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“You could go back to Timothy.”
“Mum and Harold are looking after him.”
“I only meant...well, I’ll be fine. You don’t have to stay.”
“I’m staying.”
Wild horses couldn’t tear him away. He had to make sure everyone did everything right. He had to hold on to Peta’s hand. She was not going to face childbirth without him at her side. He had to look after her.
He checked his watch. Three hours so far. The pains had come a lot faster this time. He prayed there weren’t going to be another nine hours of it. Two years had not erased his memory of Timothy’s birth.
Inwardly he quailed at facing it all again but outwardly he was determined to remain like the Rock of Gibraltar. She’d said it helped if he shared it and share it he would.
They reached the labour ward.
For every minute of three long hours, Matt gave the performance of his life, soothing Peta, encouraging her, having his hand squeezed to pulp. He only cracked a couple of times, saying a few terse words to doctors and nurses in the heat of the moment. But he covered up fairly well, assuring Peta everything was going fine even when he felt like screaming abuse at everyone for not being able to hurry things up.
Then his daughter was born.
Mari Claire.
The doctor handed the tiny baby to him to give to Peta.
“It’s a girl,” he said proudly as he laid another child with a great pair of lungs in the eager crook of Peta’s arm.
“Mari Claire,” she crooned, then smiled up at Matt. “Thank you. I do so love you, Matt.”
“Love you, too,” he murmured, melting with so many wonderful emotions, he almost did forget the pain.
He checked his watch.
Six hours.
The labour time had been halved! The next one might only be three hours altogether!
He grinned down at his beautiful wife. “I can do it.”
“What?”
“Get to a family of four.”
She laughed. Matt loved her laughter.
Love and laughter, he thought.
More than anything they made life worth living.
