Modern Romance Collection February 2025, #1-4

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER TWELVE

‘H OSPITAL ?’ S IENA ’ S VOICE was a protest. ‘In heaven’s name, why? I’m perfectly all right! I haven’t got a twinge or anything! Absolutely nothing that might be even the start of a contraction! Not a real one, anyway. I’ve had the Braxton-Hicks false ones from time to time, but that’s perfectly normal.’

He was gunning the engine, heading back on to the road.

‘Vincenzo, please! This is quite unnecessary. The hospital will only send me away again! They haven’t got room to keep a load of pre-labour women hanging about till their due dates!’

His response was to speed up and throw a glance at her.

‘Phone your midwife,’ he said.

It was not a suggestion.

Her brow furrowed, but she fished her phone out of her handbag, flicked into her contacts file and hit speed dial. As she waited to connect, she pressed her free hand over her abdomen. A thought struck her, and her frown deepened. When had she last felt any movement?

A moment later her midwife was answering.

And when she hung up, a couple of minutes later, Siena felt fear like ice in her veins...

Vincenzo’s grip on the steering wheel was whitening his knuckles. In his head, one word was stabbing:

Damnable.

That was what he’d called the situation. And now, with that single announcement by Siena, the word had been wiped out of existence. Totally overridden.

He dropped his eyes to the sat nav screen. Twenty miles still. Twenty miles to drive as fast and as smoothly as he could. Whether he broke the speed limit or not he neither knew nor cared. If the police stopped them—well, maybe he’d get a blue light escort to the hospital...

He’d glanced at Siena as she hung up from the midwife. Her face had been pale. He’d asked her to put the call on speaker phone, and the midwife had been very good. Not alarmist, but insistent.

‘We need to check you out at the hospital,’ she’d said. ‘Phone again when you are closer.’

What she had not said was what she was going to be checking. But Vincenzo knew perfectly well. What had immediately stabbed in his head—what could be happening...

Placental abruption—the separation of the placenta from the uterine wall...and how dangerous that is...

A knife twisted inside him and his grip on the steering wheel tightened again. More than anyone, he knew that childbirth could be dangerous...

He depressed the accelerator further. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

He heard her swallow, but she said, ‘Fine. I feel fine. It’s just that—’ Her voice changed. And he could hear the thread of fear in it now. ‘Vincenzo, I can’t feel the baby moving—and the towel I’m sitting on feels damp.’

‘I’ll get you there.’ His voice was grim.

The miles passed with punishing resistance, and without the sat nav he’d have been lost. It took them right to the hospital turning. Without wasting time parking, he steered straight to the entrance for the maternity unit, pulled up short. Siena had phoned the midwife again, and was on the phone to her now.

‘She says she’ll be in the lobby—you should grab a wheelchair. They’ll take me straight up.’

Her voice was shaky.

He launched himself out of the driver’s seat, hazard lights flashing, saw a row of wheelchairs under a shelter and grabbed one, coming round to Siena’s side of the car. She was already opening the door and he helped her out, helped her into the wheelchair, hurried her through the automatically opening doors.

A woman in scrubs was hurrying towards them.

‘You made good time—well done.’ She nodded at Vincenzo. ‘We’ll take over now—get your car parked and come on up. You can be there for the examination—we don’t know what’s happening yet.’

Then she turned her attention to Siena and pushed her across the lobby, clearly hurrying.

Vincenzo went back out to the car, slamming the passenger door shut, throwing himself in on his side His glance went to where she’d been sitting. The towel on the seat was pale grey—except for the large bloodstain in the centre...

He felt sick suddenly. But not because of the blood...

Less than five minutes later he’d disposed of the car and was back inside the maternity unit lobby, pushing through the doors where Siena had disappeared.

A medic of some sort walked past him, and he grabbed his arm. ‘Possible placental abruption—where would she be taken?’ His voice was urgent.

The medic turned. ‘Follow me.’

Siena heard the words, but scarcely comprehended them. Yet they were clear enough.

Emergency Caesarean.

She stared, white-faced, heart thudding, the ice in her veins colder still, at the consultant obstetrician, summoned by the midwife, who’d said those words to her.

‘It has to be now. Right now,’ he said.

His voice was calm, but insistent.

The door to the examination room swung open and Vincenzo was there, striding in.

‘Vincenzo!’ she cried.

He came to her at once, lying there on the examination couch. She was aware she was hardly in any state for him to see her, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was what the obstetrician had just announced.

