Shelagh Turner extended her arm behind herself, reaching for her husband. Finding nothing but cold sheets, she frowned. Something had woken her, but if the bed was cold it couldn't have been Patrick leaving. She laid there for a moment until she heard another loud thump from the living room.
Gathering herself gently out of bed, she pulled her dressing gown on, leaving it open. Her incision, though healing nicely, was still very tender.
Another thud made Shelagh stop in the hallway. What if it wasn't Patrick? What if someone had broken in?
Peeking around the doorframe, all her worries vanished at the sight of her husband.
"Patrick?" she whispered, not wanting to startle him.
Wheeling around, Patrick lost his footing, reaching for the chair to steady himself as Shelagh rushed towards him to do the same.
"Shelagh! What are you doing up? You ought to be in bed, resting." he slurred.
"Funny, I was about to say the same to you. It's after midnight, where have you been?" She sniffed the air around him, recognizing the smell of stale smoke and a hint of alcohol. "Have you been drinking?"
"Mmmhmm. Pint with Fred down the pub..."
"How did you get home? You didn't drive, did you?" Shelagh asked, concerned.
"Of course not! I'm not that stupid!" He spat back, anger lacing his voice.
Startled by his tone, she responded levelly. "Keep your voice down, you'll wake Timothy."
The mention of his son seemed to sober him, but only for a moment. He moved away from his wife's hold, making for the sofa to sit down and take off his shoes.
"I didn't want you to see me like this." He sat down with his head in his hands.
Shelagh moved towards him again, kneeling down to help him untie his shoes. "Don't be ridiculous." She was able to free his left foot from the shoe and started on the laces of the right. "Oh, Patrick. What were you thinking?" She had never seen him this way, unable to keep himself upright.
"I was thinking...that I would like a drink."
"You could've been hurt, Patrick...or hurt someone else."
"Don't you think I know that, Shelagh!? Why do you think I walked home?" His anger rising again.
Trying to calm him, she spoke lowly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to suggest-"
"You're not the only one who's hurting right now!"
Shelagh froze as if she had been slapped. The words hung between them in the otherwise silent room. Only the ticking of the clock on the mantle and the harsh intake of breath Shelagh takes could be heard.
Tamping down the urge to cry, Shelagh whispered to her husband. "Come to bed, Patrick. It's late."
"I'll be there in a few minutes. I just want to sit here." He mumbles, not looking at her.
Shelagh nodded, standing from her position and wincing at the movement. "Alright. Goodnight, Patrick. Don't stay up too late."
After getting settled in bed once more, she heard the door open as her husband joined her. Plunking down onto his side of the bed and pulling the duvet over himself, she couldn't help but let a few tears fall as she heard his snoring begin.
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The next morning, Patrick awoke to an empty bed. Thankfully it was Saturday and there would be no clinic or house calls, because there was no way he would be able to do his job as a doctor with the horrible headache he currently had. Struggling to sit up, he noticed that his wife's side of the bed was cold and her pillowcase was slightly damp.
And then he remembered.
"You're not the only one who's hurting right now!"
"Oh God, Patrick. What did you do?" he muttered to himself. He sat up quietly, his head swimming at the movement, but desperate to find Shelagh and apologize. As if reading his mind, the bedroom door opened slowly as his wife made her way inside. She stumbled for a moment when she realized he was awake, but continued on her way towards him.
"Morning, Patrick." she spoke softly, still in her dressing gown and eyes not meeting his gaze. "I thought you might be needing these this morning. Timothy is out with the Cubs so his piano playing and television won't bother you." He accepted the pills and water, making quick work of downing both. He moved to place the glass onto the bedside table and made to speak but was cut off once again. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything." She smiled at him, taking the glass and moving swiftly towards the door.
"Shelagh, wait."
She froze, her hand on the doorknob, not turning to look at him.
"Shelagh...I'm- I'm sorry."
"It's alright, Patrick. You were right."
"No. It wasn't right of me to shout at you like that."
Shelagh turned to him then, tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Patrick. I should have- a wife should know when there's something bothering her husband, and should try to make things right. It was selfish of me...and I'm sorry."
"Come here." Patrick crawled over the bed to reach her, pulling her to sit down next to him. "I'm sorry, my love. I never should have snapped. I just- I don't know how to make things better. These feelings I have...they're overwhelming. I never realized how much I thought about our having a baby until now."
"You did?"
"Of course I did...how could I not? I had so many dreams for us, Shelagh. Our family."
"What was it like?" she asked in a whisper.
"Shelagh, I don't think-"
"Please, Patrick. Tell me."
Patrick hugged his wife closer to his side, leaning his chin on her head as they laid back against the headboard.
"Well, I imagined you telling me you were pregnant- we'd be lying in bed, just like this, and your blush would give you away that you were keeping something from me...and then you'd take my hand, and place it just there." He moved his hand down her side to her waist, careful not to touch her incision. "And I would immediately know."
Shelagh nuzzled her cheek onto her husband's chest. "Go on."
"I imagined your body changing. And feeling the first kick. I imagined us telling Timothy over breakfast one morning." Patrick smiled sadly, his hands carding up her side and his eyes staring into space as the images in his mind played out. "I imagined you telling the Sisters, and hoping that it might put me into Sister Evangelina's good graces, you know how she gets around babies.."
Shelagh giggled, imagining her former Sister's reaction would probably not work up to her husband's imagination.
"Sister Julienne would cry, of course. And Sister Monica Joan would recite some poetry. Then, I would imagine you coming to the clinic. And I would be there for your appointments, and because I'm the doctor, they'd have to let me stay. All the nurses would argue over who got to be your midwife, and you wouldn't choose anyone in particular because you didn't want to hurt their feelings. And when I came home everyday, I'd find you knitting up a storm in the sitting room, filling the nursery with baby clothes in every color imaginable. And when you went into labor, we would wait until the last possible moment to call Nonnatus so that I could be with you, and support you. And then, of course, I'd be banished to the living room to wait and pace the floors with Timothy. But then, when you would put the baby in my arms, I would lose my heart all over again- the same way I did out on that road in the mist."
The more her husband had spoken, the more she realized that he was just as devastated over their misfortune as she was. This epiphany prompted another wave of love for her husband to course through her, the feeling overwhelming her so suddenly that she burst into another wave of tears.
"Oh, Patrick- I wanted to give you all those things!"
"I know, love. Just like I wanted to give them to you." He kissed the crown of her head, stroking her hair to calm her tears.
After a few minutes, she relaxed again. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want to upset you. I wanted to be strong for you."
"You don't have to be strong for me, Patrick. I'm so sorry, dearest."
"Shelagh, do not apologize. You've done nothing wrong. We will find a way through this, I promise you."
Shelagh picked her head up from his chest to look at him. "And what happens if we can't? What then?"
"Shelagh, no one will ever love you the way I love you. We will find a way."
She nodded, placing her head back onto her husband's chest as his hand entwined with hers and their thoughts both strayed to a fantasy of what could have been.