He touched the crown of her head reverently. She was tiny. Tiny and perfect.
The stork that dropped her off finished preening its feathers and flew off, perching for a while on the nearest tree to make sure people saw a baby had been delivered. A few minutes later it was gone. It was on its own; no one else had had a baby that day.
She was asleep. He laid her in the crib and watched her breathe. He hadn’t had much time to prepare for her, or even the idea of her; the note had arrived only 48 hours earlier. One child, it said. He had been hoping for two. True twins were rare, but the storks would sometimes deliver two babies of exactly the same age. Most often, though, two babies at once would be delivered only to households with more than one adult. And there had been no mention of a second adult in the note, and no arrival at the door.
He might still get a second child, in a few years. But he would not get a partner. Partners arrived with the first child or not at all.
He reached for her hand, its fingers hidden in a soft glove. A nurse would visit them once a day for a week, ready to answer any questions and make sure the baby was eating well. After that, he’d be invited to meet the paediatrician. In between he could expect his neighbours to drop in with food for him, and small gifts for the baby. It was not the done thing to ignore a newborn; anyone who hoped for a delivery from the storks had best go through the motions of supporting all other parents in the vicinity. He had done so himself – he made a good pork belly roast.
He double-checked the date. 21 years from now, on this day, he would die – unless there was a second child to reset the count. Only then would his children be eligible for children of their own, though there was no guarantee they’d get any. The storks had their own criteria, largely unknown to the humans. Some conclusions could be drawn from easily observed patterns, but there was still an element of mystery, and perhaps even luck. Falling from grace wasn’t hard, and advisors – all quacks – were at hand to help you undo your mistakes, whatever they may be. It was lies; you had one shot with the storks, and no Undo button.
He had worked very hard his whole life to stay on the storks’ good side. He would have to continue that; a child could be taken as easily as it had been given. Well, not quite as easily – carrying a child could require a team a dozen storks strong. Seeing such a flock was rare; he had never seen one take a child, but he had seen one deliver a child to new parents. He’d met that child – an eight year old who could not explain what had caused his parents’ disqualification but who, even at that age, knew better than to go back to them. Defying the storks in that way would mean he never got the chance to be a parent himself.
The baby fussed, and he smiled at her. He would not be disqualified, he was sure of that. He would have a wonderful 21 years, and go to his death knowing he had done right by her. And she, in turn, would be ready to do right by another child; he would make sure she was what the storks expected.
Arkin Prose 
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