My Beautiful Baby

By Emily Faerber

She was my beautiful baby girl. She had bright blue curious eyes that would light up whenever she saw something colorful, and at six months old she was adept at rolling around to where ever she wanted to go, reaching her little fists out to clutch at the object that interested her then immediately bringing it back to her mouth. I called her Hazel, because a beautiful girl deserved a beautiful name.

I hated it when I had to leave her for my work. I wasn't always able to find someone to watch her, so I would hide her somewhere close by. My heart would ache terribly when I would return, fearful that something had happened in my absence. Only after I had her back in my arms would I feel secure again. I felt as if I would burst from the rush of emotion I would feel each time I was reunited with my baby.

No one ever asked me about Hazel's father. I guess that they all thought that they were somehow protecting themselves and me from some horrible truth by ignoring the fact that she had a father, but I wished that someone would express some sort of curiosity about him. Then I would be able to tell them that part of the reason I loved my daughter so much was because I loved him. She was proof that he and I had been one, that our souls had joined together to create a new life. She was a piece of him and a piece of me, indivisible forever despite the distance that separated us. She was a symbol of our bond.

My beautiful baby girl, my reason for living, was more important to me than anything else. That was why I had to do everything I could to protect her. That was why I took this job.

A/N: This is pretty much my idealistic view about children combined with a dream I had one night. And no, the job isn't prostitution. It's actually something like an assassin, but to explain that would require an actual story instead of just a monologue.