Their Own Little Miracle

by Caroline Anderson

  ‘Before Natalie. Before Dan, when we were both bright and shiny and fresh out of the box instead of—I don’t know. Tarnished.’

  ‘Tarnished. That’s a good word for it.’ He let out a long, slow breath, his chest sinking beneath her ear. ‘Do you think—?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No, it’s just a crazy dream. Only—when we first found out they were having a baby, I thought maybe we—well, whatever, they’re having her so it doesn’t matter anymore.’

  His voice seemed to break a little on that last word, and she tilted her head and studied his face in the dim light filtering through the blind. His jaw was clenched, his eyes open and staring fixedly at the ceiling, and the light caught a tiny trickle running from the outer corner of his eye.

  ‘Oh, Joe. Do you think we could have made it work? You, me, our baby? Or would I just have held you back?’

  ‘You wouldn’t have held me back. Never think that. You’ve been amazing, this whole hellish year, but I’ve got there, I’ve done everything I needed to do, and now I just have to wait—so, no, you wouldn’t have held me back. You haven’t. And—I don’t know, maybe it’s still just a crazy dream, but perhaps, when this is all over and we’re in a better place, maybe we can give ourselves a chance.’

  Could they? Was there really a chance for them when this was done, when their little girl had been handed over and they’d got over the wrenching loss she knew they’d feel—would there be a chance for them?

  She squeezed her eyes tight shut. Oh, she hoped so. But in the meantime he was here with her, and so was their baby, and she needed rest. She was exhausted, and the next few days and weeks would be an emotional rollercoaster.

  ‘Go to sleep, my love,’ he murmured, as if he’d read her mind.

  His hand stroked her back slowly, rhythmically, soothing away her tangled feelings, and feeling safe, cocooned from reality, she drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  Her phone woke them a few hours later, and he reached over her and picked it up.

  ‘It’s Steve,’ he said, handing it to her, and her heart started to pound.

  ‘Hi, Steve, what’s up?’

  ‘Isla’s waters have broken and she’s having really strong contractions, so I’ve called an ambulance,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘Can you come to the hospital? I wouldn’t ask but we don’t know anyone there and it’s too soon and—’

  ‘Steve, it’s fine, I’m on my way. I’ll meet you there. Call me when you arrive and give her my love. It’ll be OK.’

  She pressed the phone to her chest and turned to Joe, but he was out of bed, getting dressed.

  ‘Did you hear that?’

  He nodded. ‘Get dressed, I’m coming with you.’

  ‘Are you sure? What about work tomorrow—today, whatever it is?’

  ‘I’m not working the weekend anyway, and I’ve taken a week off so I could be there for you, and I will, no matter what happens. Come on. It’s OK. She’ll be all right.’

  ‘You can’t know that,’ she said, struggling into her underwear. ‘What if—?’

  ‘Don’t do the what-ifs, Iona. Just deal with it as it comes, hour by hour, day by day.’

  She pulled her dress over her head and searched his eyes. ‘Is that what you’re doing?’

  He looked away. ‘Yes. I’ve been doing it for weeks—months. How do you think I got through all the revision and courses?’

  He was talking about work. Or was he...?

  She found her shoes, wriggled her feet into them and stood up, grabbing her phone off the bed.

  ‘OK, let’s go.’

  * * *

  Isla’s baby was born half an hour after they arrived at the hospital, weighing a mere three and a half pounds, and he was taken immediately to NICU.

  ‘Go with him,’ Isla begged, so Steve went, and Joe went with him, leaving Iona with Isla.

  ‘You’ll have to wait until the paediatrician’s assessed him,’ they were told, so Joe told Steve to go back to Isla.

  ‘I’ll call you the minute you can go in,’ he promised, and as soon as Steve was gone, he buzzed and they let him in. No point in not pulling rank. He’d see what he could find out...

  * * *

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘OK.’ He sat down beside her, and he looked drained.

  ‘What’s wrong? Is there something wrong?’

