he was going to give her twice the love. He leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the forehead. He waited a moment, and then kissed his gift again.