It was pouring rain outside. A loud wailing sound came from the maternity ward. It would’ve been a joyous occasion, save for the fact it was only the mother who was screaming. Only moments before, the heart monitor flatlined. The baby of the Dawes family was a stillborn. Margaret Dawes came out in a wheelchair from the Kennedy County Hospital Maternity Ward. She was still in tears and blubbering nonsense to me when that was happening. Zack and Margaret Dawes were the last people who deserved such a fate.
As a doctor in the maternity ward, I had seen several stillborns. Several too many. Every time, at least one of the people leaving the room was in tears. Zack Dawes was patiently waiting outside when his wife came out. He stood up the second he heard her crying.

“What’s the matter, doctor?” Zack said over his wife’s tears. “What happened?” I was almost too grief-ridden to answer. I had delivered many babies, and it struck me with guilt every time I failed. I was as much a murderer as I was a helper. I had tears welled up in my eyes like a dam when I answered,

“Your daughter, Zack.”

“A girl?” His excitement made it all the harder for me to respond.

“She- she-” I had to stop to recollect myself. It was never a good omen when a doctor showed any type of emotion. That is why I hate TV shows with witty doctors who rarely consider their surroundings, such as Scrubs. Zack still looked hopeful, but there was doubt in his eyes.

“She was born deceased, sir.” It took a moment for it to sink in. The wide smile on Zack’s face disappeared. He sat down, clearly distraught.

“She was a stillborn?” he said quietly. I nodded solemnly. He looked pale, and sat down on a nearby sofa. Everything was silent for nearly a minute. I didn’t want, or care, to disturb the silence. The air was peaceful. I swear to God, even the birds stopped chirping in honor of the poor stillborn. Finally, a tear came from Zack’s eye. He looked even more defeated than his wife. I decided to break the silence.

“I’m truly sorry, sir. There was nothing more we could do.” Zack still sat there, like a man with everything taken from him.

“I don’t blame you, doctor,” he croaked. He looked over at me with big and teary eyes. “What does she look like, my daughter?” It was a good thing he was already at the hospital, Zack seemed like he would collapse at any moment. I didn’t want to answer with the wrong words, therefore I chose them carefully.

“She’s so beautiful, Mr. Dawes,” I sobbed. “Would you like to see her?” He shook his head slowly.

“Why would I want to disrupt the vision of my daughter? She’s prettier than the sun, that much I know,” he said, his voice cracking like he was still going through puberty. I nodded, eyes fixated in silence at the floor.

“Let’s go, Mr. Dawes. Your wife is waiting for you.” Zack slowly got up. We both had our heads bowed, tears welled in our eyes. Never had I seen a couple who weren’t like this after their baby died. Scratch that, there was one couple: two Texans who didn’t plan on pregnancy and couldn’t afford an abortion. They were both glad the woman had a miscarriage. I despised that couple, to be glad a baby, fully born, had died. Whenever someone’s baby died, I always paid their hospital bill in consolation.

We went outside. Margaret Dawes was wearing a white hospital gown, and looked like she had cried herself to sleep. There was a small puddle of tears on the floor, and it reminded me of the pouring rain outside. A nurse was writing something down on a clipboard. Seeing me, she left. Zack sat next to his wife, depressed as ever. She slowly opened her red and puffy eyes, and looked at her husband.

“Did you hear what happened?” she said, quieter than a mouse. Her husband did not reply for a moment.

“Yes, my dear.” Margaret started sobbing hysterically again, tears coming out like the current storm. She buried herself into her husband’s shoulder. She had wild and shaggy hair which draped over Zack’s arm. He started sobbing as well. Who could blame them? Like I said, it’s always a bad omen if a doctor shows emotion, and it’s almost as bad if full-grown adults cry like the children they raise. Except the Dawes wouldn’t have a child to raise for awhile. The poor souls would have to wait at least another nine months.

“How did she die, Doctor?” Margaret said.

“There were... complications regarding the birth. I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Dawes.” My apology meant something. I was sorry with all my heart. Not an ounce of my body was lying when I said that. Margaret sensed my sincerity and sorrow. I was nowhere near the level of despair the poor Dawes were experiencing. Nevertheless, it hurt all the same. “I’m sorry too, Doctor. For the grief we’re causing you.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” I was surprised that the Dawes were as apologetic as me. Many people with stillborn babies cursed my name and blamed me for their deceased infant. I felt even worse when they did that. I would still pay their bills, and gave them my best wishes. Despite all my actions, they were still resentful. Who could blame them? I could never experience that pain, of losing a child.

“What are we going to do with her?” Zach sniffled. I was caught off-guard by that question.

“Bury her, if- if you would like,” I responded shakily. I still wanted to make sure I said the right things. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt their feelings. I took a risk by saying my next sentence: “What would you like to name her?” Zack looked up, his eyes red and teary.

“Name her?” he said emotionally. “We- we never thought of that. I guess we were going to name the baby whatever came to mind. I’m sorry, doctor. We haven’t given this much thought, what someone would name a cadaver. Would you please give us some time?”

“No,” Margaret spoke out. “I have a name for the baby. Zack, let’s discuss this.” They put their heads together for a moment. I stood by, not interrupting. I was curious on what they were talking about, yet I didn’t try to eavesdrop. They looked behind me a few times. Finally, they stopped whispering and turned around to me. They both seemed to be in agreement about something.

“What did you decide the name was going to be?” They looked at each other, smiling amongst their blotchy faces.

“Her name will be Hope,” Margaret said, her grin as big as a meadow. I was puzzled at the name, and as if reading my mind, Zack pointed behind me. The rain had ceased, and a gigantic and glorious rainbow filled the sky. I had never seen such a rainbow. Then again, I hadn’t seen such a storm. The rainbow filled me with happiness. It represented peace after war, light after darkness. It stood for the Renaissance after the Dark Ages, the Baby Boom after World War II. A rainbow after a hurricane, a glimpse of light in the midst of dark clouds. It represented Hope.