  ‘No. Not now, but he needed two umbilical lines.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And the consultant was busy with another baby, the IR was tied up as well and the registrar was struggling and about to put in two peripheral lines instead.’

  ‘So you did it?’

  He nodded. ‘Well, I have just done a refresher course on venous and arterial access in neonates, and it was only building on what I already know and do all the time, but I was feeling the stress by the end of it. They couldn’t measure his blood gases without it, though, or get any drugs into him, so it was pretty critical, but it’s so delicate, the tissues are really fragile and he seems so tiny. Still, it was working, so hopefully he’ll be all right now. How’s Isla?’

  ‘In bits. She hardly had time to hold him before he was whisked away. I don’t think she’s stopped crying.’ She closed her eyes and rested her head against him. ‘Is he going to be all right?’

  ‘I hope so. He’s small, but he’s holding his own at the moment and breathing by himself so it’s looking hopeful. And thirty two weeks isn’t that young, not in the great scheme of things. How are you?’

  His voice was soft, his arm around her shoulders, and she wanted to lean into him and cry, but she didn’t. She straightened up and met his eyes. ‘I’m shattered. I really need to go back to bed, but I don’t like to leave them.’

  ‘They’re in good hands, and we won’t be far away,’ he pointed out, and she nodded.

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’ She rubbed her arms with her hands, not because she was cold but just—

  ‘Hey, come on. Let’s get you back to bed. You can call them from the car. The staff will look after them, they’re used to this. You need to rest.’

  * * *

  Over the next forty eight hours baby William made slow but steady progress, with Isla and Steve spending all day with him, taking it in turns to sleep.

  Iona visited them again on Monday morning, but they were so focused, so preoccupied by their tiny, frail son that they barely noticed she was there. It was as if they’d forgotten why they were there in the first place, and Isla’s fears about her own baby being second best were starting to overwhelm her.

  But what could she do? They’d been so adamant about having both, bringing them up as twins. She couldn’t turn round to them now, just because things hadn’t gone according to plan, and tell them they couldn’t have their baby.

  Although if Joe had shown the slightest sign of wanting to keep her, had said or done anything to indicate he had any feelings for her, then she might have voiced her fears. But he hadn’t, almost the opposite—apart from that one occasion, when he’d felt the baby move for the first time and had scooted down the bed and kissed her bump and murmured, ‘Hello, you,’ his voice so full of tenderness and wonder. And the night Isla had gone into labour, when he’d held her and wondered if they could have made a go of it, or if they might have a chance together later on, when they were in a better place.

  That didn’t mean he was ready to sign up for parenthood now, though, and without his support she wouldn’t be able to keep her baby. What kind of a life would that be for either of them? And if Isla and Steve had her, she’d still be able to see her, to love her, to shower her with gifts and cuddles and kisses, but she’d have two loving, supportive parents instead of one stressed mother who was trying to juggle her work and childcare commitments against ridiculous odds.

  That surely was the better option—at
least for the baby?

  She rubbed her bump, hoping she would stay tucked up there inside her for a little while longer, just until William was out of the woods and his parents had the time and the emotion to cope with the arrival of another baby. And maybe by then, she’d be ready to do what she knew in her heart she had to do...

  * * *

  Her agonising wait wasn’t lost on Joe. She looked strained and exhausted, so strung out by the knowledge of what was to come that he was worried about her. And he knew what she was feeling. It was in her eyes, in her body language—and in his heart, slowly shredding it to pieces.

  Please let the baby stay there a bit longer, just until William’s stronger and they can do this. Please don’t make it harder than it already is.

  But whoever was in charge obviously wasn’t listening, because she went into labour that night.

  * * *

  He drove her to the hospital at three on Tuesday morning, when her contractions were coming every three minutes and getting so strong she could hardly breathe through them.

  ‘I can’t do this,’ she said when he’d parked the car, and he took her hand and squeezed it gently.

  ‘Yes, you can. You’ve come this far, you can make it.’

  She shook her head. ‘I can’t, Joe. I’m not brave enough. Everyone tells me I’m brave, but I’m not brave, not at all.’

