‘Come on, sit down and drink your coffee.’
He sat, but his eyes kept going back to the little heart and the pretty box beside it. Pandora’s box…
She put her mug down and looked at him, her eyes searching.
‘Do you want to look at it now?’
Could she read his mind? Maybe.
‘I don’t know.’
She got up again and went over to the box, bringing it back and putting it down on the coffee table, just out of reach. He could feel his heart beating, feel every thud against his ribs, taste the fear.
But fear of what? The contents of the box, or his own feelings? Maybe it was time to face them both.
He put his mug down and reached out, picking up the box and resting it gently on his knees. Like Pandora’s box, once opened, things could never go back to how they’d been. Could he risk that?
He swallowed, sucked in a long, slow breath and lifted the lid.
IT WAS THE letter that finished him.
He was expecting the rest. The beautiful little box contained all the poignant things he’d tried to blank out, like the tiny, precious footprints the midwife had made for them, the photographs she’d taken of them together holding Grace, the blanket they’d wrapped her in as they’d held her for hours in their arms before they said goodbye.
But at the bottom of the box was a single folded sheet of paper, and he lifted it out and unfolded it, totally unprepared for what it was.
A letter, from Beth to her baby daughter.
My darling Grace
I can’t tell you how much I love you, how much I miss you every single day, with all my heart. But you’ll always be part of me, and you’re with me wherever I go.
Carrying you in my body for your short life, giving birth to you, holding you in my arms, was an honour and a privilege I will never forget, and I’m so grateful I had that chance.
You are the best part of me, and I will treasure you forever.
Sleep tight, my darling.
Mummy xxx
The words swam in front of him, and she took the letter gently from his nerveless fingers and replaced it in the box with all the other precious things, then gathered him in her arms and held him while the racking sobs tore him apart.
She said nothing, just held him and rocked him, and gradually the pain subsided, leaving him feeling oddly cleansed, as if he’d been wiped clean.
Except not, because Grace’s name, her footprints, her photo, and the memories they’d made that day were engraved on his heart, an indelible part of him just as they were of Beth, and it felt right.
She handed him tissues, then said gently, ‘I guess that’s been a long time coming.’
He gave a ragged, fractured laugh and met her eyes, tender with understanding. ‘I guess so. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. It’s OK to cry. I can’t begin to tell you how much I’ve cried for her.’
He swiped the tears off his cheeks again with the palms of his hands and shook his head to clear it. ‘I haven’t, though. I haven’t let myself. That’s why I didn’t want to see. I suppose I’ve been in denial, really, ignoring it, but it didn’t work, because it’s always been there, deep inside, gnawing away at me like acid. It’s odd. It doesn’t feel like that any more. I’m sad, of course I’m sad, and I guess I always will be, but it’s like a weight’s lifted—does that make sense?’
She nodded. ‘It makes absolute sense. It’s acceptance, Ry. It takes a while to get there, but it makes it easier. You’ll still have bad days, though, times when things bring it all back and it catches you on your blind side.’
He nodded and leant back, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and holding her as they sat there quietly together. They didn’t speak, but for the first time he let himself think about the events of that day, the day their daughter had been born.
He thought about her delivery, how hard it had been all night knowing that at the end of it they would have nothing but memories. They’d induced her, because Beth didn’t want to wait, and she’d refused all pain relief, wanting to feel every last moment of it because it was the last thing she could do for her daughter, so he’d been there for her, supporting her as well as he could while his heart felt as if it had been locked in ice.
It had been a long night, and then as the first fingers of dawn crept over the horizon and touched the sky with gold, the midwife lifted Grace’s tiny body tenderly into Beth’s waiting arms.
He’d stood there helpless in the deafening silence, the silence that should have been filled with a baby’s cries, feeling as if he had no place there, no role in the tragedy, no way of making it better, but he’d been unable to leave them and so he’d stayed, eyes dry and gritty with exhaustion, his body as tight as a bowstring, his heart numb while Beth wept silent tears and spoke softly to her daughter.
And then she’d placed the baby in his arms, and his heart had cracked in two. It was the first and last time he’d cried for her, until tonight, and even then he hadn’t really let go.
A week later they’d gone together to register her birth and death, and then they’d held a quiet funeral service for her. Three days later he’d been recalled for his next posting by MFA and she’d told him to go, so he’d gone, relieved to be able to escape the all-consuming grief and get on and do something useful that would help someone somewhere, even though he couldn’t help her or himself.
Except of course there had been no escape, just a fierce suppression of his emotions until he’d become so used to it he’d thought he was over it.
Apparently not. Not by a long way.
He broke the silence at last, needing to acknowledge what she’d been through and his guilt for leaving her to deal with it alone. ‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t more help. I don’t know how you did it—how you were so strong, so brave, through all of it.’
‘I wasn’t brave, Ry, not at all. I was just doing what had to be done, and then once it was done I just felt empty.’
‘I shouldn’t have left you.’
She took his hand and kissed it, then held it in her hands, warm and firm and kind, Beth all over.
‘I sent you away, Ryan. I couldn’t deal with your grief as well as mine, and that was wrong. We should have grieved together for our daughter, but we didn’t know each other well enough. We still don’t, but we’re learning, day by day, and we’ll get there.’
He nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, I suppose
