Their Marriage Worth Fighting For
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Louisa Heaton
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10
CHAPTER ONE
THE ORANGE-PINK GLOW of the setting sun glided across the façade of the beautiful St Aelina’s Hospital as Grace Rivas let out a deep, pent-up breath. A breath that was meant to steady her. To help her try to contain her nerves. A breath that was supposed to make her gird her loins, to prepare her for what waited inside.
Who waited inside.
She’d not called Diego to say she was back. It didn’t feel right with the way things had been left. What were they? Husband and wife legally, yes, but friends? People who called one another up just to say hi? People who would rush into each other’s arms, the way they’d used to? No. They were nothing that even came close to that.
That last argument before she’d left to visit her Aunt Felicity in Cornwall had been Heart-rending. The kind of argument that signalled the end of a relationship. And when you ended a relationship and then went away you didn’t call that person when you got back home, because technically they weren’t in your life any more.
She was not proud of the way she’d behaved. The lengths she had gone to in her desperation. The way she’d shouted. Ranted. Raved. Desperate for him to say something. To do something. To react to anything. Hoping beyond hope that somehow her words would get through that thick, impenetrable skull of his and he would call her mi amor, pull her close, kiss the top of her head and whisper into her hair that they would be okay. That he understood. That they would get through this. That they could deal with all the crap that life had thrown at them and come out on the other side somehow better, stronger than they’d been before.
Only he hadn’t done any of that. He’d just stood there. Listening. Looking sad. Looking like a berated child. Looking sorry, but not actually saying it, his lips pressed together so tightly, so grimly, it had almost been as if he was biting them. Stopping himself from speaking. He’d just stood there and taken the full force, the full brunt of her fury and her rage.
Oh, how she wished he’d said something! Anything! To show her that there was still some chance they could pull themselves through that quagmire of anger.
But his silence, his inability to salvage anything from their relationship, had caused her to throw her hands up in frustration and storm past him, slamming the bedroom door behind her so that she could check her luggage one last time, knowing she couldn’t miss her flight back to England. Especially because she’d be going alone now.
She hadn’t heard him leave. Maybe because she’d been too busy muffling her sobs. But when she’d finally emerged, pulling her luggage behind her, expecting one last tearful goodbye, maybe even a last attempt to turn things around and save their relationship, she’d found a note on the kitchen counter.
I think it’s best if I move into staff accommodation at the hospital.
For now.
D
Just D.
No kisses.
No, let’s talk when you get back. Nothing. Grace had scrunched the note up in anger and tossed it into the bin.
Now, even thinking about that night caused a sour sensation in her stomach, and she had to swallow hard and look up at St Aelina’s and try to remember the joy of this place.
The way it was lit up at night was particularly beautiful. Like another world. Which it was. A world in which Grace had always been able to find joy. Happiness. Refuge from her own heartbreak. Working as a midwife in the maternity unit of St Aelina’s hadn’t been just a job for her. It had been a way of life. She’d adopted this country and its people and given them her heart. Before meeting Diego she’d thought she’d never leave the hospital in London. Never leave her country except for holidays. But Spain—Barcelona, St Aelina’s—had become home. More than she’d ever thought possible.
The people, the weather, the historic beautiful buildings, the language... They had all made their way into her heart just as Diego had left it.
No. That wasn’t true. He was still in her heart. He was her husband and, no matter what had happened between them, he would always have a place in her heart. Especially because of all that they had gone through. But she hadn’t been able to keep him. He had walked away. Had not fought for them the way she’d hoped he would. And if he didn’t want to fight...? Well, then. What was the point?
But as she stood there, looking at the hospital she’d thought she’d work in for the rest of her days, she knew she would have to tell her boss that she couldn’t stay any more. That with her marriage over, with the way her life had crumbled, this place that had once given her such joy could only now cause her pain, if she stayed.
But she had more self-respect than that. She wouldn’t linger in the hope that Diego would offer some small crumb of comfort, like friendship. That would be pathetic. It was love, or nothing, and he’d made it quite clear that he couldn’t love her in the way she needed him to.
No. It was best to make a clean break.
Squaring her shoulders, she walked inside, ready to say hello to the many friends she hadn’t seen for two weeks.
‘Buenas noches.’
She said good evening to the night cleaners, the porters. She waved at Jorge, who ran the hospital café, as he left to get a good night’s sleep.
Working the night shift was perfect for Grace. She had been unable to sleep for so long now that she might as well be working anyway. And, to be honest, it took her mind off her own problems. In every ward, every room of this hospital, stories were being played out. Some ended. Some became difficult roads to travel. But in Maternity new adventures began.
