Their Second

         Delilah and Peter kissed each other on the cheek and turned their respective backs to face each other. It was midnight and they were half-tucked in their bed, both of them completely awake. It was her fifth birthday--would've been--her fifth birthday. And by her it could've been Molly, Susanna, Lily, or Billy (courtesy of Peter). Delilah scrunched her eyelids shut and whispered a sigh. She could almost feel her in her tummy, separated by the thin membrane of skin, sleeping just inches below her own heart. She placed a hand over her stomach and forced herself to exhale, to quiet each beat until she could feel as cold as she did that day. The day she saw the only life she would hold above everyone else's mix with soap suds and seep down their shower drain. 

         It got easier as the years went on, and time occasionally dulled the pain. But today, it was different. When they repositioned themselves in their bed, Peter pulled the blankets up to his chin. Switched to the other side of his pillow. Kicked his pillow off the bed and slept on his clasped hands. 

They didn't talk about it after the incident. That day, Peter found her kneeling naked in the shower staring blankly at the drain, pruney hands clenched in fists. He didn't stumble or scream--just led Delilah to their bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. 

She said she was fine the next day. 

They didn't try for another Molly or Susanna or Lily or Billy ever again. But they also never touched her room. They left the room--the shrine--as a reminder of the heartbreak they were never to speak of and the pain they wanted to silence. Tonight, though, determined to speak about the subject they had been dodging for years, Peter opened his mouth.

 "Delilah?"

"Hmm?"

She wouldn't look at him.

"Would you ever want to go in there together?"

Peter could feel her body freeze up beside him.

Then it released.

"Go in where?"

Peter got ready to respond but was soon interrupted by the ring of the doorbell. 

Confused, they switched on their lamp lights and looked at each other. 

"At this time of night, who would come to our house?" Delilah asked. 

Peter shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. 

So Peter and Delilah (in their night robes) tiptoed past her room, down the stairs and to the door. Slowly, Delilah unlocked the door and swung it open with shaking hands. They stared at it in confusion, worry, awe, surprise and a million other emotions that could do nothing to describe what they were feeling in that exact moment. But what they didn't expect is that it would stare back. And talk. 

"Oogle bwah!" It screamed with excitement. 

Peter scratched his head. 

Because this wasn't a Molly, Susanna, Lily or Billy. 

This was the baby of a stranger, a baby without a mother, a baby that was currently pulling on Peter's beard and tickling his nose. 

"Oh Pete, what do we do?" Delilah said as she took the trespasser in her arms. 

Staring down at the baby of a stranger, a baby that took refuge in someone else's belly, all she could think of was her. 

But then its chubby hands grabbed the pads of her fingers 

And the kicking in her belly stopped. 

Scanning the streets one last time, Peter and Delilah and him went inside the house. 

It was 12:30 am. Delilah and Peter kissed each other and him on the cheek and fell promptly asleep.