Oh, wow, okay, so theres this mum whos raising her baby with so much love, but her husband just doesnt seem to connect with the little one.
Every morning, I wake up to the soft cries of Lily. Shes so tiny, so perfect. Her little fingers curl around mine when I hold her, and suddenly the whole world makes sense again.
Good morning, my love, I whisper as I lift her from her cot. Did you sleep well?
From the kitchen, I hear the heavy footsteps of James. Hes always been a man of few words, but since Lily was born, hes become even more distant.
Talking to yourself again? he says from the doorway, with that unreadable look in his eyes.
Im not talking to myself, Im talking to Lily.
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair.
Emily, we need to talk.
Later, I say, rocking her gently. I need to feed her first.
I watch him walk away, and for a moment, guilt tugs at me. I know James is struggling with something, but Lily needs me. Shes so fragile, so dependent.
During the day while hes at work, Lily and I have our little routine. I sing her lullabies, bathe her so carefully, read her stories. She listens with those bright little eyes, like she understands every word.
Your dad will love you, I tell her as I change her nappy. He just needs time to adjust.
When James comes home at night, I always find an excuse to take Lily to another room. He doesnt look at her, doesnt ask about her. Sometimes I hear him crying in the bathroom, and I dont understand why.
One evening, after putting Lily to bed, I find James sitting on the sofa holding a photo.
Whats that? I ask.
He looks up, his eyes red.
Do you remember this?
Its the ultrasound. Our first scan, eight months ago. I remember that day so clearlythe excitement, the plans, the names we picked together.
Of course I remember, I say, sitting beside him. Thats when we found out Lily was coming.
James closes his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks.
Emily Lily isnt here.
What are you talking about? Shes asleep in her room.
No, love. There is no nursery. No cot. No Lily.
I jump up.
Youre mad! Of course she is! I just put her down!
I run to the room, but James follows. When I open the door, he flicks on the light.
The room is empty. No cot, no mobiles hanging from the ceiling, none of the tiny clothes I swore Id washed that morning. Just dusty boxes and old furniture.
Lily I whisper.
We lost Lily six months ago, Emily, James says, his voice breaking. At 32 weeks. Dont you remember? The umbilical cord the doctors said there was nothing they could do.
The memories come crashing back like shards of glassthe hospital, the silent monitors, my empty arms.
But I hold her every day I feed her she smiles at me
James pulls me close as I collapse.
Youve been holding a blanket, love. Talking to a blanket. Ive watched you rock her, change her nappy. Ive been waiting for you to remember, to come back to me.
I look down at my empty arms and for the first time in months, they feel truly empty. The weight I thought I was carrying, the whispers I thought I heardit all fades like smoke.
Lily my Lily
I know it hurts, James whispers. It hurts me every day too. But we have to keep going, without herbut together.
That night, I cry for the first time since the funeral I dont remember having. I cry for my baby who never came home, for my husband who watched me disappear into a fantasy and waited patiently for me to return, for all those months stolen from real grief.
But I also cry with relief, because finally, I can start to heal.
And James is here, waiting for mejust like he always has been.