  ‘Of course you are,’ he murmured, his voice full of a conviction she didn’t feel. ‘You’re doing something most women would find impossible, and through it all you’ve been strong. If that isn’t courage, I don’t know what is.’

  She didn’t know, either, but it wasn’t courage. She felt trapped, trapped into a situation they’d never foreseen, trapped into giving away a daughter she already loved more than anything in the world when it didn’t seem necessary any more. At least not for Isla and Steve, and maybe not for her. Would being a GP be worse than giving away her child? No, of course it wouldn’t, but how could she tell them she’d changed her mind?

  And it wouldn’t be fair on Joe, who she knew would feel obliged to support her even though she’d never ever ask him to.

  Another contraction gripped her body, bringing the moment of truth closer, and she bit her lips and tried to breathe through it.

  ‘OK?’

  ‘No. I’m not OK, and I don’t feel strong now, not at all. I feel scared.’ Not of the physical pain. That paled into insignificance compared to what was coming.

  ‘Oh, Iona.’ He held her silently in his arms, not even trying to comfort her, because he must realise that nothing he could say could change any of what was coming, and she knew he was feeling it, too. Poor Joe. It was never meant to be like this...

  She had another contraction, stronger than the others, and when it passed he got out of the car, went round and opened her door. ‘Come on, we need to get you inside,’ he said gently, but when they got up to Maternity they were told Isla was sleeping in the parents’ room off the ward, and Steve had just gone home to Iona’s flat to catch a couple of hours, so they were alone.

  And she couldn’t do this alone.

  ‘Stay with me?’ she asked, and he hesitated because that had never been the plan and she’d given him no warning, no time to shore up his defences.

  Not that it would have worked. And she was trying so hard not to beg, but he searched her eyes and she was sure he could see it, the fear, the desperation. Not of the labour, but of that moment afterwards when she gave away the most precious thing in the world...

  She saw the moment he caved, saw the moment the shutters came down in his eyes, and she almost wished she hadn’t asked him.

  * * *

  ‘Of course I will,’ he said, burying his feelings and hoping he could do this, could stay with her and support her while she gave birth to the child they couldn’t keep.

  This is wrong! his heart was screaming, but he stayed by her side, held her, rocked her, talked to her in between contractions, trying to reassure her and support her in doing what she’d set out to do, to help to make it easier for her. So he parroted all the old mantras he’d been drumming into himself for weeks.

  Lies, all of it.

  It’ll be all right. They’ll love her, of course they will. You’ll be fine. She’ll be fine. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.

  That last bit was the only one that was true, the only promise he could guarantee.

  And then at last their daughter was born, tiny and perfect, and he stepped back away from the bed, the heart-stopping sound as she gave her first cry tearing him apart, and he knew that promise, too, had been a lie. He wouldn’t be there. He couldn’t. Not for her, or for the baby. Not when she gave their perfect, beautiful little daughter away.

  It was Liv, the midwife who’d been so supportive, so understanding, who picked her up, Liv who laid her on Iona’s chest, Liv who smiled and patted the baby dry with a warm towel.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her, off the shock of dark hair, the tiny fingers, the skinny little legs, but he couldn’t watch, either, and he took another step back and hit the wall.

  He sucked in a breath. How could it hurt so much?

  ‘I’ll get Isla,’ he said, his voice strangled, but Iona reached out her hand.

  ‘No! Not yet, please. Stay with me. Liv can get her later, Joe. Stay with me now, please? Just for a little longer...’

  So he stayed, against his better judgement, while Liv did her job quietly and unobtrusively, and he watched as Iona held her baby and stroked her tenderly, every touch, every stroke cutting him to the quick. What was it doing to her, this brave, beautiful woman who could sacrifice herself like this?

  Then finally everything was done, and Liv turned to them, her face full of compassion.

  ‘Do you want me to fetch them yet, or would you like some time alone together?’

  ‘Please,’ he said, because he wasn’t ready. He’d never be ready. But Iona shook her head.

