No one mentioned she wasn’t in a hospital gown or tried to remove her shoes.
It was too late for any of that.
“The midwife is on the way,” the nurse said. “We don’t have anywhere else for you to go on such short notice, and you’re too far along to be moved. You’ll deliver here and then be transferred to maternity.”
Della grimaced, her skin blotchy with pain. “Okay.”
It wasn’t okay.
None of this was okay.
I’d woken to the worst kind of horror.
The goatee, bald-headed doctor nodded brusquely. “Glad order has been restored. They’ll look after you from here. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Sweeping out from the curtain-created room, his voice barked more commands outside.
I coughed again, fighting it from turning into a fit. “You all right?” I asked Della, pressing my fist into her pillow for stability.
She bit her lip, nodding in agony. Her face shone with sweat, scrunched and red.
I’d done this to her.
I was the monster responsible for such torture.
“I’m so sorry, Della.”
For five months—since we found out she was pregnant—I’d been fucking petrified of losing her.
I wasn’t a happy, expectant father.
I was surly and snappy and scared shitless of losing her.
So many things tore me into knots, and as the days marched onward, and she grew fatter and more cumbersome, I’d had nightmares of losing her.
At least she hadn’t struggled with this pregnancy as she had with her first.
But that didn’t make me worry any less.
And now, my wife had gone into premature labour. Only by a couple of weeks but enough to make her every grunt and groan rip my broken lungs into ribbons.
I was so selfish to want a kid with her.
So self-centred to expect her to go through this purgatory.
I didn’t know how much time passed.
I didn’t know how long the gates of Hell could stay open.
I felt weak and useless and begged time to hurry.
All I could offer was my hand as she bore down and started to push.
The midwife arrived and spoke soothing and calm.
The noise from outside our curtain faded.
The fear that Della would die in childbirth continued to terrorize me.
On and on Della struggled, until finally, she gave one last scream, and something tiny with the wail of something huge arrived.
He sounded pissed off, insulted, and angry.
Once again, my breath rattled and lungs struggled to convert air into oxygen.
My vision danced with greyness as a flurry of activity happened between Della’s legs, and something bloody and raisin-like was burrito-wrapped and placed on her heaving chest.
For a second, I hated it.
I despised it for hurting the creature I loved most in the world.
But then, its ugly, pinched face turned to me, and my knees almost gave out.
Because what I’d told Della was true.
My love for her would never change.
It would never diminish.
Never fade or struggle to choose.
Staring into that bloody, new-born face, love grew.
And grew.
And grew.
It grew until it spilled into every nook and cranny inside me, a sticky syrup there to stay.
The heart was a miraculous thing—I’d always known it was. And now, it fabricated a new chamber, building a home for Jacob inside the castle where Della had always lived.
My heart was no longer just an organ…it was a city ruled by my wife and son.
My son…Jacob.
The tiny noisy human.
The baby that carried my blood, my breath, my bone.
The child who would protect my wife long after I had gone.
CHAPTER SIXTY
DELLA
* * * * * *
2032
THE FOURTH INCIDENT.
Ren’s collapse and Jacob’s birth.
A date that would forever herald happy and horrified memories.
When they put my baby in my arms and Ren kissed my brow with a look of utter awe and besotted wonderment, I knew it had all been worth it.
The stress of his collapse.
The pain of Jacob’s delivery.
I would do it all over again because we held life in our arms.
However, I must warn you.
I must advise you that you have a choice from here, dear reader.
A choice that I never had, but a choice, regardless.
Up until now, life was perfect.
And it can remain perfect…for you.
You’ve read a story that pens as a fairy-tale with its troubled beginning, love conquering all, happy marriage, and perfect baby.
After all, I did start this book with the words ‘Once Upon A Time…’ which requisites a happily ever after.
And I can give you that.
You can stop here and bask in our marriage, new home, good fortune, and baby in his baby carriage.
But if you don’t…be brave.
Be brave, just like I am, because our tale is based on fact, not fantasy.
It is based on life. A life that everyone must endure.
Life that some would rather not read about because it’s too close to the truth.
Why cry for a story when there are so many hardships in your own world?
And I get that.
I really do.
So…I tell you again.
You can stop.
I won’t think any less of you.
I won’t be sad you didn’t stay with me until the end.