Rock On

I hear crying from her room. It carries around the corner, down the hall, and directly to me. I go to her, crawl into her bed, and scoop her into my lap. Her fever is breaking; she is hot and sticky. Blood pumps into her from a bag through a tube tunneled into her heart. Tears pour out from her squinted eyes, drip down her face, and puddle into my shirt, just above my heart. I rock back and forth, a metronome, and hum something quietly into her ear until her moaning subsides. And even then, I rock on.