Vincenzo took her outstretched hand, squeezed it. Turned to the obstetrician.

‘It has to be a C-section delivery straight away,’ the consultant told him gravely. ‘The placenta is coming away and the baby is becoming increasingly at risk. Hypoxia is—’

‘Yes, I know.’ Siena heard Vincenzo’s voice cut across him, sounding not curt, but short. ‘Potentially—’

He didn’t complete the sentence, and Siena gave a terrified moan. Her free hand flew to her abdomen. As if her bare, splayed hand could keep her baby safe. Alive...

The baby she had never welcomed...

Her eyes flew to the obstetrician.

‘Do it!’ she cried. ‘Just do it now! Do whatever it takes!’

The consultant nodded, and she saw his glance go to Vincenzo.

‘I want him with me!’ she cried, and clung to his hand in desperation.

‘Of course,’ said the consultant. He turned to the hovering midwife. ‘Theatre One,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

After that it was a blur. A blur that was a nightmare. She felt herself being slid sideways onto a trolley and wheeled off. Her hand still clung to Vincenzo’s, as he kept pace with the trolley, and it was all that kept her going...all that she could hold on to in an ocean of terror.

So much more than terror.

Emotions poured through her like a tsunami sweeping her up, convulsing her, buckling her into a tiny piece of flotsam torn apart by the power of what was ripping her to pieces. Words flew through her head—fragments, shreds, rags and tatters—each one suffocating her with its terrifying intensity.

I never wanted this baby. I was resentful and resistant—appalled and self-pitying—angry at its conception. A self-indulgent, irresponsible conception, by self-indulgent, irresponsible parents. All I cared about was that my life was being changed for ever, that I was sacrificing my dream of art college again. I never wanted this baby... my poor baby...

And now...

Terror constricted her again and she could barely breathe.

The medics seemed to be crowding round her, talking over her, talking to her only to tell her what was essential. Not one of them was telling her the only thing she was desperate to know.

Is it too late?

But she couldn’t ask—and knew they wouldn’t tell her anyway. Her grip on Vincenzo’s hand tightened. He was saying nothing—not to her, not to the doctors. She knew she had to let the doctors get on with it.

Silently, terrified, she urged them on.

Hurry—hurry—hurry!

She was being put into some kind of hospital gown, then turned on her side. Vincenzo was still holding her hand, and some kind of injection was being made into her spine. Then some kind of screen was being placed below her ribs and she couldn’t see anything—anything at all—or feel anything except the tsunami of terror, of guilt, churning her into pieces...

Her other hand, which could no longer go to where it longed to be, started to flail helplessly, hopelessly, and Vincenzo caught it, pressed it with his own.

‘Stay calm...they are doing what they must.’

His voice was strained, his expression strained too, and her eyes clung to his. There was desperation in her clinging. Despair in her terrified, whispering voice.

‘We’re losing our baby—oh, Vincenzo, we’re losing our baby!’

Nothing else mattered. Nothing at all...

Only the fear, the terror, knifing her over and over again...

He pressed her hands, saying nothing—because what, she thought fearfully, could he say?

What was going on beyond the screen she did not know—dared not know. Knew only that it was taking an unbearably, agonisingly long time.

Until...

There was movement. Something was happening. Though she could still feel nothing...nothing at all. To the side of the screen she could see the midwife carrying something...something that made no noise.

She gave a broken cry, and Vincenzo twisted to see what he could, never letting go of her hands, which he was crushing with his own.

‘What is it? What’s happening?’ Her voice was anguished.

But she knew. She knew what was happening...what had happened. Knew it because she deserved it... Knew it because suddenly the obstetrician was there, looking down at her. He was about to tell her, I’m so sorry. We did all we could, but it was too late...

Grief convulsed her, possessed her.

And then...

A cry...a thin, frail cry. A baby’s cry...a cry of life...

‘You have a little boy,’ the consultant said. ‘Congratulations.’

Another cry broke the air. Not a baby’s cry—her own. Her face convulsed again, tears suddenly pouring from her eyes, blurring her vision completely.

And then she heard another voice. Vincenzo’s.

Low, and deep, and wrung with emotion.

‘Dio sia ringraziato,’ he said.

God be thanked.

Vincenzo shut his eyes.

God be thanked.

It rang in his head, again and again. Relief such as he had never known knifed through him. Then he realised the consultant was speaking again, and made himself open his eyes, listen to what was being said.