Families expanded. Miracles happened. People experienced joy and happiness and love such as they had never experienced before. Hearts expanded. Grew. Enveloped new faces and new lives. Sometimes there was grief. Sometimes there was pain and loss and despair. and Grace felt those keenly, tried vainly not to let them destroy her, considering her own past, but happiness outweighed those moments, and the thing about joy and happiness was that it was catching. All those in the department—the midwives, the doctors, the care assistants—got to share in a piece of those miracles. The IVF babies. The rainbow babies. The twins and triplets and multiples.
It was a special place to be.
She climbed the stairs to the first-floor maternity wing, rather than take the lift and risk running into Diego. He worked nights, too, but hopefully she wouldn’t run into him just yet. Diego was a neonatal surgeon and worked on the second floor. Technically, she could get through a whole shift without seeing him if he wasn’t needed. She hoped he wouldn’t be. Crossed her fingers that all her mothers-to-be sailed through as normal, full-term cases.
Was she ready?
Could she ever be?
They would meet at some point, but she wanted a dose of happiness first, and so she greeted her friends and colleagues, and listened in to the hand-over, and then went to find her first labouring mother, who she was extremely pleased to discover would not need a neonatologist.
Alejandra de Leon was at term, fully dilated, and waiting for the urge to push. This was her first child with her husband Matteo, and up until this point she’d been cared for by Grace’s friend and colleague Nena.
Grace introduced herself to Alejandra and Matteo. He looked excited and nervous as he set up cameras and recording devices from different viewpoints around the room—including one attached to the bedframe near his wife’s head.
‘Don’t want to miss any of it?’ she asked in Spanish, amused.
‘We have a video channel.’
‘You do?’
‘Nearly a hundred thousand subscribers,’ he said proudly.
‘Wow. Your views are about to go way up, aren’t they? Do you know what you’re having? Did you do a gender reveal?’
‘It’s a surprise.’ said Alejandra, rubbing her abdomen. ‘Oh, another one’s coming...should I push?’
Grace nodded. ‘Take a deep breath and bear down, like you’re having a bowel movement.’
She began coaching her. It was difficult sometimes for first-time mothers to know how to push. Some were afraid. Which was understandable. But that was why Grace was there. To encourage. To help. To motivate. She wanted to see those babies born just as much as the parents did. There was nothing quite like that moment when the baby emerged, was draped on its mum’s tummy and let out that first cry...
Matteo clutched his wife’s hand, whispering words of encouragement. ‘You’re doing brilliantly. I love you. I love you so much!’
Alejandra turned and smiled and kissed him, but it wasn’t long before another contraction began.
Grace counted to ten. She could see the baby’s head. It had a lot of thick dark hair. ‘Alejandra? Reach down and touch. The head’s right there.’
She reached down. ‘Oh!’ She turned to look at her husband, her face a mix of surprise, love and awe.
Matteo kissed her on the forehead. ‘You can do this! You good?’
Alejandra nodded and began to bear down with her next contraction. With each contraction that came the head emerged a little more, disappearing again as each pain ended.
‘This is the hard part, but you can do it!’ Grace told her. She didn’t think that Alejandra needed an episiotomy—a small cut to help the baby pass through. And she’d only been pushing for about half an hour, so actually she was doing really well. And this was just what Grace needed. A straightforward birth. She had missed this.
Getting away for a couple of weeks and visiting Aunt Felicity had been wonderful, even if she had gone alone, her marriage in tatters. They’d had so many lovely walks along the beach, and hot chocolates in cafés, and fish and chips out of paper bags as they’d sat shivering on the blustery seafront, the British weather not providing them with the expected sunny weather despite it being July.
It had been great to see her aunt again, even though there’d been questions. Difficult questions. About what her future held. What decisions she needed to make. And about all the things she yearned for—like a baby of her own.
Not all her aunt’s questions had had definitive answers, and a lot of the time all Grace kept hearing herself say was, I don’t know.
Even when she’d come back to their home, here in Spain, she’d not found any answers. Just an empty flat. Lifeless. A pile of post on the mat. Nothing much in it except for a wedding invitation. Javier and Caitlin, their colleagues and friends, were getting married on the estate at Maravilla. The invitation should have made her happy, but it had just reinforced the fact that she had no idea if she would be attending that wedding. No idea at all. And what would she say to them if she saw them at the hospital? Because they’d expect her to say she’d be coming. With Diego.
