Hello! Welcome to this new fanfic and thank you for taking the time to read it. I hope you'll enjoy the story, though I'd advise you to have some tissues ready. I know I cried while writing this chapter and that's never happened before so just as a caution, get tissues. Enjoy! :)
John Smith stared intently at the computer screen, elbow used as a support for his head as he read through the document once again. It was the first time he had ever audited his own module and he wanted to make sure it was perfect.
The aims and objectives were there. A brief explanation of all the topics that the module will cover had been written in bullet points. The outcomes. All seemed good and he finally cracked a smile.
He heard a soft knock and looked up. His smile only grew wider.
"I'm surprised you were out of bed so early," his wife said as she slowly stepped inside, placing a hand on her swollen stomach.
He stood up and helped her settle on the sofa. "I was just checking the module sheet."
She let out a quiet laugh and shook her head. "It's going to be fine – you've taught lots of modules before and this won't be any different – the university will approve of it."
John glanced back at the computer. "I suppose you're right," he murmured, feeling her caress his hand.
"Now why don't we have breakfast before a certain someone wakes up," his wife suggested, rising to her feet.
"I'll cook," he offered immediately as he helped her up.
"John, I'm pregnant, seven months pregnant - not an invalid," she stated lightly.
He kissed her cheek. The last thing he wanted to do was tire his wife out. She was heavily pregnant and needs a lot of rest. "I know, but let me cook this one time, yeah, Mrs Oswin Smith?"
"Fine," she replied, accepting defeat. "But I'm still going to water Mrs Tucker's plants by myself later today."
While she found it adorable how her husband would be very over-protective of her whenever she is pregnant, she still wanted to do things her way.
He kissed her cheek. "Deal."
They headed downstairs with John carefully helping his wife tread the staircase. He told her to sit down on the sofa and disappeared into the kitchen, preparing their meals.
Oswin smiled when she heard the sound of pans hitting one another and giggled when she heard a spoon drop. "Are you sure you don't need my help?"
Her husband stuck his head out of the kitchen, smiling. "No, no, everything is fine," he insisted.
He was having issues cracking eggs properly and some small pieces of shell ended up in the bowl. After minutes of trying, he eventually got the last shell out before washing his hands in the sink.
John had planned to make scrambled eggs and sausages for breakfast and he was determined to get it done.
He heard the news being played in the TV room.
Just a few more minutes of cooking the sausages and he can serve breakfast for his wife.
"Daddy, what are you cooking?" asked a five-year-old boy who stood in the corridor.
He grinned. "Scrambled eggs and sausages – would you like some or do you want something else?"
The boy rubbed his eyes, walking to his father before getting on his toes to see the food that was being cooked. "Sausages and eggs, please."
"Ok, Max, go keep your mummy company," the father instructed.
Max ran back to the living room before sitting next to his mother. "How's your father doing?" the mother whispered.
"The food looks edible," he explained before focusing his attention on a cartoon playing on the television.
Oswin beamed. "Good, thank you for scouting."
"You're welcome," the five-year-old replied as he hugged his mother's swollen stomach. "When do I get to meet my baby sister or brother?"
"In two months."
The child pouted. "Can't it be now?"
"Be patient, sweetheart," Oswin said, giggling as she caressed her son's curly hair.
Less than ten minutes later, John emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray of food. He set it down on the coffee table and Max reached for the glass of milk.
"See, I can cook," John declared in triumph, sitting down next to his wife.
She grabbed the plate of food before tasting the scrambled eggs. It was delicious. It wasn't really much of a surprise since her husband had been practising for a while now.
"How is it?"
"Good!" Max exclaimed with his mouth full.
"Darling, you shouldn't be talking with your mouth full," Oswin reminded.
"Sorry, mummy."
She then turned to her husband. "You're definitely getting the hang of it."
His smile only grew wider. "Well, I learned from the best," he murmured, pecking his wife on the lips.
