It had my nose, thin as a doll’s, like God was extra delicate when He pinched its into existence from a lump of clay. 

I winced and escaped into my room to find a coat. If only it would make that whiny, high-pitched cry like any other baby.

Wrapping the tiny it in three more layers than myself, I double-checked the basket slung over my left arm. A rattle drum that never failed to bring about a giggle. A set of its clothes. A wad of cash that emptied my savings. I just hoped that whoever coveted the money would have the decency to pick it along. 

Outside, Abba’s rooster crowed a cock-a-doodle-doo. I bolted out of the door. The whole village will wake shortly, but no one can see what I carried in the bundle of blankets, the secret that I’ve kept for the past month.

“Mei!”

I was too late. The shepherd boy next door has already made it to the village entrance. Muffled against my chest, it stirred. Its small limbs weakly kicked against my body.

“Where are you up to this early in the morning?” He asked suspiciously.

“A walk. A morning walk.” The lie stumbled out in a croak. Efforts to steady my heartbeat only worsened as I took in his sizable flock trudging through the narrow gateway, a compact cluster of white fleece. And only one sheep could get out at a time.

No. My legs clicked into motion. I dashed for the nearest fence and hurdled across, giving no notice to the splinters buried into my flesh. It hurt a lot more when it came out of my stomach.

“Don’t want to miss the sunrise!” I flung out an excuse for my crazed behavior. 

He could report me to the villagers later, but he mustn’t, under any circumstance, find out about its existence beforehand. Or else, one month of hiding it in the basement would’ve been for naught. As well as getting down there eight times a night to breastfeed this greedy creature. Satiating its carnal needs as it sucks on my naked body.

It woke. Contently smiling as it wriggled. 

Its eyes were black, but not entirely. Pinpricks of earthy tones bloomed into dandelions. They resembled its father and its predecessor, my firstborn, my two year old son waiting for me back in the city.

A gentle flush rosed the horizon. The pastel colors suffusing the sky and the shadows of hunched-back farmers popping up in the fields made me grimace. I must get to the main road before the rush hour begins, and the merchants start leaving the village and heading for town. They are my prime candidates, the most likely ones who might discover the compassion to adopt it.

Black epaulets. Blatantly red armbands. They streaked across my vision. I was behind the shrubs instantly.

I have sneaked and laid low for so long that I cannot afford to be caught at the very last second and watch as they strangle it out of existence. I won’t tolerate doctors prying their fingers into my womb and tying my fallopian tubes as the CCP police hold me down. What happened to my sister shan’t be repeated with me.

It whined from my tightened grip. Was it going to cry now of all times? Maybe then I would recover my brains and do what I should have done a long time ago— hurl it in a ditch and cry “Good riddance!”

Yet again, it behaved ever so nicely. The crinkled baby face slackened into chubby cheeks, ruddy from the morning chill. I gave it some breathing space but still clung to it so that it may feel the thrum of my heart. It should know, if only for a fleeting impression, of its sin of being born. At least in this country.

The police boots died away, potentially heading towards their next victim. I escaped humiliation. It escaped being thrown into the Nile to feed crocodiles. Too bad it wasn’t chosen by God like Moses.

With it in my arms, I kept running uphill, slowly becoming breathless. I raced against the ever rising sun, the ever brightening daylight.

It should be time to breastfeed. My biological clock tells me so, but it didn’t make a sound. No surprise. I will give it breakfast later. For the final time.

The pole of the intersection sign wobbled as gopher burrows dotted the ground where the stake was hammered into. I glanced a fraction longer at the bottom sign leading to the neighboring county, wealthier and far more developed. Oh, meaningless! It will grow up among the same league of narrow minded folks.

I readjusted its swaddle, the crochet work pink like its soft, fleshy lips. Twenty-eight years ago, I was fortunate to be the firstborn.

I set it down on the grass. Shadows shifted and covered up its dark brown eyes, its nose, then its slightly puckered mouth. The dense crown of leaves above swayed. I wonder if it will remember one year from now that summer was its birthday. Would it have preferred winter? Spring where pollen irritates your allergies? Or autumn where a cacophony of colors invade?

Its lips parted. For a second, no sound came out.

Then, it voiced two syllables. “Ma-ma!”

Some distance away, a set of wheels hiccuped across a pebble in the road. I ought to leave. I had more than accomplished my maternal duty for the past months. Yet. Yet. It whom I had never tried to love, it whom I had treated as a burden, it whom I had even lacked the courage to name. It knew who I was.

“Ma-ma!” It blurted triumphantly again.

It. She. She was my child, and I didn’t want to abandon her, but without me, she will live. And maybe live a not-so-terrible life.

I bent down and kissed her. She laughed. I spoke to her for the first and last time, between tears, “I love you. Please forget me.”