It was all too much. Too complicated.
But this couple were about to become a family. Their lives were changing for evermore. Alejandra and Matteo were going to experience the one thing that Grace had yearned for, for years. She’d had no problem with getting pregnant. It was just the staying pregnant part that had eluded her.
But she refused to focus on that pain again. This wasn’t about her. It was about this couple.
Alejandra screamed with the force of her latest contraction. ‘Duele!’ It hurts.
‘I know it does...it’s just the baby’s head, stretching everything. One more push and your baby’s head will be out!’
Alejandra nodded and took a sip of water from the cup that Matteo held to her mouth. He grabbed a facecloth and dabbed at her forehead. ‘You’re beautiful. I love you so much!’
Grace smiled at them both. It was so lovely to see it almost made her ache. She and Diego had been that much in love once. How had it gone so wrong?
Alejandra began to bear down again.
‘That’s it! Exactly right. Push harder! Harder! Okay, pant...’
The baby’s head emerged, turning to face its mother’s right thigh.
‘Head’s out! One last contraction, Alejandra, and you’ll have your baby in your arms.’
Alejandra gasped, nodded, and squeezed her eyes shut as she pushed.
The shoulders emerged and Grace supported the baby. ‘Open your eyes, Mummy, and reach down.’
She helped place the baby on her mother’s stomach. Alejandra was crying with gratitude and relief, and Matteo’s eyes wet with tears as the baby cried out. Suddenly everyone was laughing and cheering as Grace let Matteo cut the cord and draped a small blue towel around the baby.
Alejandra held her baby and cried happy tears.
‘Want to see what you’ve had?’ Grace asked.
Matteo reached forward, his hand gentle, as if touching the baby would somehow break it, his already radiant face breaking out into a bigger smile when he declared to his wife, ‘It’s a girl!’
Grace smiled for them both as she awaited the delivery of the placenta. Alejandra had only a small tear, and it was something that would heal on its own—she didn’t need sutures. ‘Have you chosen a name?’
‘Eliana Maria.’
‘That’s a beautiful name. Happy birthday, Eliana.’
Grace checked the placenta, which was all fine, and the mum’s blood loss was normal. Now was the time when she’d clean up, as unobtrusively as she could, so that this new family could have some privacy for a short time, before coming back to carry out the postnatal checks and Apgar score.
She wondered, as she always did at this moment, looking down on such a happy new family, if she’d ever get to experience this for herself. They looked so ecstatic in their little joyous bubble. Mum cradling baby in her arms... Dad half perched on the bed, his arm around his wife. Now that Eliana was here it was as if Grace wasn’t even in the room any more.
‘I’ll be back in a few minutes.’
She backed away to the door. As much as Grace loved it when a baby was born, and everyone’s faces erupted into smiles, she hated this moment. When she was forgotten, and yet again came the stark reminder that this happiness was not hers and she was not part of this family. They might remember her in the future, when they told the story of their child’s birth. They might mention the lovely midwife who’d helped them get through it all, but that was all.
Grace silently closed the door behind her and let out a breath. As always, she felt the white-hot pain of her own empty arms, but she forced back the tears threatening to fall and headed to the board to update it, sniffing determinedly as she wrote up Alejandra’s details. Next she stood up and went to the small kitchenette, knowing that Alejandra and Matteo would probably appreciate a nice cup of coffee each.
She poured the drinks into a couple of mugs and was just walking down to Alejandra’s room when in her peripheral vision she caught movement off to her left. She glanced over with a smile, expecting to see Ana or Gabbi or Mira.
Only it wasn’t.
Grace froze as her gaze met her husband’s.
Diego.
Her smile, meant for one of her colleagues, faltered as he stared back at her. She felt sick as her mouth dried out and her heart pounded furiously behind her ribcage. Why was he here? Who had called him down to this floor? She’d not heard of any early labourers in the hand-over when she’d arrived and she’d thought she’d have more time before she saw him. Time so that she could micromanage their first meeting, so that she’d be prepared, so that she’d know what to say and how to act. But to be caught off-guard like this...
He looked good—but of course he did. He was Diego! And apart from being tall and ripped and disturbingly sexy, the man saved babies’ lives. Premature babies’ lives. What wasn’t there to drool over? Even from this distance his dark brown eyes bored into hers with an intensity that ought to come with a blood pressure warning, and he looked like he was growing a beard. The dark, stubble emphasising his jawline.
