Things moved quickly after that. In some ways, that was good. It gave me little time to worry because someone was constantly giving instructions or doing something to me. I was taken to an operating room with a flurry of activity, Candace by my side in scrubs. An anesthesiologist inserted something in my spine, and like that, all feeling below my waist disappeared. It was strange to say the least, but I was glad to be free of the pain of my contractions.

Whenever I thought of surgery, I thought of being knocked out and waking up later. So, even though I knew this spinal method was better, there was some part of my brain that said it wasn’t natural to be awake while people were operating on you. The medical staff erected a small curtain above my waist so that Candace and I couldn’t see what they were doing. I could feel it, though—yet had no pain from it. There was just the pressure of a knife in my skin and muscle. I winced.

“Are you okay?” asked Candace worriedly. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” I assured her, trying to put on a brave face. “It’s just ... strange.”

I had an easier time with the thought of monsters beating me up and tossing me around than calmly allowing a surgeon to cut into me. I wondered if that came from living among the gentry for so long or if it was simply my nature to resist being helpless in the hands of others.

Between the sheets and numbness, it wasn’t easy to tell how they were progressing. So, I was caught off-guard when a nurse said, “It’s the girl.”

She lifted the squirming baby up to give me a quick look, and I felt dizzier than any drug could have made me.

A girl. My daughter. Everything I’d done these last seven months had been for both twins, but she had been the force that initially spurred me to action. Kiyo had given me argument after argument about how her brother was some terrible creature that couldn’t be allowed to live, yet I’d been unable to sacrifice her along the way. And now, here she was. I felt worlds away from where I’d been upon first seeing her on an ultrasound.

I had no time for further philosophical musings because they soon spirited her away. Her brother came shortly thereafter, presented to me in the same quick manner.

He made a small, piteous cry, and I tried to remember if the girl had cried or not. Everything had happened too quickly. Again, I got only a brief look before he was whisked away, with explanations of “oxygen” and “NICU.” In that momentary assessment, I didn’t see any conqueror of worlds. I only saw a baby, a very, very small one, who seemed surprised and upset to have to face what the world had in store for him.