The obstetrician was addressing Siena, but he threw an encouraging smile at Vincenzo as well. ‘Now, I’m just going to finish off...tidy up. Then I’ll zip you back up, make sure everything’s tucked away neatly,’ he went on, ‘and then we’ll get you into Recovery. But first...’

He turned away, beckoned to the midwife who was just scooping something up. She came towards them. A little mewing sound came from the white-wrapped bundle in her arms. The obstetrician disappeared behind his screen again.

‘Here he is,’ said the midwife.

And she placed into Siena’s outstretching arms the most perfect human being who had ever existed...

Siena gazed and gazed as love—instant, overwhelming, overpowering love—poured through her.

‘Oh, my darling...my darling one...my darling...’

The tiny, perfect face of her tiny, perfect baby looked up at her. And her love for him encompassed her, became her whole being for ever and for ever.

Then another voice was speaking, low and impassioned. ‘Lui è perfetto. Perfetto! Il nostro piu prezioso—’

Siena’s hand pressed his arm. ‘Our son,’ she said. ‘Oh, Vincenzo...’

He crouched down beside her, his eyes only for the tiny, so precious bundle in her arms. Tears stood in his eyes.

‘I never realised—’ he said.

She looked at him. ‘Nor I...’

Then the midwife was speaking, smiling down at them both. ‘He’s doing very well, considering. I’m sorry it was all so dramatic, but these things can happen. We’re going to pop him into Neonatal ICU, just to—’

Siena’s eyes flew up, a cry breaking from her. ‘ICU?’ Stark terror was in her voice suddenly.

‘For observation only...just for a little while,’ the midwife was instantly reassuring.

‘There’s something wrong!’

The terror was still in Siena’s voice. Her eyes distended. Fear hollowing her out.

Something wrong! I knew there would be...that I couldn’t...that I didn’t deserve...

The midwife was speaking again, calmly and clearly. ‘No, there is nothing wrong. I promise you. All the signs are good. We just want to ensure he gets a really good start after his rushed arrival.’

She felt Vincenzo’s hand tighten on her shoulder. ‘So there is nothing to fear?’ he asked.

Siena could hear the same note of terror in his voice as had been in hers. Her hand clutched his sleeve.

‘Nothing at all,’ the midwife said firmly.

‘Exactly so!’ The voice of the obstetrician, busy behind his screen, corroborated the midwife’s assurance.

Siena felt the terror draining away, felt Vincenzo’s hand lighten on her shoulder.

She heard the midwife continue, brightly, ‘So, enjoy this time with him, both of you, and then we can get all of you out of Theatre.’

She smiled benignly, then disappeared behind the screen again, where whatever was being done to her Siena could not feel, and right now did not want to know. Because all that existed in the entire world was what was here—for which she was so grateful...so abjectly, desperately, heart-wrenchingly grateful.

The precious, perfect baby in her arms.

Vincenzo stood by his parked hire car, still dazed. When he’d parked the car in daylight, all those hours ago, all that had been in him was the urgency that had possessed him since they’d begun heading to the hospital, the knifing fear he’d been trying to hide from Siena, because it would only add to hers. Now, the entire universe was transformed.

Slowly, he opened the car door, got into the driving seat. He felt overwhelmed, wrung out. And at the same time...

He closed his eyes a moment, feeling the emotion that had possessed him ever since that first frail cry had told him that his desperate prayers had been answered possess him again, more strongly yet. Gratitude, thankfulness pierced him. And more.

Remorse.

I didn’t realise—I didn’t know.

But now he did. And it was a gift past counting.

The same words that had broken from him as he’d heard that thin cry, heard the obstetrician speak, were searing in his head again.

God be thanked.

His eyes opened, he turned the key in the ignition, reversed the car out of its parking space. He would return to the house next to Siena’s. In the morning he would come to the hospital again, bringing her bag with him. She would need to be in hospital for a few days, but he’d asked for her to be moved to a private room when it was medically safe. As for his son...

My son!

The words rang in his head. Such incredible, wonderful words—so infinitely precious.

He’d been able to see him, cocooned in his neonatal protection, fast asleep, ignorant of all the monitoring of his vital functions. He’d reported back to Siena, repeating all the medical reassurances given him, and what they had already been told—that his stay there should not be long, and that on the morrow she could have him with her.

‘Now, you get some sleep. Rest and recover.’ He’d smiled down at her, then left.

She’d looked exhausted...

Emotion twisted inside him. He set it aside.

Drove away from the hospital.