Marion Lennox: Meant-To-Be Family

‘That’s why Dr Evans has arrived here so fast,’ Em went on smoothly. ‘We haven’t had a specialist in-utero surgeon on staff, but when we saw your ultrasound Dr Zigler knew we had to get the best obstetrician here as fast as we could. That’s who Dr Evans is. The best. So now it’s up to you, Ruby, love. Will you let us operate on your baby?’

‘Heinz and I can close the gap over the cord,’ Oliver told her. ‘There’s probably already a little damage done, but it’s so early that damage should be minimal. What we’ll do is put you to sleep, cut the smallest incision in your tummy as possible—you’ll be left with a scar but I’m very neat.’ He grinned at the girl, knowing a bit of pseudo modesty often worked, and he got a shaky smile in return. ‘Then we’ll gently turn your baby over where she’s lying—with luck we won’t have to take her out. Once her back is exposed Heinz will check everything, tweak things to where they should be, then we’ll close the gap over her spinal cord. We’ll settle her back down again and tuck her in, stitch you up and leave you both to get on with your pregnancy. You’ll need to stay in hospital for about a week, maybe a bit longer, until we’re sure we haven’t pressured bub into coming early, but then everything should proceed as normal.’

‘And she won’t have to be in a wheelchair?’

‘Ruby, we can’t make any promises.’ He caught her hand and held it. Em was still hugging her, and Oliver thought, not for the first time, Em was a wonderful midwife. She knew when to intervene and she knew when to shut up. She also exuded a quiet calm that was a tranquilliser all by itself.

He’d met her ten years ago. He’d been a barely qualified doctor, she’d been a student nurse, but already the confidence she’d engendered in the patients he’d worked with had been impressive. He’d seen her with some terrified teenage mums.

There was no nurse he’d rather have by his side and by the time they’d dated twice he’d known there was no woman he’d rather have with him for ever. Their attraction had been instant, their marriage inevitable.

It was only babies … or lack of babies … that had driven them apart.

The night their son had been stillborn had been the worst night of his life. He’d watched Em’s face contort with an anguish so deep it had seemed endless, and there had been nothing he could do to stop it. He’d been unable to help her. He’d been unable to reach her.

But it was hardly the time to be thinking of that now. It was hardly the time to be thinking of it ever. After five years, they’d moved on.

‘I can’t make any promises,’ he repeated, hauling himself back to the here and now, to the needs of the teenage kid in front of him. ‘The procedure Heinz and I are trained to perform usually has an excellent outcome but there are exceptions. I won’t hide that from you, Ruby. There are risks. There’s a chance of infection, for you as well as your baby. We’ll take every care in the world …’

‘But no guarantees.’

‘No guarantees,’ he agreed. ‘So it’s up to you. This is your daughter, Ruby. It’s up to you to make the choice.’

‘I’m too young to have a daughter.’ It was a wail and Em’s arm tightened around her.

‘That’s where I come in,’ she said solidly, a blanket of comfort and reassurance. ‘You want advice, I’m full of advice. You want a hug, that’s what I’m here for, too.’

‘You can’t be here with me all the time.’

‘I can’t,’ Em agreed. ‘I have my own son and daughter to look after. But I’m here every day during the week, and if I’m needed, I can come in at other times. My mum lives with me so I can usually drop everything and come. I don’t do that for all my mums, but I’ll try for you.’

‘Why?’ Ruby demanded, suspicious.

‘Because you’re special,’ she said soundly. ‘Isn’t that right, Dr Evans? You’re one special woman, and you’re about to have one special daughter.’

But Oliver was hardly listening. Somehow he managed to make a grunt of acquiescence but his mind felt like it was exploding.

I have my own son and daughter to look after.

Somehow … a part of his brain had hoped—assumed?—that she’d stayed … as Em. The Em he’d left five years ago.

She hadn’t. She’d moved on. She was a different woman.

I have my own son and daughter to look after …

‘What do you think, Ruby?’ Em was saying gently. ‘Do you want to go ahead with the operation? Do you want time to think about it?’

‘I don’t have a choice,’ Ruby whispered. ‘My baby … It’s the best thing …’

It was. Oliver watched Ruby’s hand drop to cover the faint bulge of her tummy, the instinctive gesture of protection that was as old as time itself.

And the gesture brought back the wedge that had been driven so deep within his marriage that it had finished it. Em had wanted to adopt, and he’d known he couldn’t love like parents were supposed to love. He was right, he thought bleakly. He’d always been right. What was between Ruby and her baby was what her baby needed. Ruby was this baby’s mum. Adoption was great if there was no choice, but how could an adoptive parent ever love a child as much as this?

He knew he couldn’t and that knowledge had torn his marriage apart.

But Em was watching him now, with those eyes he’d once thought he could drown in. He’d loved her so much, and yet he’d walked away.

And she’d walked, as well.

I have my own son and daughter to look after.

It was nothing to do with him. He’d made his choice five years ago, and Em had obviously made choices, too.

He needed to know what those choices had been.

But now wasn’t the time or the place to ask. All he could do was turn his attention back to Ruby, reassure her as much as possible and then set about working out times and details of the forthcoming surgery.

As they finished, a woman who introduced herself as one of the hospital social workers arrived. It seemed Ruby needed help with housing—as well as everything else, she’d been kicked out of her parents’ house. She was staying in a boarding house near the hospital but she wouldn’t be able to stay there when the baby was born.

There’d be more talk of adoption. More talk of options.

Ruby’s surgery was scheduled for the day after tomorrow, but for now he was redundant. He was free to head to the next mum Charles had asked him to see.

He left, but his head was spinning.

Em was still sitting on the bed, still hugging Ruby. I have my own son and daughter to look after.

Whatever she’d done, it had been her choice. He’d walked away so she’d have that choice.

Why did it hurt so much that she’d taken it?

EM GOT ON with her day, too.

One of the wonderful things about being a midwife was that it took all her care, all her attention. She had little head-space for anything else. What was the saying? Find a job you love and you’ll never have to work again? She’d felt that the first time she’d helped deliver a baby and she’d never looked back.

She sometimes … okay, she often … felt guilty about working when her mum was home with the kids, but the decision to foster had been a shared one. Her mum loved Gretta and Toby as much as she did. They had the big old house, but they needed Em’s salary to keep them going.

Sometimes when Em got home her mother was more tired than she was, but whenever she protested she was cut off at the pass.

‘So which baby are we giving back? Don’t be ridiculous, Em. We can do this.’

They could, and knowing the kids were at home, waiting … it felt great, Em thought as she hauled off her uniform at the end of her shift and tugged on her civvies. Right, supermarket, pharmacy—Gretta’s medications were running low—then home. She’d rung her mum at lunchtime and Adrianna had been reassuring. ‘She’s looking much better.’ But, still, there was no way she was risking running out of Gretta’s drugs.