Chapter 19
XIX
DAISY
Daisy tried to keep some semblance in the hours that followed.
It would’ve been easier to cancel her midwife appointment, to lie in bed and draft a list of future possibilities.
But whatever lay ahead in the coming days, one thing remained unchanged: there were three of them in the picture, not two.
“I bet your husband is excited,” the midwife said to Daisy as she checked her later that morning. “I suspect she’s going to come any day now.”
She swallowed hard, the memory of the morning's conversation lingering in her mind. She’d always feared something would happen to Callan, but it wasn’t just the feeling she’d been afraid of—it was worse.
So much worse. Like something in her, something soft, pure, and completely unguarded, had been ruined.
People talked about these things in the abstract, as if change were just a concept, something inevitable and theoretical. They never explained how it felt when it actually happened, when it seeped into the fabric of life and tore through everything, leaving the shape of your world unrecognisable.
If the midwife noticed her silence, she didn’t mention it. But then, why would she? They weren’t familiar, not really. Her usual midwife had been called away for an unexpected delivery, and she’d only met this one once before.
“Now, I’d suggest you take it easy over the next few days,” the midwife said.
“Call us if you notice any signs of labour. I see you’ve been having Braxton Hicks for the past few weeks; real labour might feel the same at first. The difference is, unlike the ‘fake ones,’ they’ll build in intensity.
” She moved to the right side of the bed, reaching for the blood pressure cuff.
“A lot of first-time mothers think it’s like the films, that your water breaks, and suddenly, it’s all happening.
In my twenty years as a midwife, I can tell you, more often than not, it isn’t like that. ”
Daisy nodded, watching the midwife wrap the cuff around her arm and pump it tight. The woman’s expression shifted slightly.
“You’re reading a bit high this morning,” she murmured, almost to herself. She measured again, then unstrapped the cuff. “Would you mind doing a small urine sample for me?”
In theory, Daisy could’ve explained. She could’ve told the midwife she’d had a stressful morning, that her heart had been stuck in her throat since she’d woken up.
But she wasn’t ready to share it—not with her, not with anyone.
So, she gave the sample, and whatever the midwife saw in it seemed to put her at ease.
Back home, she found herself pacing, restless. She didn’t know if Callan had landed or his condition, and she didn’t know who to call. There was nothing to do but wait, yet she couldn’t sit still.
Oddly, as she checked her hospital bag for the final time, she thought of him.
Logan knew brain injuries; that was what he did. Maybe she would have been able to reassure her. maybe he would have lied, just enough to make her believe everything would be fine. But she didn’t call.
Instead, she lay down, her body heavy with exhaustion, and somehow, she drifted off to sleep.
Like the midwife said, she thought they were Braxton Hicks, the false alarms she’d been living with for weeks.
She made a cup of tea, ran a bath, and tried to convince herself this was not it.
But she couldn’t sleep, and not because of the pain.
No matter what she did, every thought led back to Callan.
Somehow, she must have drifted off again, because when she looked at the clock, it was 3 a.m., and the contractions had sharpened, coming closer together. She turned onto her back, staring at the ceiling, willing the pain away. Then she felt something warm trickle between her legs.
She reached down, fingers brushing against damp skin. When she brought her hand back into the light, all she saw was red.
For a moment, she was paralysed. It wasn’t just a few drops. It was spreading, pooling around her, seeping into the sheets like ink in water.
A primal, frightened scream clawed its way out of her throat as she grabbed her phone, fingers shaking as she dialled 999.
“I’m bleeding,” she told the operator, the words tumbling over each other. “I’m thirty-nine weeks pregnant, and I’ve just woken up in a pool of blood.”
It was as if the woman on the other end had triaged her as a hysterical first-time mother, chastising her in that too-calm voice, asking a dozen questions that didn’t seem to matter. From how much blood there was to the colour.
“Please,” she choked out, curling over as another contraction hit. “How long until an ambulance gets here?”
“At least thirty minutes,” the operator said. “Is there someone who can drive you to the hospital?”
She closed her eyes, a sob catching in her throat. Then she thought of Logan. That night, he’d told her that if she ever needed anything, anything at all, to call.
After ending the call, she scrolled to his name and paused, unsure, before tapping the call button. He didn’t pick up on the first try. Maybe he assumed it was a misdial or a pocket call. But when she dialled again, he answered on the first ring.
“Daisy?”
“Logan, please,” she whispered. “I need your help.”
There was a brief silence, and Daisy could’ve sworn she heard the sheets rustling as he sat up. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I…” Another contraction struck, and she clenched her mouth shut to stifle a scream. “I think I'm in labour. There's blood,” she gasped. “So much blood.”
“I’m coming,” he said without hesitation. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”
She didn’t know how fast he drove. It felt like seconds before he was there. He found her curled over, biting down on her hand to keep from screaming. His eyes flicked from her to the blood, and then, without a word, he lifted her into his arms.
The rest was a blur of white lights and hushed voices.
He told her later that she’d blacked out in the car, and as soon as he’d rushed her into A&E, they had taken her into theatre.
But all she remembered was waking up in a bed and finding the room empty.
There was no cot beside the bed, and everything was eerily quiet.
She lay there for what felt like hours, staring at the ceiling, each second heavier than the last. Her chest felt tight, like her lungs had forgotten how to work properly, until she heard the door slowly creak open.