Tina Beckett - Miracle Baby For The Midwife

Note to Readers

Dedication To my husband…as always

PROLOGUE PROLOGUE ADEM KEPLER REMEMBERED the car ride like it was yesterday. The rough blanket from his bed had rubbed his cheek raw as he tried to brace himself against the bumps on the dirt road he’d once called home. His dad’s breathless call had set the wheels in motion, the flashing lights of the plane that had sent them on a flight to a new country. A new home. He hadn’t realized at the time just how sick his younger brother was until he was several years older. But at fifteen, all he really knew was that his mother’s tears seemed endless and his dad had a white pinched look around his mouth that said his family’s whole world was about to change. Looking back, he could see it was a blessing in disguise and the flight into the night had saved Basir’s life. He’d had no idea of any of that at the time. But he did now. Brain tumors knew no nationality. No financial status. No gender. All he remembered was the powerlessness and anger he’d felt as he left all of his friends behind. The first years had been hard. Learning a new language. A new culture. But slowly, the angry teenager became a man who understood the sacrifice his parents had made, even though he’d hated it at the time. Where the seriousness of Basir’s condition should have brought the family together, it had taken an already strained marriage and turned it into a battleground. They were too proud to seek outside help, so the arguments and fights had morphed into silence and resentment. His dad had lost himself in the restaurant he’d opened, spending more and more time away from the house. Many of Adem’s decisions had been the product of his childhood, even his decision to go into neurosurgery. And it was also why he’d petitioned the administrator of London’s Queen Victoria Hospital to open a clinic in one of the city’s poorest neighborhoods. When asked if he’d head up the project and run with it he’d jumped at the chance, becoming the clinic’s director. He could make a difference for people like Basir. He believed that. If he had anything to do with it, this new clinic would minister to those in crisis, whether it be illnesses, family relations or pregnancy. It was where his heart was. He might not have been able to fix his parents’ problems—or the fallout from it in his own life—but maybe he could help others avoid some of those pitfalls. If Adem could change one person’s life for the better—just one—it would be worth it. It had been his mantra as he settled into medical school, as he’d done his training and as he managed the clinic. And he would allow nothing to come between him and that goal. Ever.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

ADEM KEPLER REMEMBERED the car ride like it was yesterday. The rough blanket from his bed had rubbed his cheek raw as he tried to brace himself against the bumps on the dirt road he’d once called home.

His dad’s breathless call had set the wheels in motion, the flashing lights of the plane that had sent them on a flight to a new country. A new home. He hadn’t realized at the time just how sick his younger brother was until he was several years older.

But at fifteen, all he really knew was that his mother’s tears seemed endless and his dad had a white pinched look around his mouth that said his family’s whole world was about to change. Looking back, he could see it was a blessing in disguise and the flight into the night had saved Basir’s life.

He’d had no idea of any of that at the time.

But he did now. Brain tumors knew no nationality. No financial status. No gender. All he remembered was the powerlessness and anger he’d felt as he left all of his friends behind.

The first years had been hard. Learning a new language. A new culture. But slowly, the angry teenager became a man who understood the sacrifice his parents had made, even though he’d hated it at the time. Where the seriousness of Basir’s condition should have brought the family together, it had taken an already strained marriage and turned it into a battleground. They were too proud to seek outside help, so the arguments and fights had morphed into silence and resentment. His dad had lost himself in the restaurant he’d opened, spending more and more time away from the house.

Many of Adem’s decisions had been the product of his childhood, even his decision to go into neurosurgery. And it was also why he’d petitioned the administrator of London’s Queen Victoria Hospital to open a clinic in one of the city’s poorest neighborhoods. When asked if he’d head up the project and run with it he’d jumped at the chance, becoming the clinic’s director.

He could make a difference for people like Basir. He believed that. If he had anything to do with it, this new clinic would minister to those in crisis, whether it be illnesses, family relations or pregnancy. It was where his heart was. He might not have been able to fix his parents’ problems—or the fallout from it in his own life—but maybe he could help others avoid some of those pitfalls.

If Adem could change one person’s life for the better—just one—it would be worth it.

It had been his mantra as he settled into medical school, as he’d done his training and as he managed the clinic.

And he would allow nothing to come between him and that goal.

Ever.

CARLY ELISTON WALKED through the halls of the NICU of the Queen Victoria Hospital holding a clothes hanger in one hand, while draping the bottom portion of a long slinky dress over the other arm. Navy blue with a scattering of sequins across the bodice, it had been an impulse buy—something for herself—after wearing three different bridesmaids’ dresses. Four years later, that blue gown still had the tags on it when she’d loaned it to her friend. She’d told Esther she didn’t need to return the dress, but her friend had insisted. It wasn’t like Carly would need it any time soon. And evidently it had made a bigger hit than her friend had expected, since she and Harry Beaumont were in love and headed toward marriage.

Maybe the dress was enchanted. If so, Carly should wear it herself. She shook her head. No, she didn’t need a man in her life right now. One failed relationship was more than enough. Fortunately her ex-fiancé had moved on to another hospital and a new love. Rumor had it that he was now happily married with a child of his own on the way. It was what he’d said he wanted most: a family...children.

For Carly, scarring and one lost ovary made the proposition of that ever happening iffy, although Kyle swore that wasn’t the reason for the breakup. She’d gotten the old “It’s not you, it’s me” explanation. Maybe he just hadn’t realized how hard it would be for her to get pregnant. They’d tried. For over a year. The harder things got, the more rigid and regimented her life became in an effort to somehow force her body to comply—to will that remaining ovary to function. And each time her period came, she became more desperate. Until Kyle finally...

Ugh! Old news, Carly. Get moving.

The feeling that she needed to shake her life up—to make a change—had never been so strong as it was right now.

When Carly leaned against the door and tried to juggle the dress so she could reach the latch, it suddenly swung outward, causing her to careen into someone on the other side.