Leave her at the hospital, the relatives kept saying.
Why did you even take her? James bellowed, his eyes fixed on the tiny infant in the cot. They told you exactly what the diagnosis was! He gestured at his wife, Emily, his voice cracking. Do you even realise what youve gotten yourself into?
Emily had considered the situation, despite what everyoneJames, her brother, even her motherkept insisting. Her mother, Maggie, and the greatgrandmother she called Granwho had christened the baby Blythewere shrieking:
Why, Emily? Youre going to have another child now? Thats a disaster! Grab a support belt so you dont collapse while walking, love!
They had been told the child wouldnt live long. They had been urged to leave her at St.Georges Maternity, a perfectly reasonable suggestion for parents who couldnt bear such a shock. If healthy babies were sometimes abandoned, a sick one was even more understandable.
The newborn didnt even whimper. Her bluish lips and the pale tips of her fingers were a classic case of acrocyanosis. Doctors had diagnosed a moderate congenital heart defecta ventricular septal defect. She can survive, but it will be hard, the paediatrician had warned.
Emily wanted to bring Blythe home. In any matter concerning a child, the final word always belongs to the mother. Thats when everything collapsed.
James walked out almost immediately when he realised Emily wouldnt relinquish the baby. He shouted one last time, If you change your mind, maybe Ill come back. If you still want a life with me, youd better hurry. His love, once fierce, turned cold. Emily didnt blame himshe knew not everyone could sacrifice themselves, but in this case, sacrifice was necessary.
When James finally returned, he brought no flowers, no balloonsnothing to celebrate. Both sides of the family had already taken their stance: Leave her at the hospital; we dont need this burden. Who could argue that strangers children never exist?
Emily tried to see their point, but even a wilted bouquet seemed out of reach. No one supported the new motherexcept one: her schoolfriend, Michael Mick Collins, who had been infatuated with her since childhood.
Their contact had dwindled, because James disapproved:
Theres no friendship between a man and a womandont give me any nonsense! Ill never believe theres anything between you two!
Mick accepted the rebuke, yet Emily often recalled his bright, carefree grina boy from a modest family who annoyed Maggie to no end. Meanwhile, Alex, another friend, was a solid choice. That lad works at the factory after collegegood, reliable! hed say, nodding at the rise of tech everywhere.
Mick, an operator at the local plant, was proud of his work. You know, Em, hed call her, a nickname that made Maggie roll her eyesYouve got a raise! Maybe Mum will let you marry me? He hoped that with his mothers blessing, Emily, his longtime friend, would become his wife.
Emily, however, was already enchanted with Jamesa proper, cultured young man from a respectable family that her mother approved of. Now thats a man worth showing off to the girls, shed say, dismissing Micks overtures as cheap.
She didnt understand why James wanted to flaunt his own suitor to friendswhether hers or his mothers. Still, she felt comforted that the women around her liked her choice; otherwise, the domineering mother would have imposed her will, as she always did.
The conflict escalated when James threatened, How dare you disobey, you brat! From now on I have no daughter! Dont you dare come back with that?
Emilys life turned into a script reminiscent of a tearful London drama, only her baby Blythe suffered a serious ailment, and there was no quick cut to a happy ending. She never imagined everyoneJames, both mothers, the fatherswould abandon her at once. The whole clan rallied behind Maggie:
Are you out of your mind? You want to keep her forever? Send her back before you get attached! James will come back, youll see!
Even Maggie, who adored James, echoed the sentiment. Yet Emily, reeling from betrayal, didnt want James to return. Though she still loved him, a slow erosion of that love had begun. It was clear they could no longer live side by side.
James left that very day, taking the car home. The flat was Emilys, but he promised to collect his things later. Alone, she faced her grief and Blythes frailty. The pink nursery shed imagined was a faroff dream, while the walls echoed with Jamess promise: My daughter will have the best of everything.
Now the nursery was painted white, the furniture pristine, but Blythes future remained a fog. No tears fell, only raw emotions. Emily phoned Mick, whose connection had almost vanished.
Remember the good old days, mate? she whispered, despite Jamess earlier objections. Mick, understanding the absurdity, could not hide his relief.
The waiting room doors burst open as a train clattered inMick, finally, had arrived for his moment of happiness. The flat erupted with activity: Emily, soothed with a mug of tea, watched as Mick raced to the shop for baby supplies. The cot was shifted to the master bedroom; Blythe would sleep within arms reach.
Exhaustion crashed over Emily like a wave after the storm. She collapsed, her mind finally quieting. Mick leaned over, whispering, Dont worry, EmI’ve got this. He tended to Blythe, changing her nappy, while a pot of broth simmered on the stove. The baby cooed, the night settled, and a strange calm settled over Emily.
Mick visited daily, offering both physical help and moneytreatment for Blythe cost a small fortune, a few thousand pounds a month. A parttime nanny was hired, and evenings were spent bathing the infant, something Emily could never manage alone. Neither James nor Maggie ever called.
One and a half months later, James returned for his things.
I always knew you were behind me, he snarled, and now this I wont be sending alimony. Dont you call my mother!
Emily had long given up on any expectation of support. Mick, however, gently nudged James out of the door:
Get out, you pompous coder!
James stormed off, and Emily filed for divorce. The alimony battle raged, but Blythes health was improvingher cheeks began to pink. A surgery was scheduled, the decisive step toward recovery.
Mick stayed close, not out of gratitude but because Emily needed him. The operation went smoothly, the recovery uneventful. Blythe, now thriving, was sent to a folkmusic studio where her perfect pitch shone. By then, Emily ran a popular blogher boyfriend, Mick, encouraged her:
Emily, youre brilliant! Post pictures, write captions, keep it regular.
Followers loved the tale of a little girl overcoming a grave illness, her simple joys, her music. Blythes videos went viral, entries in competitions piled up, and the subscriber count rose exponentially.
Emilys relationship with Maggie remained icy; the mother never forgave her disobedience. When Blythe won a national contest, Maggie called:
Emily, she looks just like my Jamesso alike! Hes still here, isnt he?
James himself called later:
Sorry I lost my head. Maybe we could meetme, you, and Blythe? I could finally be a father again.
Emily replied, Only if Blythe wants it. The thirteenyearold, aware she had two fathers, answered bluntly:
Why would I? I barely know him, Mum!
The conversation fizzled, leaving a bitter aftertaste.
The next morning, Maggie phoned again, bragging about Blythes gorgeous voice and her new awards. Emily, now a resolute mother, remembered the harshness of her own mothers expectations. She chose to raise Blythe herself, feeling the deep satisfaction of having nurtured a strong, independent girl.
Everyone can hold hands and walk wherever they like, Emily said, looking at Blythes smiling face. Whether its through a meadow, a village, or the citylets just go together.
