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“Scarlet,” Vinny rasps.
I shake my head, closing my eyes. “I’m not feeling well.”
“Scar,” Lance tries, but I can’t.
I can’t.
“Mummy?”
The first thing I remember is the smell of Freya’s perfume. She isn’t here, and yet a distinct memory allows me to remember it as if she’s wrapped around me at this very moment.
“Okay, Mum, they’re taking the baby upstairs to neonatal. She’ll get the help she needs up there.”
I lift my head, trying, searching for her. There’s no cries, no tears or screams. “Where is she?”
“They’re taking her up to neonatal, darling, it’s okay,” Freya tells me. “We knew if she came early, she’d need a little help.”
“Wait. It’s Waverley. Her name is Waverley,” I cry.
“It’s okay, Scar,” Megan tells me from my left. “I saw her.”
“Go with her,” I say. “Go with her, Megs. Her name is Waverley.”
Megan nods, her eyes glassy. “I’ll go.”
“Freya, I didn’t see her. I didn’t see her. They said they’d show me her.”
“I think she needed a little help right away.” She looks over her shoulder before finally dropping her eyes to me. They’re full of tears, her cheeks already streaked. I’ve never seen Freya with a hair out of place and yet her face holds so much angst, so much worry.
“Freya, what’s happening to her?”
“I don’t know right now. I’m sorry, Scarlet.”
I shake my head, tears leaking into my hairline. “Oh god. No.”
She puts her head to mine, her sweet perfume chasing away the sterile smell in the air. “Listen to me, darling, she’s as strong as you are. She’ll show them. You’ve done all the hard work, and now it’s her turn, okay.”
“Freya, I don’t want to lose her. I can’t.”
“You won’t.”
I palm my chest to stifle the heavy, piercing pain that radiates beneath, my fingertips tingling. I shake my head, my next breath coming up short.
“Waverley wasn’t breathing when we delivered her. She was taken to our specialist unit and given immediate care.”
I push back my chair, not being able to look at Ave or Lance or Vinny as I rush from the shack. I look from left to right as white spots invade my vision.
Home.
Get home.
I run for the road, tears leaking down my face as I make my way through the village.
“We managed to get her heart beating again, but she’s in a very critical condition.”
My sandals repeatedly slide out from under my feet, and I reach down, frustrated, trying to pull the straps from my ankles. I shake my foot to kick them off, my hands too unsteady to undo the buckle.
“Please, prepare yourselves.”
