by L. S. Pullen
A daughter, we have a daughter.
She was right.
“But…she wasn’t due for another six weeks,” Flick says beside me, letting out a soft sob. Nate wraps her in his arms.
“She’s in good hands and being carefully monitored in ICU.”
“And Sophie?” I croak out.
“In recovery. There was some internal bleeding, broken ribs, and damage to her spleen. The next twenty-four hours are critical.”
I sway on my feet and fall into a seat, scrubbing my hand over my face, squeezing my eyes closed.
“This can’t be happening,” I say to no one.
“I’m afraid it is. Her injuries are extensive, but she’s young and otherwise healthy. We’ll do everything to keep her comfortable and monitor her as closely as possible.”
I search his face, his expression honest, a truth behind his words.
“And the baby?” Flick asks, concern in her voice
He looks between the two of us. “As I said, she’s in the special intensive care unit. She’s on the other side of the hospital to Miss Taylor.”
Flick covers her mouth, muffling her silent tears. She asks him if we can see them. My brain is clouded with a bone curdling fright. I force my feet to move, one in front of the other. I part my lips and try to avoid breathing through my nose. The stench of hospitals a reminder of death.
The air is too thick, and I don’t think I’ve ever had to work so hard on taking my next breath. Flick takes my hand in hers and waits until I have my breathing under control. I scan the hall for Nate and Olly.
“They’re waiting in the relative’s room. Only two are allowed to see her,” she explains. What’s wrong with me? How do I not already know this?
I entwine my fingers with hers, hoping together, we won’t falter.
The doctor pauses outside the closed door, “I need to warn you to prepare yourselves for what you’ll see. There’s a lot of machines but I assure you they’re all there to help.”
I almost think to myself that this isn’t my first rodeo, but what kind of arsehole thinks something like that at a time like this?
But nothing can prepare for the sight before me.
Unlike the last time, she isn’t awake, and her face is battered. I scan the rest of her body, her stomach—although still swollen—now seems odd. This morning, it cocooned our baby, and now our baby is somewhere in this hospital at the hands of strangers.
A tight, stabbing pain jars me in the chest—almost a physical blow. I rub it with my fist, moving closer to her bedside. Leaning over her, I roam over the cuts and scrapes adorning her skin. I kiss her on her forehead; she’s cold. I want to take her in my arms. I raise my head and stroke her face.
“Hey, beautiful, it's me. I need you to be strong, so you can meet our baby girl. You were right, we had a baby girl.”
Flick leans into my back and keeps me steady, her tears falling silently along with my own, but I don’t care that I’m crying, how could I… Not when the love of my life is fighting with every heartbeat and I’m powerless to do anything to help her when she needs me the most.
“I wasted so much time. Why did I waste so much time?” I ask out loud.
“You’re only human, Charlie,” Flick replies, softly.
“I went to her last night, I told her I wanted to be with her, and I want to raise our baby together. I can’t do this without…”
“Don’t even think like that. You need to be strong for her and your baby. We need to go see her, too. Sophie would hate the thought of her being alone.”
I know she’s right but the thought of leaving her laying here alone breaks me in two. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The decision is made for me when a nurse says we need to leave for the time being, but we can come back later.
I thought seeing Sophie was hard, but this is just as bad. Enclosed in an incubator lays our daughter, small and hooked-up to tubes too big for her. We had to put on gowns and slippers socks over our shoes before we entered.
“But she’s meant to be the size of a pineapple,” I say.
“What?” asks Flick, as she stumbles into my side.
“She’s thirty-four weeks, but she’s smaller than a pineapple,” I say.
Flick eyes roam to the direction of incubator and then back to me, grabbing the crook of my elbow for support. But I’m not sure who is supporting who at this point.
“Oh, my god,” Flick says, covering her mouth with her hand.
They tell me I can hold her hand. But I can’t keep the shaking at bay when I reach into the hole to touch her tiny hand with my index finger. She moves towards the contact and my heart constricts.
I clear my throat. “Hello, baby girl. I’m here and your Mummy would be here, too, if she could,” I choke out, my words sour on my lips.
Flick lets out a garbled noise, her hand squeezes my shoulder. We stare at the angelic face of my daughter. I never knew a love like this existed. Every fibre of my being has been ripped open and sewn back together. My centre now revolves around Sophie and our baby girl. I smile, even though it feels wrong, but I’m in awe…we created her.
“Mittens,” she blurts out from beside.
I blink at her. “What?”
“Mittens. She needs mittens and clothes. Sophie would want her to be in her own clothes.”
I nod but my eyes are drawn back to my baby. I rub my finger over her tiny hand again. “She’s perfect, isn’t she? Just like her mum.”
Flick leans in closer. “Yes, she really is.”
It’s hard being here. The guilt engulfs me, knowing Sophie should be here, too, and I wish more than anything my mum was here to tell me everything will be all right. I need to let my dad know he’s a grandad. Seeing him make such an effort to get to know Sophie has shown me the side of him I thought I’d never see again. Sophie is my salvation; I owe her everything.
I silently pray to a God I believe hates me, letting Him know I’d trade places with them in a heartbeat.
