Baby no longer in my arms, I step closer to the hole. I cannot see the ground below. I hold the hem of my skirt and put a flip-flopped foot onto a cinderblock jutting out of the concrete wall and start to descend. The smell of damp earth and rotting wood grows stronger with each step down.
One two three four five six.
I can hear my baby babbling in my cousin-in-law’s arms in the room I just lowered myself from. I whimper.
I do not want to bring her down here.
I won’t bring her down here.
A week ago I would have brought her down here.