Her hand chokes the blood flow out of mine as she begs for it to stop, but it’s too late. The pain echoing in her desperate cries reverberates through my thick skin, pricking up its every hair in sheer terror. This is, I acknowledge, my fault, but now also out of my control. As the bulging veins in her forehead tense up one final time, the woman I love falls silent with an overwhelmed breath of defeat. With sweat and tears drenching the pale stoicism of her brow, she smiles as the skin of our crying newborn touches her own.

*Written for a 100-word prompt for the theme of ‘Touch’*