  ‘Get them, please. We have to do this, and the longer we wait, the harder it’ll be.’

  The door closed softly behind Liv, and Iona looked up at him, her eyes welling with tears.

  ‘Stay with me, Joe? Help me do this? I can’t do it on my own—’

  She was crying now, tears streaming down her cheeks, and he had to blink really hard to focus.

  ‘I can’t,’ he said, every word feeling as if it was wrenched from him. ‘I can’t watch you give our daughter away, Iona, I just can’t. I know you have to, I know you’ve promised and you’ll never break that promise, no matter how much it hurts you, but I’m not as brave as you. Don’t make me part of it, please.’

  He couldn’t see now, his tears welling too fast, but then he blinked, his head bent, and the baby’s eyes were fixed on him. Her little arm moved, lifting up—reaching out to him?—and the last piece of his heart cracked and fell in two.

  ‘Oh, baby...’ He held out his hand to her, and her tiny fingers curled around his fingertip, her grip strong and fierce. So like her mother. So brave, so strong. Blinded by tears, and carefully, so as not to hurt her, he unfurled those tiny fingers one by one and pulled his hand away.

  * * *

  It was breaking his heart.

  She could see it in every line of his body, every word he spoke, the pain in his eyes so raw it was flaying her alive, and she caught his hand, gripping it tightly.

  ‘Oh, Joe. I’m so, so sorry. I never meant this to hurt you. It was supposed to be simple, but it isn’t, is it? None of it. I’ve got no choice, but I can’t do this to you, too, so of course you can go, my love. Just promise me one thing. Come back to me, when I’ve done it?’ she begged, her voice cracking as she gave up the fight to hide her feelings. ‘It’s going to kill me to give her away, and I can’t lose you, too. Don’t do that to me.’

  He lifted her hand to his lips, clinging to it like a lifeline.


  ‘I won’t leave you,’ he promised, his voice as unsteady as hers. ‘I can’t, I love you far too much and I never expected to feel like that. If I’d only done what I was meant to do that night, if I hadn’t made love to you, then maybe this wouldn’t have happened, maybe I wouldn’t have let myself fall in love with you and pretend that it was all going to be all right, because it isn’t...’

  His voice cracked, and he ground to a halt, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the tears from falling, but they were falling anyway and she watched them and realised everything he’d said was true. He wasn’t lying, he wasn’t saying what he thought she’d want to hear to make it possible for her to keep their baby.

  He was telling her the raw, unvarnished truth, and it was killing him.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Iona asked, her heart breaking for him. ‘I’ve loved you for so long now. Why didn’t you tell me that you love me?’

  ‘Because I didn’t know! I didn’t dare to let myself think about it, but now I have it’s so blindingly obvious, and I know it doesn’t change anything, because I know you won’t break your promise to Isla. And they’ll be great parents, I know that, and I know she’ll be happy, and I know she’ll be loved, and we can still see her, maybe later when it’s stopped hurting quite so much. And maybe then, when we’re both ready, when you’ve finished your training and I’ve got my consultancy and the pain isn’t so raw still, maybe we can do this again—start our own family. Have another baby, just for us.

  ‘And I won’t go now. I can’t. I’ll stay with you, and I’ll watch while the thing I want most in the world is taken away from us, because I can’t let you do that alone, and especially not when they don’t even need her. It just seems so wrong...’

  * * *

  He ground to a halt and heard a faint sound behind him, a quiet sob. A hand touched his shoulder and he turned his head, to find Isla and Steve standing behind him, arms round each other, their faces drenched with tears.

  ‘It is wrong,’ Isla said brokenly, stumbling to Iona’s side and taking her hand, gripping it with both of hers. ‘Of course it’s wrong, and we wouldn’t dream of taking her from you now, not now we know how you feel. We didn’t know you were in love, we thought you were just friends, and if we’d had the slightest clue that you wanted her so much, we’d never have said we’d still take her, even without me being pregnant. How could we hurt you like that?