Everything seemed peachy. According to the scan, the baby was in tip-top shape. But the birthoh, the birthwas rather a nightmare. It was a girl, but there were complications. Such serious ones, in fact, that the doctors took it upon themselves to suggest I leave her behind.
My baby girl was tucked away in an incubator. When my husband popped by for a visit, the doctor rather gravely informed him that there was a good chance our baby might not make it, and if she did, well, shed be quite the handful. He mulled it over for ages, then decided life would be simpler if he just gave her up and buggered off. I didnt say a wordmostly because I was sunk in misery.
But, just before I was due to leave the hospital, I found my voice and declared I wasnt giving up on my daughter. My husband packed his bags and left without looking back. I returned with my little bundle to a flat that was emptier than a Monday morning train carriage. Alone, I resolved to fight for my daughter. I traipsed round every hospital and tracked down every specialist, wringing every bit of hope from even the smallest chance. And, what do you know, it worked.
A whole gaggle of mums with poorly children became my band of supporters. And then, one day at the hospital, I met a man. He shared his talehis wife had ditched him for a younger bloke, and with no kids, he was mostly left rattling around his place all day.
He looked at my poorly little girl with such tenderness that I very nearly burst into tears on the spot. He helped meoffered advice, shared what he knew, and even chipped in a few pounds here and there. We grew so close that, before long, we couldnt stand being apart. So we got married.
Now, my daughter is almost as healthy as any child on the playground. And weve even got a new addition to the familya little boy.
