The mermaid lay motionless on the shore, sick and pallid. I approached her carefully; she was handing me something, a small yellow egg in her cupped hands.

“Take it,” she rasped. “Raise her well.”

I shook my head. “I can get you back in the water, now.”

The beached mermaid shook her head. “Too… late… take my… daughter.” She spoke like every word was an effort, which it probably was. My heart went out for her as I gently took the egg from her hands, smoothing her hair back from her sweaty forehead.

“Okay,” I crooned, letting my hand fall to my side. She stirred, whimpered. I sat with her, brushing back her hair, letting her hold my hand. She whimpered once more, shuddering, then went completely still.

I pulled back gently, cupping the tiny egg with care. It quivered in my grasp, as slowly I saw small limbs begin to form, to push out, until I was holding a baby in my arms.

The mermaid’s baby, who I would now raise.