He wasn’t smiling. In fact, he looked shocked to see her there. Just as unprepared as she was. And that made her feel a little bit better—because she’d been fighting to get some reaction out of him before he left and now she had one.
‘Diego...’
She saw him swallow. Saw him look down at the blue file in his hand for an interminably long time. And then he turned and walked away without saying a word.
The second he was out of sight she realised how much she’d been sweating, how much tension she’d held in her chest and stomach and legs. Now it was as if she’d become boneless and weak, and she needed to sag against the wall for a moment, just to catch her breath and to stop the tears. Because, despite everything that they had gone through, she’d hoped that somehow, no matter how unexpected their meeting, that he would at least have said hello. That he might even have looked happy to see that she was back. Maybe even smiled. Only he hadn’t.
He didn’t even say hi.
Was she not worthy of acknowledgement? Not even a nod of the head? Did he hate her so much that he couldn’t even bear to look at her? That he’d walk away without saying a word? She knew that the last time they’d been together she’d stormed away from him and slammed the bedroom door, but... Surely they could be adult about this? They were going to have to work together, and they didn’t need to transform this place, this hospital which had so very quickly become like home, into a place where she felt uncomfortable. Where their colleagues had to tread on eggshells around them. Where—God forbid—their friends felt they had to take sides.
It’s a good thing, then, that I’m going to be leaving.
Grace squared her shoulders, stood up straight and rapped her knuckles gently on Alejandra and Matteo’s door before going in with their coffees. She placed the drinks on a side cabinet and smiled at them. ‘I just need to perform some newborn baby checks on Eliana and then I’ll have her right back with you, okay?’
Alejandra nodded and placed the baby in Grace’s arms. She looked down at the chubby little baby, admiring her thick dark hair, clenched tight fists and tiny button nose, and then laid her down in a bassinet.
One day she might be lucky enough to be a mother, but she very much doubted that it would happen any time soon. And it certainly wouldn’t happen whilst she stayed married to Diego.
He clearly wanted nothing to do with her.
The sooner she went back home to Cornwall, the better.
Her marriage was over.
He’d been working non-stop whilst she was away—that was what he blamed it on. Being blindsided by the sight of his wife, back at work in St Aelina’s. He’d been so busy bringing some medical notes down for tomorrow’s day shift that he’d not even thought to remember that today was the night shift when Grace was due back.
And she’d looked...beautiful. She’d always had the power to grab his attention. The warm caramel of her hair had been twisted up into a bun, loose tendrils framing her heart-shaped face. And those startlingly blue eyes of hers—not pale, but richly blue, like the domed roofs in Santorini. To be caught in their gaze just now...
These last two weeks had been interminable. They were meant to have gone away together, to Cornwall, to visit her aunt. He liked Felicity. Loved her little seaside cottage. Liked the people there. They’d all made him so welcome—though her aunt hadn’t been too impressed that she’d not been invited to their wedding.
He and Grace had married in London—a civil ceremony, near work, with two colleagues as witnesses. Not the big white beach wedding he’d later learned that Grace had always dreamed of, but they’d been so keen to get married. Grace had yearned to travel back to Barcelona with him, settle down and begin a family together. At the time it had seemed time was ticking away too fast, and their love for one another had been so all-consuming it had seemed the right thing to do. Just get married as fast as they could, leave London, come to Spain, then have fun trying to start that family.
The world had been at their feet and they’d thought anything was possible.
Now look at us.
It had hurt to see her. Physically hurt. As if someone had pounded him in the chest and then his gut, just to doubly make sure that he was winded enough to be unable to speak. His gaze had caught in hers and it had been like being caught in a beam of light...just like in those sci-fi shows he loved so much. Unable to move. Unable to breathe. Unable to think.
He’d wanted more than anything to run to her, to pull her into his embrace and hold her tight and never let her go. To say sorry over and over again. They’d only been apart these last two weeks, but before that they’d argued so badly and he’d moved out, feeling he had no other choice.
Since bringing her here to his home in Barcelona all he had caused her was pain. Grief. Loss. Upset. Heartbreak. Their hopes and dreams had been destroyed.
He’d wanted to run to her. Wanted to hold her in his arms. To say sorry. But the shock of seeing her... He’d clenched his jaw, looked down at the paperwork in his hands as if to remind himself of why he was there, and then, grounding himself somehow, he had found the strength to walk away from his wife.
He told himself he would talk to her later.
Maybe he would find the right words then?
Maybe in the future they would be able to talk without causing each other upset? Perhaps time would heal all wounds, as people said it did. That was what they needed. More time.