I promise to be a better man, the best person I can be to Sophie and our baby, to love them and protect them with every last breath in me.
Chapter 48
Charlie
I alternate between my baby girl and Sophie. I’m torn, sliced right down the middle. I want them to be together, so I can be there for them equally. Something tells me they’d heal faster if they were closer, too.
Flick arrived with the tiniest baby clothes I’ve ever seen. They could be for a doll, not a new-born baby. They smell clean and fresh…she must have washed and dried them. It’s clear from her heavy-lidded eyes that she’s had about as much rest as me. At this point, I couldn’t even tell you the last time I slept.
Nate’s firm with her when he tells her she needs to come home to rest. She’s almost delirious with fatigue now, and it hurts to see her this way. I know why she doesn’t want to leave, but she’s going to make herself sick if she isn’t careful. I asked her to do it for me and promised I’d do the same when she returns. But it’s a lie. I need to be here when Soph wakes up. I won’t ever leave her to deal with anything on her own, not ever again.
When the nurse on shift notices I have no intention of leaving, she requests a porter to bring in the ugliest chair I’ve ever seen. A ghastly hospital blue, she pulls at the back and toes the bottom with a firm kick, making it look effortless. She pulls it out into some kind of makeshift bed. She covers it with a sheet and returns with two pillows and matching pale blue blankets.
“Now try and get some rest,” she says, walking away and switching off the main light. A light from the lamp above Sophie’s bed illuminates her in a soft, halo glow.
I walk over and lean in, kissing her on the only part of her forehead not bruised, and I breathe her in deep. Unable to stop it, a single tear rolls down my cheek and lands on her. I wipe it away.
And for the third time since losing my mum, I say another prayer to the God who deserted her. My faith was lost for a long time, but I was young, and I didn�
�t understand how someone as wonderful as her had to suffer like she did before being taken away from us. Her life cut short, I needed to blame someone, something. I chose to blame God.
But that changed. I couldn’t even say exactly when that was… Maybe it was the first time Sophie walked into my life—the way she disarmed me without me even realising. I think deep down I knew, even then, that she was sent to me for a reason.
Sophie
I’ve never experienced such bliss and contentment as I do in this very moment, playing with my daughter on the beach, building sandcastles. She stares at me with the exact same eyes as her daddy and my heart has never felt so complete. The orange-red sun is dimming and in its place, a grey, inhospitable storm of darkness overtakes the horizon.
I hold onto her hand so hard, but when I look down, she evaporates into a million sparkling particles. I want to scream. My mouth opens but no sound comes out.
I can’t move. I can’t speak. I’m cemented where I stand, alone.
Suddenly, it’s as though I am being dropped back into my body. As if I had experienced some kind of astral projection, my entire body convulses.
It’s dark. So dark. The air around me is glacial, and my teeth knock against each other, relentless.
“Sush, you’re going to be just fine, my dear.”
I hear a soft voice beside me, and I find the strength to turn my head and stare into eyes which belong to a stranger, and yet, are so familiar.
“Where am I?” I croak out, managing to find my voice.
“In hospital love. You had everyone worried.”
I don’t know what she means. My thoughts struggle to process what’s happened. I shiver. She reaches out to my hand, to the bracelet on my wrist. Her thumb strokes over one of the charms. The icicles, which had settled into my bones, begin to melt away. I let my eyes close and when I blink awake what feels like seconds later, I hear my name.
I turn my head to follow the sound. My eyes connect with ones which have marked my soul.
“Charlie,” I breathe out.
He stands, wobbly on his feet. Coming to stand over me, he appears to brace himself, but then I notice him reach for something on the bed rail beside me, and he presses a button. Seconds later, a door cracks open to the left of us and light bounces off the walls.
Reality comes flooding back to me. I’m in hospital.
Charlie’s hand wraps around mine gently, and I scan the room for the woman, but she’s no longer here. And then I flinch.
Something is wrong. Very wrong.
My hand flies to my stomach, I can’t feel her. I move my hand around, but my stomach is distorted—the touch under my fingers all wrong—nothing.
Emptiness.
I can’t breathe. My eyes dart around, in search of a cot, but she’s not here.
Where is she?
I know Charlie's talking loudly over his shoulder, I can see him, but can’t hear him over my own panic. He’s agitated with the nurse, his face contorted with worry.
I squeeze his hand, drawing his eyes back to mine.
“Just breathe for me, baby, please just breathe.” I’ve never seen that kind of terror from him before. And I need to calm down for him.
He coaxes me, breathing in, and then out. I keep my eyes fixed on him and follow his lead, sucking in air greedily.
“It’s okay, you’re in hospital,” he says over the sound of my thumping heart.
I want to ask a question, but my throat feels like sandpaper. I try to lick my lips, but my tongue is dry, like dirty tarmac, and the skin on my lips crack. I cough, trying to clear my throat and immediately wish I hadn’t. I flinch, pain radiates through my body.
“Do you want some water?”
I don’t know who asked because I’m still focused on Charlie. Dark circles are evident under his eyes, and even in this dim light, it unsettles me. The stubble on his face is maybe a few days old. And his hair is a matted mess as if he’s been running his fingers through it repeatedly.
