The cement factory closed towards the end of last year. That was a little over two months ago. It’s now February 11th. I still have no job, nor does my husband. 

It’s been a week since I gave birth to our beautiful baby girl. We love her so much because she’s our first child. She came into this world crying, and hearing her, seeing her, holding her for the first time made me the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. It broke my heart to hear her cry because I only wish happiness for her in this life. She is my child, and I never want to let her go. 

However, we have no way to care for her. The whole Hubei Province is impoverished. My husband and I both know this, but we are too stubborn, so we’ve kept her for longer than we should. We love her too much and don’t even know how to say goodbye. Just thinking of it makes my heart stop, and brings tears to my eyes. We don’t know what to do, but if we want what’s best for her, we have to act soon. 

It’s now the 17th, we’ve run out of necessities already and food is low. We haven’t even named her yet… we’re scared if we do, we’ll never be able to let go. If we keep her for too long, she’ll get attached and so will we. Because of this, we’ve decided on a plan for tomorrow to let her go–to say goodbye.

Neither of us are talking much today. Knowing that it is our last day with our baby, and cherishing every moment we have with her is causing both my mind and body to suffer. We’ve already set out everything that we will need for the plan. Now, all that’s left is actually going through what we’ve been putting off for days. 

It’s the night of the 18th. We did it. The plan worked. We woke up before dawn, put her in red clothing, wrapped her in our blanket, and started our walk towards the city. The whole time I held her close to my heart, praying that she would somehow remember the feeling, the noise, and rhythm of my heartbeat. 

When we arrived at the orphanage footsteps, I froze. I didn’t believe what I was about to do until my husband and I kneeled down and said our last words to our daughter. 

I said, “Please remember me. I was your first mother. I wish with my whole being that I didn’t have to do this, but we want the best for you. You can only find that with another family. Remember where you came from. Be proud of your heritage. Remember my voice and never forget that I love you so much and will never forget you. Be strong and confident. Remember my child, I will always be with you, no matter where you end up. I love you, and I wish you all the luck in the world.” 

As tears rolled down my face and onto hers, we rushed away, knowing we didn’t want to be seen. I couldn’t breathe. I felt like my soul was away from my body. As if my mind was frozen, but the rest of my body could still guide itself. When we returned home, I couldn’t stand. I collapsed--on the ground--crying. Sobbing. Nothing made sense anymore. I just left a part of myself, back at the orphanage, with strangers. There was nothing we could’ve done. 

Tonight, we’ve just held each other as close as possible, as if scared to lose something else, dreaming tonight of the future ahead of our daughter–all the adventures she will go on and things she will experience.