Chapter 1: The Only Hope Left
The only sound breaking the silence of the stark white room was her crying. It wasn't the joyful wail he had once imagined, nor the triumphant shout of a proud new father. It was a raw, heartbreaking sob intertwined with the steady beep of a machine that had just declared one life over.
He was only eighteen. His hands trembled as he gripped the sweat-soaked sheets. On the stretcher before him lay the mother of his child—the only person who had ever looked at him as though he were enough. Her eyes, still open, held the echo of an unfinished dream, a life she would never live.
"I'm so sorry," the nurse whispered. "We did everything we could."
His tear-blurred gaze moved to the small bundle wrapped in a pink blanket beside her. His daughter was breathing on her own, completely unaware of the tragedy that had colored her first moments.
A hand tapped his shoulder. He turned to see his girlfriend's father—the man who had never accepted him—standing there. His eyes, cold and tense, locked onto the baby with a mixture of grief and resolve.
"You're just a kid," he said in a clipped tone. "You don't know what it takes to raise a child. We're taking her. It's what's best."
His girlfriend's mother watched him with tears like blades, her face resolute. They didn't trust him—how could they? He wasn't even sure he trusted himself.
He fell silent, gazing at his daughter. Her tiny face mirrored her mother's: the same delicate nose, the same gentle lips. In that moment, something inside him shifted—not from sorrow, but from defiance. He remembered how Aurora had whispered every night about the future they'd share: Sunday morning breakfasts and watching their daughter take her first steps in a small yet loving apartment.
The thought of handing her over without a fight felt like betrayal—to his daughter and to the promise of the life they had dreamed of.
"No," he said, his voice steadier than he expected.
"What did you say?" his father-in-law demanded, frowning.
He lifted the baby into his arms, feeling the crushing weight of his choice. Tears welled, but his voice was firm.
"I'm not giving her up. I don't know how I'll manage—no plan, no money, no home—but she's my daughter. I won't fail her like the world failed us."
A tense silence settled. Only the baby's soft cries, as if she already understood she had been chosen, filled the room.
That day, a lost boy became a father—not because he had every answer, but because he chose to stay, even when fear threatened to consume him.
Elián turned away from his in-laws and focused on his daughter. His fingers trembled as they brushed her smooth skin—so small, so fragile, yet warm and alive. A strange light filled him: a heavy burden, yes, but also hope, as if Aurora lived on in this tiny being, looking at him with honey-colored eyes.
"Promise me you'll love her like the whole world depends on it…" Aurora's last words echoed in his mind like a broken bell.
"I've got you," he whispered, holding her close to his chest. "I've got you, and I won't let you go—I swear it."
His father-in-law opened his mouth to protest, but his wife gently laid a hand on his arm. For the first time, they looked at him without reproach, as if they understood his decision was irrevocable.
The nurse returned with papers to sign, but Elián barely glanced at them. No plan, no secure home, no money—only that promise, Aurora's voice urging him that they could still find happiness.
Stepping into the pre-dawn chill, the cold hit him like a slap. For a moment, he felt eyes in every shadow asking, Are you ready for this?
He looked down at his daughter sleeping against his chest. "You'll be okay…even if I don't know how." He managed a shaky smile—equal parts fear and love. "Aurora… I'll take care of you just like she would have wanted."
He walked to the bus stop, exhausted yet driven by newfound strength. That night, Elián ceased to be a boy. He became the father he'd promised to be, no matter how vast the world felt.
---
Earlier that day…
Doctors had entered with clinical precision, whisking the baby away for routine checks and preparing Aurora's body for the morgue. Everything moved in a mechanical blur, and he wondered if anyone paused to ask if he was ready.
He signed forms he barely understood—medical reports, legal documents, birth certificates. His in-laws argued quietly with staff, but he heard only the echo of the door through which they'd taken his daughter. An emptiness washed over him, as if the world had taken everything he loved and left only cold whites around him.
"You should get some rest," a nurse suggested kindly. "You'll see her again tomorrow. We'll keep her safe."
"Rest?" he thought bitterly. How could he rest when Aurora wouldn't be by his side? When only a part of her remained, in a crib far from his arms?
---
The Apartment
When he unlocked the door to his small apartment, silence hit him like a blow to the chest. Everything was exactly as it had been: the half-finished cup of tea, Aurora's shawl draped over a chair, pillows scattered on the bed.
He closed the door and leaned against it, unsure what to do. The emptiness seemed to seep into every corner.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he buried his face in his hands. No tears—only a weight in his chest that made it hard to breathe. Their plans together lay in shards.
He glanced at the crib in the corner, assembled weeks earlier amid laughter. It was empty, but he imagined his daughter there, breathing peacefully—an almost holy wonder.
"I'll figure it out," he whispered to the air. "I don't know how, but I will take care of her."
His hands trembled as he touched the folded blanket Aurora had picked with joy. The scent of home and dreams lingered in its fibers, and finally, tears fell—quiet and inevitable.
He lay back, staring at the ceiling. For the first time, Elián felt the world's vastness and his own smallness. Yet even then, Aurora's voice echoed in his mind: "Promise me that, no matter what, you'll love her like the whole world depends on it."
Elián closed his eyes. "I promise you…"