He’s handed a cup with a straw by a nurse. “I’ll be right back,” she says and leaves us alone. He only nods.
Using one hand to support my head, he leans me up enough to take a few sips. The cool liquid cascades down my throat with a contented sigh. I breathe him in, Charlie—familiar in this sterile prison.
“What happened?” I ask.
His eyes scan my body before meeting mine again. He dips down so we’re face to face and cups my cheek, his hand cool. “You were in an accident. They had to perform an emergency caesarean.”
I bring my hand up to my throat. “But she’s not due yet.”
He nods. “I know. She’s in the special intensive care unit for babies,” he says.
I turn my face away from him, struggling to process this. “Oh, my god, it’s all my fault.” I can’t hold back the sob which escapes me, pain radiating through my body.
“No, Sophie, it’s not.”
I cover my face—it is my fault. I want to retreat inside myself. His hand touches my shoulder, and I flinch, trying to make myself disappear. My body isn’t cooperating; it burns from the inside out as a strangled moan escapes my throat.
But it’s nothing compared to the earth-shattering of my heart.
There’s a vast emptiness where she should be; she’s no longer safe in my womb.
Unfamiliar voices around me become distant, faded, and the pain begins to ebb, but not in my heart. There is no cure for this. She needed me, and I let her down in the worst way possible. I couldn’t protect her. And now she’s somewhere, without me—alone.
“Miss Taylor, how are you feeling?” asks a welsh accent I don’t recognise.
I open my eyes, my lids hot and heavy. “Tired,” I reply.
“It’s to be expected and may also be from the cocktail of medication we have you on. The doctors will be doing their rounds first thing in the morning, and once they give the go-ahead, we can make arrangements for you to go visit with your baby.”
I think I nod.
“Why is she so drowsy?” Charlie asks from a long way away.
“She’s been through trauma, and the pain relief is helping her sleep, which her body needs in order to heal.”
“I know, but it’s been almost three days,” he says, his voice flat. But it’s the last thing I hear before I slip into a deep fog of nothing.
I know from the noises surrounding me that it wasn’t some unfortunate nightmare. It’s a living hell. When a group of nurses and a doctor surround my bed, I try to answer their questions and listen to what the doctor is telling me in this hazy state.
“Miss Taylor, as you know, we had to deliver your baby. You were haemorrhaging, and it was too severe not to.”
I can deal with that but what I can’t deal with is knowing I didn’t keep her safe. I had six weeks left, six weeks!
“Sophie, you understand what I’m telling you, don’t you?” he asks, his voice gravelly and deep.
“Yes,” I reply, monotone.
“You need to rest, let your body heal. We know baby will take up a lot of your time, but you’ll be restricted by what you can do.”
Numb…is that what this is? I couldn’t keep her safe.
“I’m sorry, I know this is a lot to deal with, but you and baby are both doing well, considering.” See, even he doesn’t say it, but considering I’m already a useless parent.
I focus on the corner of the room and keep my attention trained on the peeling mastic between the wall and the ceiling. I pick at the skin around my fingernails.
“Do you have any questions?”
I shake my head.
“I do,” says Charlie. “When can she see our baby?”
“As soon as she feels up to it,” he replies to Charlie. Staring at me he says, “But you must be assisted and taken in a wheelchair.”
I don’t acknowledge him. My heart races, and I squeeze my eyes closed until he’s gone.
When I open them, Charlie is sitting forward, his elbows on his knees,
his head resting in his hands. Every moment he’s not here with me, he’s with her. We’ve hardly spoken, and yet he hasn’t wavered, not once. Each time I’ve opened my eyes, he’s been here. He continues to come back to me.
I reach my hand out towards him, and my movement causes him to move his head, his eyes flick to my outreached hand, and he links our fingers together.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I would do anything to ease the worry in his voice, but I don’t know how. Instead, I squeeze his hand and bring it closer to me. His body follows. His eyes scan every inch of my face until they meet mine. He leans over and kisses me so softly if it wasn’t for his stubble, I’d hardly feel it. He is so gentle—worried I might break—but he doesn’t need to worry.
I’m already broken.
“I love you,” he breathes, it’s a promise and a declaration which holds so much weight. I wish more than anything I could say it back to him, but I can’t.
Chapter 49
Sophie
A knock on the door breaks me from my thoughts. When it opens, in walks Edward. I force myself to shift, sitting up more.
“I hope you don’t mind. Charlie said the nurses gave you the all-clear for visitors, otherwise, I would’ve been here sooner.”
I smile. It’s been nice getting to know him; he’s a good man under all his mistakes and misgivings. Charlie and he are actually a lot alike.
He leans down to give me a peck on the cheek before sitting in the chair beside me. “How are you feeling?”
I clench the blanket between my fingers. “I’ve been better.”
“Charlie tells me you haven’t seen my granddaughter yet?”
“No, not yet.” I train my eyes on my nails, the polish all but gone.
He reaches over, placing his hand on top of mine. “May I ask why?”
If it was anyone else, I’d deflect and dodge the question. I look at him. “I don’t know if I can handle seeing her like that. I’m terrified.”