The baby was tiny. She only weighed 4 ounces at birth. When her mother came into the church pregnant and dripping from the pounding rain, everyone stared. Why had they stared? Had they never seen a pregnant woman before? Her mother clutched the back of the pew as another labor pain hit and she couldn’t help but scream.
She had never felt such an agonizing stabbing feeling. The ladies in waiting looked over her as she writhed and twisted, trying to make the pain subside. Then she fainted.
When she awoke, she was cradling her tiny baby in her arms. The baby cried, little cries that sounded like music. She would never know that her baby would one day enrapture a generation.
They called her Rayne because of the violent rain that fell that night. The rain that felt like it would never end.
Tiny little Rayne was scooped up and taken to the nursery. Her mother could hear her singing cries as they whisked her baby away.
Rayne would never know the woman who gave birth to her that night, nor the man who helped to create her in a desperate attempt at a marriage.