Xavier came four weeks early. The second he was born, he screamed. Not a little cry, but a loud, sharp yell that made the nurses in the NICU look at each other, surprised. He was so small. Tiny body, tiny fingers, just a little guy. But that cry was huge. His mother had been very sad for months. His dad had an affair, and it felt heavy on her chest. Some days, it was hard for her to breathe. He stayed in the hospital for sixteen days. It was all beeping machines and cold beds. Bringing him home was scarier than she thought. The house felt huge and too quiet for someone so little. Every time he ate, every time she changed his diaper, her stomach got all tied up in knots.
Then she had to go back to work. She didn’t want to. She was packing his diaper bag and couldn’t see through her tears. When she zipped up his favorite blanket, she cried so hard she couldn’t breathe. She cried the whole drive, holding the steering wheel so tight her hands hurt. The car smelled like baby wipes and fear.
Her phone started blowing up. Text after text from his dad. Angry ones. Saying the baby was too much, that he couldn’t handle it. She tried to stay calm. She said they could get help, figure it out. He had barely been alone with Xavier before, but he kept saying, “I’ve got it.”Then she got a text that stopped her heart. He asked if he could “murder the baby.”
She dropped her phone. Her hands were shaking. She couldn’t breathe. She typed back with clumsy fingers, begging him to wait. Just wait until she got there. She had to get through the next few hours.At 2:30, another text came: “Xavier stopped breathing. Come home now.” He said Xavier choked on milk, and they were driving to the children’s hospital. She didn’t even remember leaving. She just ran. She cried so hard she could barely see the road. Every red light felt like it was trying to stop her.
When she got to the hospital, she heard him before she saw him. A weak, raspy little cry. It made her stomach hurt. Doctors were all over him, talking fast and low. When they finally let her get close, he was so pale. He wasn’t moving right. The room spun. She felt a heavy weight on her and thought her legs would give out. She would never forget how he looked.
They took him for a brain scan. She had to sit in a plastic chair next to his father. He wouldn’t even look at her. He just stared at his phone, the light from it on his face. Tap, tap, tap.The doctor came out and said there was bleeding in his brain. Her voice cracked when she asked how. His dad didn’t even look up. “He choked on milk,” he said.They put a tube down his throat. A machine breathed for him. She slid down the wall onto the floor. She was shaking and couldn’t breathe. All she could see was her baby.Later that night, the cops told her the truth. It wasn’t an accident. Someone hurt her baby. On purpose.He was in a coma for two weeks. The doctors tried to stop the seizures. They said he might be blind. He might not walk. He might not make it. She just held on to the sound of his first cry. It was all she had.
Seventeen days later, she brought him home again. Everything was different. His dad was gone. Arrested. She still didn’t know exactly what happened that day. The next few months were a blur. Her whole life was feeding him, holding him, and going to appointments—so many therapies. At night, she was so scared, just watching the shadows in his room. The only thing that kept her going was his little smile. That was everything. But he was a fighter. He smiled. He learned. He surprised all the doctors. He was her miracle. He was the reason she got up in the morning. She was telling this for one reason. Never, ever shake a baby. It doesn’t matter how frustrated you are. It doesn’t matter how much you’re screaming inside. One moment of shaking can ruin everything. Forever.
