The beeping of the machines was the only sound in the room.
I sat down on the hard plastic chair next to her. I didn’t move.
For four nights.
I wasn’t sleeping. I was watching her breathe. Every breath was a battle.
When she woke up, panicked by the machines, I would take her little hand.
« I’m here, soldier. I’m here. We’re holding the position. »
I would softly sing her old camping songs. Not lullabies, she didn’t like those. She liked the slow, deep rhythm of « The Moon Is Clear. » It calmed her.
On the morning of the fourth day, the fever subsided.
She opened her eyes. She saw me. She smiled under her mask and signed weakly: “Daddy stays?”
A hand landed on my shoulder.
I turned around. It was the head nurse. A stern woman I had never seen smile. Her eyes were red.
« Don’t you ever go home, sir? »
« My home is where it is, » I replied, my voice breaking with fatigue.
She nodded.
“I’ve seen many ‘biological’ parents in this hospital, Mr. Jean. Many go to rest when things get tough. You, however, didn’t let go of her hand for a single second.”
She reached into her pocket and handed me a piece of paper with a number on it.
« My sister works at the family court. She knows the judge who has your case. Call her. Tell her you’re the father who sings to his daughter when she can’t breathe. »
Two weeks later, I was standing in a courtroom.
My hands were trembling. Not from fear, but from suppressed rage.
Judge Bertrand was sitting up there. A woman of steel. Known for being inflexible. She had my file in front of her. A thick pile of papers that all said I was too old, too alone, too poor.
She took off her glasses and looked me straight in the eyes. The silence in the room was deafening.
« Mr. Jean… » she began in an icy voice. « You’re asking to adopt a child with special needs at sixty-four years old. That’s unheard of. »
She paused.
« Reports say you’re stubborn. That you’ve turned your apartment into a child fortress. That you’ve harassed social services. »
I gritted my teeth.
« Give me one reason, one valid reason, why I should entrust a fragile child to a man who should be thinking about his retirement home? »
I took a deep breath. It was the moment. It was for Manon.
« Because I’m the only one! » I shouted, my voice echoing against the wooden walls of the courtroom.
« I’m the only one who stayed! The other forty-three left! They wanted a perfect child. They wanted a doll that could walk and talk right away! »
I took a step forward, ignoring the lawyer who was trying to hold me back.
« You see a file, Your Honor. I see a little girl who is afraid of the dark and loves purple. You see an old man. But I know what it’s like to be judged by your appearance! To be looked at askance because you’re different! »
« Manon will have to endure this her whole life. The stares. The mockery. The pity. Who better than me can teach her to stop caring? Who better than me can teach her that she’s a queen, regardless of her extra chromosome? »
“My wife died young. Life is short. I can’t promise her fifty years. But I promise her that for every day I have left, she will know that she is the most important thing in the universe. That she was chosen. Not endured. CHOSEN!”
I had tears in my eyes. I hadn’t cried since Hélène’s funeral.
The judge said nothing. She lowered her eyes to the file. She turned one page. Then another.
The silence lasted an eternity.
Then, gently, she opened a drawer in her desk. She took out a framed photo and placed it in front of me.
