I Almost Hurt Arthur—Until That Afternoon's Security Footage Told Me Otherwise.-9
The Reveal
I watched the timeline. Fast-forwarded. Arthur was placed in his rocker. Marianne's hand appeared at the edge of the frame. Leaning down, her fingers checked the safety harness. Secured. She didn't leave. Bent over the rocker, she watched him. I couldn't see her face, only her profile. One minute. Twenty seconds. Arthur stirred, a tiny hand rising. Marianne extended her index finger. Arthur’s fingers instinctively curled around hers. The corner of her mouth lifted faintly. Her entire face softened. Sound emerged from the monitor. Faint. Broken. Humming. Disjointed notes, high and low, repeated twice. I recognized the melody. Toby had shown me his baby videos—the same tune in the background. I held my breath. 14:23:17.
An Old Song
I stood frozen, Arthur in my arms. Her humming was faint, hesitant, mindful of waking him. The melody sounded ancient, yet tender. Memory struck. The night before last, Toby had struggled to soothe Arthur. Taking over, he’d remarked, "Stubborn little guy. Not like me. Mom could sing two notes and I’d be out." Arthur’s cries had drowned the comment then. Now, the monitor’s faint echo connected. Toby meant *Marianne's* singing. She’d sung my son the same lullaby she’d sung her own. I looked down at Arthur, peaceful in sleep. The monitor's glow illuminated my face. I stood motionless for a long time.
Weight and Warmth
Arthur shifted against me. His head rested on my chest. I felt his warmth, his solid weight. Lowering my face, I brushed his soft hair. Memories flashed: Marianne's rare smiles, her humming voice. I held Arthur tighter. My arms exerted pressure. He was here. Real. Warm. Heavy. The voice urging harm stayed silent. This time. Only Arthur filled my embrace. A breath caught. Tears spilled—not anger, not sorrow. Something else. Face pressed against his milky-smelling clothes, my shoulders shook. Hot tears fell.
NEXT >>
I watched the timeline. Fast-forwarded. Arthur was placed in his rocker. Marianne's hand appeared at the edge of the frame. Leaning down, her fingers checked the safety harness. Secured. She didn't leave. Bent over the rocker, she watched him. I couldn't see her face, only her profile. One minute. Twenty seconds. Arthur stirred, a tiny hand rising. Marianne extended her index finger. Arthur’s fingers instinctively curled around hers. The corner of her mouth lifted faintly. Her entire face softened. Sound emerged from the monitor. Faint. Broken. Humming. Disjointed notes, high and low, repeated twice. I recognized the melody. Toby had shown me his baby videos—the same tune in the background. I held my breath. 14:23:17.
An Old Song
I stood frozen, Arthur in my arms. Her humming was faint, hesitant, mindful of waking him. The melody sounded ancient, yet tender. Memory struck. The night before last, Toby had struggled to soothe Arthur. Taking over, he’d remarked, "Stubborn little guy. Not like me. Mom could sing two notes and I’d be out." Arthur’s cries had drowned the comment then. Now, the monitor’s faint echo connected. Toby meant *Marianne's* singing. She’d sung my son the same lullaby she’d sung her own. I looked down at Arthur, peaceful in sleep. The monitor's glow illuminated my face. I stood motionless for a long time.
Weight and Warmth
Arthur shifted against me. His head rested on my chest. I felt his warmth, his solid weight. Lowering my face, I brushed his soft hair. Memories flashed: Marianne's rare smiles, her humming voice. I held Arthur tighter. My arms exerted pressure. He was here. Real. Warm. Heavy. The voice urging harm stayed silent. This time. Only Arthur filled my embrace. A breath caught. Tears spilled—not anger, not sorrow. Something else. Face pressed against his milky-smelling clothes, my shoulders shook. Hot tears fell.
NEXT >>