She's Strong
1251 Words
The first thing I noticed was the sound.
It was faint, almost fragile, but it was there.
A soft breath.
I had learned to recognize it over the years. The rhythm of it told me everything before my eyes even opened fully. Too shallow meant fear. Too uneven meant pain. But this time, it was steady. Calm. Soft like a sleeping kitten.
My heart skipped.
I leaned closer to the hospital bed, my fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket as if I was afraid she might disappear if I blinked too hard.
Jasmine’s lashes fluttered.
Just once.
Then again.
“Mama?”
Her voice was small. Weak. But awake.
I felt my knees give way as relief crashed through me so violently that I had to sit down on the chair beside her bed before I collapsed. My hands trembled as I reached for her fingers, warm and tiny inside mine.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Mama is here.”
Her eyes opened slowly, dark and glossy like polished stones. For a moment, confusion crossed her face. Then recognition bloomed. Her lips curved into the faintest smile.
“You didn’t go,” she said softly.
I swallowed hard.
“I promised I wouldn’t,” I replied. “And I always keep my promises to you, remember?”
She nodded weakly.
The machines beside her beeped steadily, a rhythm that had haunted my sleep for years. I watched the rise and fall of her chest, counting each breath like I had done so many nights before.
“Does it hurt?” I asked gently, brushing her hair away from her forehead.
She thought about it for a moment.
“Not too much,” she said. “Just feels like I ran for a long time.”
My heart clenched.
“You were very brave,” I told her. “The bravest girl in the whole world.”
Her smile widened just a little.
“Did they fix it?” she asked.
Not yet.
The words stayed stuck in my throat.
“They started,” I said carefully. “They are almost done. There are still a few things left, but you are doing so well. After everything is done, you will be able to do so many things.”
Her eyes lit up immediately.
“Like other kids?” she asked eagerly.
“Yes,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Just like other kids.”
She sighed happily and closed her eyes for a moment, like she was already imagining it.
That was when the door opened quietly.
Janet stepped inside, holding a small food container and a flask. Her eyes were red, but she was smiling. When she saw Jasmine awake, her hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “She’s awake.”
Jasmine turned her head slowly.
“Auntie Janet,” she said, her voice brighter now.
Janet rushed forward and bent down carefully, pressing a kiss to Jasmine’s forehead.
“You scared us,” Janet said softly. “Do you know that?”
Jasmine frowned slightly.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Janet shook her head quickly. “No, no. You did nothing wrong. You were very strong.”
Janet placed the container on the small table beside the bed.
“I made porridge,” she said, looking at me. “The way she likes it. Soft.”
My throat tightened again.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
I helped Jasmine sit up slowly, adjusting the pillows behind her back. Janet handed me the spoon, and I opened the container. The smell of home filled the sterile hospital room, warm and comforting.
I scooped a small amount and brought it to Jasmine’s lips.
“Slowly,” I said.
She nodded and opened her mouth obediently.
As she ate, Janet sat on the other side of the bed, watching her like she was afraid to look away.
“Auntie,” Jasmine said between bites. “Are they done with the operation?”
Janet looked at me.
I answered gently. “Not completely. But they are almost done. After everything is finished, you will be much stronger.”
Jasmine’s eyes sparkled.
“Then I can play,” she said.
“Yes.”
“I can run,” she added.
“Yes.”
“I can go to a normal school,” she said excitedly. “With kids who don’t get tired fast.”
I paused for a second before smiling.
“Yes, sweetheart. A normal school.”
Her excitement grew with every word.
“And you’ll take me to that big playground,” she continued. “The one with the long slide. The one we see from the bus.”
I nodded, my chest aching.
“Yes.”
“And we’ll go to the park with the ducks,” she said. “I want to feed them bread.”
“Yes.”
“And I want to eat ice cream,” she said quickly. “The chocolate one. The doctor said before I couldn’t.”
I laughed softly, tears burning behind my eyes.
“You will eat ice cream,” I promised.
“And pizza,” she added seriously.
“Pizza too.”
“And I’ll run with other kids,” she said, her voice trembling with joy. “And I won’t have to stop.”
My hand shook as I held the spoon.
She kept going.
“I want to wear pretty dresses and not feel tired,” she said. “And I want to go on the swing for a long time. And I want to sleep without waking up scared.”
Each word pierced me.
I listened, smiling, nodding, agreeing to everything, while something inside me broke quietly.
She had never asked for much.
Just to live like other children.
I thought about the school she attended. A school filled with children who knew hospitals better than playgrounds. Children who measured their days in medications and rest periods. Children who smiled bravely while carrying burdens too heavy for their age.
Jasmine deserved more.
“I will take you everywhere,” I said softly. “We will go to many places. Different parks. Different cities. You will see so many beautiful things.”
She beamed.
“Promise?” she asked.
“I promise,” I said again.
She finished the porridge slowly, yawning near the end.
Janet wiped her mouth gently and adjusted the blanket around her.
“You should rest,” Janet said softly.
Jasmine nodded, already sleepy.
“Mama,” she murmured. “When I get better, can we go to the beach?”
My breath caught.
“Yes,” I whispered. “We will go to the beach.”
She smiled, satisfied, and closed her eyes.
Within minutes, she was asleep again.
I sat there, holding her hand, listening to the machines, watching her chest rise and fall. Janet stood quietly beside me.
“She’s strong,” Janet said after a while.
I nodded.
“She has to be,” I replied. “She has no other choice.”
Janet placed a hand on my shoulder.
“She will be okay,” she said.
I wanted to believe it.
I really did.
As I watched my daughter sleep, her dreams filled with playgrounds and ice cream and laughter, I felt both hope and fear twist tightly together inside my chest.
I would do anything.
Anything at all.
To make sure those dreams came true.
- Writer
