Born With A Curse

31st January 2001. In the heart of the night, a dark room echoed with the cries of a newborn baby. The air was thick, and not a single object was visible until the sterile white lights flickered on, revealing a scene both ordinary and extraordinary in its beauty. On a hospital bed lay a woman, her face worn from the exertion of childbirth yet illuminated by a glow that only a mother could carry. Beside her, wrapped in soft cloth, was a newborn girl. The mother's eyes, though tired, shimmered with unshed tears as they rested on the tiny figure beside her. She touched her daughter gently, marvelling at the fragile life she had just brought into the world. Her heart swelled with love and trepidation, for the world was an uncertain place. Yet, in that moment, there was no room for fear—only wonder, only hope. The mother’s voice, soft yet trembling with urgency, broke the silence. "Doctor!" she called, her eyes never leaving her daughter. "How is my daughter’s health?" The doctor, a calm presence in the room, approached the bedside. His voice was steady, reassuring. "She is fine. There is no need for you to worry about her health." The mother, exhausted yet unable to rest, looked up at him. "She will survive, won’t she?" "Yes, of course. I am sure about your daughter," the doctor replied with a smile. "But what about you? Your eyes look so tired." The mother sighed, the weight of her sleepless nights pulling at her, though the joy of holding her child kept her awake. "Maybe it is the effect of sleepless nights, but now I shall sleep." Her voice softened, and as the doctor left the room, the mother gazed down at her daughter. She leaned forward, her lips barely moving, but in the quiet, her words were unmistakable. "M - E - E - R - A," she whispered, as if naming her child made the moment more real, more sacred. And with that, the mother closed her eyes, cradling both the name and the hope it carried. ---