Cause and Effect.

She holds the bundle gingerly in her arms, wanting to cradle him fiercely, possessively, but fearing the consequences. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet; she imagines he won’t do so for a while, but they’ll be adorable, just like the rest of him.

Her husband places a hand on her shoulder, giving her a gentle smile. “He won’t break, you know,” he whispers, and she believes him, she does, but if he doesn’t break then perhaps the dream they’re in will do, and she’s not ready for that. Not yet. Not again.

But the warmth… it bubbles up though the emptiness and overflows, it completes her, smoothing over the cracks and filling the void inside her, both in a physical and metaphorical sense. She has made it, she has done this. This moment, hard won, is hers.

They warned her, of course they did. Maternal instincts are strong, they’d said. You may not be prepared. And they were right. All the classes she’d attended, all the things she’s read, and it had still taken her by surprise. She had tried to brace herself against what was coming, for she knew this could never compare to last time, to before, this may not even work...

But all the details had been completely academic until this point. Now, holding him in her arms, kissing him on his smooth head, she feels the growing attachment as feelings of love wash over her, consume her with the force of a tsunami, almost taking her breath away as she chokes back tears; the water in her eyes symbolic of both a beautiful happiness and terrifying grief.

They had always wanted a boy. In every other sense they had so far been unsuccessful. The opportunity, the proper opportunity, had been presented to them on a silver platter, only to be cruelly snatched away forever, leaving an echoing emptiness in its wake. No second chances. No more smiles, no more laughter. Never one to call her own, her first. Until now.

Then again, this is hardly ideal, is it? It isn’t right, isn’t proper. And, besides, why should it be? Her body had betrayed her; evidently, she doesn’t deserve such happiness. She had spent months believing this, allowing the certainty of her failure to push against the emptiness, enlarging it. And eventually, with dedication and effort, she had resolved to act.

Both she and her husband had chosen this, hoping to find some sort of substitution, something to ease the pain and knowledge, the absolution, of the word never. In practice, this doesn’t even come close. It never will. This isn’t a happiness that she can keep and cherish and nurture. It’s brief, far too brief. She is sure that all women would say the same, but this is different. Because she knows that it will happen again, and again. That every time she will feel the same mixture of emotions, the gaping chasm inside her will be filled every time she holds the bundle in her arms and strokes the soft downy hair. And every time, she will remember that, eventually, she will have to say goodbye.

“He’ll need a name,” her voice, clotted with emotion, interrupts her own thought process with words she feels obliged, but also afraid, to say. Consenting nods and rustles of equipment meet her comment. Personally, she likes the more traditional names; those that are steeped in history and yet never age. Liam, that’s a good example. Or Joseph. Even Thomas, or Sam. Now, they were nice names. Of course, naming is, more often than not, a joint decision. And this time, it’s not hers to make.

She strokes his dark hair and cuddles him just that little bit tighter in the moment. He stirs slightly, turning towards her, his long eyelashes fluttering fitfully against slightly flushed cheeks. He’ll want to be fed soon.

He’ll need to return to his mother.

Blinking back the tears, she surrenders and finally hands the beautiful boy back to the woman on the bed, leaving herself with an odd fluttering sense of loss that, despite her preparation, she has not had the imagination to anticipate, and yet…it is not wholly as unwelcome as she would have expected. That emptiness inside her, the one she thought could never be filled, it’s… well, it’s smaller, somehow. Perhaps not for long, perhaps only a temporary contraction of space, but noticeable all the same. A warm flush rises up her cheeks as she recognises, acknowledges the feeling, and then stores it away to examine later.

The mother accepts her son into her waiting arms, looking both exhausted and euphoric as she settles back against the pillows. She cradles him close to her chest, and she recognises that feeling of relief, of the pain easing, and she wonders. Perhaps the void is something everyone experiences, and only they know how to fill it. Perhaps this mother has had the second chance that she did not. And, with a sudden burst of realisation, similar to a sunbeam slicing through a dust-softened room, she understands. It's good. It's wonderful. And what's more... it's ok.

She straightens her uniform and runs a finger over her name badge, tracing the word Midwife with her forefinger, in an effort to convince both herself and the world that she’s unaffected by what has just transpired. Glancing at her husband, his white coat slightly rumpled and his stethoscope askew round his neck, she nods resolutely to herself. He looks up, catches her eye, and forms his face into a question, their silence a fluent conversation across the metres of space that is suddenly just that little bit less empty. She smiles at him in return, and his features relax minutely. He can read her, he can see this, perhaps better than she can. Perhaps the black hole inside her is now less visible in her eyes, because he ducks his head and turns away, and she sends a rush of love to him through the air, hoping he’ll feel it like kinetic energy.

Yes. She has all that she needs, and always will do. With that comforting thought, she smoothes the blanket down in the cot beside the bed and turns to leave, to give the new family some privacy.

“Joseph,” she hears the woman whisper to her partner, who’s now holding his son, sitting beside the bed. “What d’you think?”

“Perfect,” is his reply.

And she laughs, just once.