But for now those things didn’t seem possible. And each step that took him further and further away from her orbit just made him heartsick. Just like when he’d packed his things a few weeks ago. He’d hated doing so. Almost hadn’t been able to believe he was! But he’d done it for her. She didn’t understand. Hadn’t understood his silence or why he’d not said anything.
Maybe she would never understand that.
For now, though, he could soften the blow, knowing that she was back. They’d have time to sort through their problems. There would be no more breaks. No more going away. It might take a few weeks, or maybe even months, but they would be able to talk again.
But for now it’s for the best. For both of us.
Grace had just finished escorting Alejandra and baby Eliana to the postnatal ward when her pager sounded. She checked the display and saw that she was urgently needed down in the ER.
She dialled from the midwives’ station. ‘I’ve been paged?’
‘We’ve an urgent case coming in and you’ve been requested by name.’
That was odd. ‘Who by?’
‘The paramedic.’
The only paramedic who really knew her name was Isabella. Diego’s older sister.
‘I’ll be right down. Do we know who they’re bringing in?’
‘We’ve only got vague details. But it’s a young female in premature labour.’
Oh.
Grace was used to being called down to the ER. The midwives were often paged to consult on a woman who was in labour. But if Isabella was bringing someone in... If her sister-in-law had time, would she want to take her to one side and talk about what was happening between Grace and her brother? Did she even know? Would she say something to her? And if this was a preemie then that would mean they would also need the help of a neonatologist at some point, and the only one she’d seen on the night shift, too, was her husband.
Diego.
The two of them.
Together.
That’s going to be awkward.
She almost—almost—considered getting one of the others to go and meet the ambulance. But Grace had never been a coward—and anyway, maybe Issy would be rushed off her feet and unable to stay once she’d dropped off her patient. And maybe, if the gods were kind, this young lady might not even be in premature labour at all. Her dates could be wrong.
Maybe.
Am I ever that lucky?
She didn’t want to think about the answer to that much.
‘I’ll be right down.’
Grace replaced the receiver of the phone and stared at it, her stomach churning slightly. She looked up as Ana approached. ‘I’ve got to head down to the ER. Possible preemie. Can you alert upstairs for me? Check they’ve got a spare incubator?’
‘Sure.’ Ana smiled.
Grace headed to the lifts and bypassed them, opening the door to the stairs and trotting down them, her mind awhirl with possibilities. What if Isabella had heard about Diego moving out? What if her sister-in-law was angry with her? Isabella and Diego didn’t seem all that close, but would that matter? She wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand up to a fiery Spaniard right now.
When she made it to the ER, she saw Issy wheeling her patient into cubicle three. The patient looked as if she was in pain.
Grace smiled, hesitant. ‘Hi. What have we got?’
‘This is Zara. She’s eighteen years old, complaining of abdominal pains that come and go, and estimates that she’s about eight months pregnant.’
Grace looked at Issy. ‘Estimates?’
‘She’s been living on the streets. No scans. No healthcare.’ Isabella sounded concerned. As if she couldn’t quite believe it. ‘She doesn’t even know how many babies are in there.’
Right.
‘Hi, Zara. My name’s Grace,’ she said in Spanish. ‘I’m a midwife and I’m going to be looking after you.’ She smiled, before turning back to Isabella. ‘Where did you find her?’
‘In St Aelina’s Park. She’s been sleeping in the folly.’
Poor girl. ‘Okay, Zara, tell me about these abdominal pains. Can you describe them for me?’
Zara began to give a description, but it didn’t sound like labour to Grace.
‘Can I have a feel of your tummy?’
Zara nodded.
‘I’ll leave you to it.’ said Isabella, almost sharply.
Grace turned to thank her, expecting a glare, or something, but her sister-in-law didn’t even look at her. She seemed distracted. As if she just wanted to get out of the ER as quickly as possible.
Grace watched her go, pushing away the trolley that they’d wheeled Zara in on. It was weird, but Grace was thankful. Isabella hadn’t said a word about her and Diego! Perhaps she didn’t know that they’d split up yet.
She concentrated on palpating Zara’s abdomen, then used her tape to measure the height of the fundus—the top part of the womb. Thirty-six centimetres. ‘You’re right. You’re nearly full-term and baby is head-down, which is good. I’m going to put you on a trace machine, if that’s okay? It will allow us to monitor the baby’s heartbeat and check for contractions.’
Zara nodded.
She was eighteen. She must be terrified.
‘Anyone we can call for you? Friends? Family?’ Grace couldn’t imagine being this young and this pregnant, in pain and alone.
