She walked down the stairs of the old two-family house in the dark, careful not to slip. The steps were steep and uneven, hidden almost entirely beneath the snow. It had been falling rapidly for hours and there had been too much excitement going on inside the house for anyone to think about shoveling steps for a departing midwife. Perhaps if the fathers of the two babies born had been present, they would have thought to shovel. But the storm had prevented their return, and neither had been home.

She breathed in the cold night air, happy to be outside at last, away from the heat and closeness of the birthing room. How grateful she was for the sudden burst of wind that slammed the door shut behind her, shaking her out of her exhaustion and signaling the finality of the evening. She loved her work and cherished the intimacy of it. But it was not a pleasure outing.

Before today she thought she had seen every permutation of circumstance: the girls who cried out for their own mothers even as they became mothers themselves; the older women who marked themselves as cursed, suddenly bursting with joy over a healthy child come to them at last. She thought she had heard every kind of sound a person could make, witnessed every expression the human face could conjure up out of pain, joy or grief. That was what she thought before this evening.

This night was different. Never before had she seen such longing, pain and relief braided together more tightly. Two mothers, two babies, born only minutes apart. She had witnessed tonight what pure woman strength could accomplish, how the mind could control the body out of absolute desperation.

She had watched, and she had ignored. She had taken charge, yet she was absent. She let them believe that her confusion was real, that she was tired. But she was never confused. She was not too tired to comprehend their hopes. The fragile magic of that night had not been lost on her.

She breathed in the air again, crisp and cold, clearing her head. It had been a good night, two healthy babies born to healthy, capable mothers. She couldn’t ask for more. What happened now was out of her hands. Wholly and completely she put it out of her mind, said her goodbyes to the house on the steps and made her way home to go to sleep. There would be more babies tomorrow, she knew, and the constancy of her work would keep her thoughts from this place. She promised herself never to think of it again.