Disappeared [antikvár]

So much death. And yet it began, as it ended, with life. Two lives. The doctor looked at them over his glasses, his face grim. 'You should prepare for the worst. She has acute respiratory problems and we have noted a cardiac arrhythmia. You must pray for her.' Rosa stared at him. Someone had scooped out her insides with their fingernails. She clutched at her belly and uttered a sharp cry. Reuben put an arm around her. He looked down at the child in her arms. She had the softly pink radiance of a newborn. Huge eyes, brown and liquid. She began to cry, as if she understood the death sentence that had been pronounced on her twin. From the first moments it was as if she knew that the world was trying to keep her apart from her sister. Reuben tried to soothe his daughter's cries, feit her fist close around his finger. So tiny, so delicate. God was warning him. He had placed those he loved at risk and now He was showing him that what had been given could so easily be taken away. It was all his fault. 'There is no hope?' Reuben heard himself say. 'There is always hope.' The large, black-framed spectacles flashed in the light. 'But I am saying we have done everything we can. Now it is in the hands of God.' He would not meet their eyes. He was young, not much older than Reuben himself. He had detached himself, wanted just to get this done, move on to another patient. 'You have one healthy daughter, at least.' 'Can I see her?' Rosa said.