This time Zara shook her head and looked away from her.
‘What about the baby’s father?’
Another head-shake, and this time the welling of tears.
Grace’s heart ached for the young girl and she placed a hand on Zara’s arm. ‘That’s all right. You’re safe now. I’m going to look after you, okay?’
Zara nodded.
‘To make sure I can do that properly, I need to gather some information. I’ll need to take some blood from you and ask you about your medical history. Is that all right?’
‘I guess...’
‘And maybe get you to do a wee sample, too?’
Again, the girl nodded.
‘One last question?’
Zara looked at her, uncertain. Almost angry ‘What?’
Grace smiled. ‘Would you like a drink?’
It was the first time she’d seen even the hint of a smile.
Whilst Zara was having a scan, Grace took the opportunity to create a new patient record for her on the computer. They were on a maternity ward now. It seemed a better place for Zara to be—away from the chaos and noise of the ER. The emergency room could be a frightening place, and Zara was already scared.
Grace couldn’t imagine being in the young girl’s position. Eighteen and pregnant and living on the street. It was no place to be—not for anyone. And yet she still found herself envying the young girl, because despite her situation Zara was about to do something that Grace had been unable to achieve—she was about to become a mother.
Life very often played games like that, Grace thought. There were many people in the world like her—hard-working, honest, kind. People who had a decent home, who were law-abiding, who had never done anything wrong in their lives. And some of them were desperate to start a family and couldn’t. Either the women couldn’t get pregnant at all, or they were couples like Grace and Diego. The women could get pregnant, but they lost their babies—every single time.
And then there were other kinds of people. The women who abused their bodies for years with alcohol or drugs, or committed crimes, did terrible things. And they seemed to get pregnant at the drop of a hat. Grace wasn’t saying that they didn’t deserve to be parents...just that it seemed unfair. Sometimes you could do everything right in life and yet...
Poor Zara. What had happened to her? Where were her family? She must have some—somewhere. Even if she’d have to go and live with an aunt, the way Grace had when she’d lost her parents.
It had happened when she was so young. Grace’s parents had been crazy in love and had wanted to live life to the full by travelling around the world. And yet their promise, their lives, had been cut short by a tragic car accident that had killed them both almost instantly. That was when Grace had been taken in by Aunt Felicity. Dear, quiet, reserved Aunt Felicity, who’d worked as a nurse and inspired Grace to join the medical profession, thrilled to discover her niece wanted to train as a midwife.
And although Grace had missed out on having a large family, living in a home filled with noise and laughter, she’d always thought she could build one of her own by marrying a man she fell in love with and having plenty of babies.
But she’d not been able to do even that simple task.
She’d fallen in love. She’d found the man. She’d got pregnant. And then her body had failed her. Time after time after time. And with each loss her husband had spent more and more time away from her. Almost as if he couldn’t bear to be with her.
He’d clearly thought he’d made a terrible mistake. Because Diego came from a huge family. Six siblings! Isabella was the oldest, then Diego, then Eduardo, Frida, Luis and Paola. All grown-up now, but Diego had lain in her arms when she was pregnant with their first child and told her that he would love to have lots of babies with her. That he wanted the kind of big family that he was used to. And she had laughed with him, agreed with him, and told him that she wanted that too. That she would have as many of his babies as she could.
Grace let out a sigh, not wanting to dwell on her pain and grief, and luckily she didn’t have to as Zara was wheeled back to the ward. Grace gave her a little wave from the desk, and then got up to go and talk to her patient.
‘I’ve got some of your results back. The pains you were having earlier...you have a urinary tract infection. They can happen to anybody, so I don’t want you worrying about that. We’ll start you on a course of antibiotics and keep you here, so we can maintain your hydration and feed you up a bit before you go into labour fully.’
‘My baby is all right?’
‘I’m just waiting for your scan results to come through, but you’ve been feeling the baby kick and move?’
Zara nodded.
‘Then those are good signs. Let’s start you on the antibiotics and wait for your scan result. One thing at a time, okay?’
‘Okay. Thank you.’
Grace stroked her arm. ‘No problem. I’ll leave you to get settled, but I’ll be right outside if you need anything. Press this button here, okay?’ She passed Zara the patient remote control and then headed back to the desk. But suddenly right there—right in front of her—was her husband. Diego. Her gaze locked with his and her breath caught in her throat. She swallowed hard.
He looked past her with regret, and his gaze was full of apology as he locked eyes with Zara. ‘I have your scan results.’