At around noon, Oswin decided to walk to Mrs Tucker's house from across the street. Her neighbour was away with her family on vacation and she had offered to make sure the plants were watered regularly.
Her two boys were on the floor, with Max assembling a Lego set that was given to the five-year-old by his Aunt Missy while her husband was trying to fix the bright red remote-controlled car he held in his hand.
"Do you want me to come with you?" John asked, setting aside the toy.
"No, it's fine – I'm just going to Mrs Tucker's."
"Do you want me to come with you, mummy?" Max inquired.
Oswin smiled. "No, no, you two enjoying setting up the Lego," she insisted before stepping outside.
"Maybe I should go there – it's a bit slippery outside."
"John, we made a deal."
"Fine," he said in defeat, a smile playing on his lips. Such a stubborn-head, but she was his stubborn-headed woman. John got on his feet. "I'll be back," he said to his son, heading to the tool shed in the garden.
Max took several pieces of Lego and continued building the blue police box he was assembling when he heard a loud screeching followed by a crash coming from outside. He jumped at the sound, dropping the toy.
The boy stood up slowly, curious what could have caused the noise and stepped outside. He saw a badly dented vehicle with the passenger still inside before his eyes landed on his mother who was covered in a pool of blood on the ground.
The boy was too shocked to move until a man in a military uniform staggered out of the vehicle, also bleeding. There was a very unpleasant smell coming from him.
Max immediately ran to his mother, tears prickling his eyes as he shook her shoulder, in an attempt to wake her up. "Mummy, mummy!" he screamed, shaking her shoulder. "Wake up! Please!"
"Oswin!" he heard his father shout as he hurried over to them.
John wrapped his arms around his wife and kept repeating her name, hoping that she would respond.
Max cried louder and louder, screaming for his mother but she never opened her eyes.
John held his sobbing son as they waited patiently in front of the operation room. Oswin was rushed to the hospital, barely alive and immediately prepped for surgery.
They had been waiting for hours but nobody had come out yet. Eventually, Max fell asleep, using his father's knee as a pillow.
Their clothes were covered in blood and John was exhausted, but he didn't care. He wanted to make sure his wife and baby were alright.
Eventually, the surgeon stepped out. John carried his son in his arms and rose to his feet, anxiously waiting for the doctor to give an explanation.
Max rested his head on his father's shoulder, arms dangling by his sides.
Judging by the solemn look his face, it wasn't good.
"Mr Smith, please note that we have tried our best and we hope you will be able to accept the news calmly... I'm sorry but were not able to save your wife and daughter."
John's eyes became blurry and watery. He started gasping for air, trying to breathe properly. The doctor immediately helped him to a seat.
"No, no, no," he said. "She can't be… Oswin can't be… and my daughter…"
At this point, he was in tears.
John Smith was never a man to show his emotions in public but the loss of his wife and daughter proved too much.
The doctor placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Mr Smith… we were facing a lot of complications… I wish I could save them."
He then stood up and decided to give John time to mourn and process the news.
John continued shedding tears. What was he going to tell Max? How was he going to break the news to his son that he longer had a mother and that his baby sister was also dead?
And what about him? How was he going to cope without the love of his life? Without the woman he promised to spend the rest of his life with?
Oh, God. His wife was gone. His daughter too. Just like that.
He continued crying until he felt a presence behind him. He turned around and blinked several times before realising it was his sister.
"How did you get here so quickly?"
"I took the next available flight back to London," she said quietly. Missy knew she had to choose her words very carefully. "Are you alright?"
"Do I look alright to you?!" he snapped, causing Max to stir. John immediately regretted raising his voice. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
His sister remained as calm as ever. She settled in the empty seat next to her brother. "Go and freshen up," she said gently. "I'll look after Max."
He nodded before handing the sleeping five-year-old to his sister. "I'll be back as quick as I can."
"Take your time," she replied, gently caressing her nephew's hair.
John stared at the plain white ceiling. He lay in bed in the dark, unable to close his eyes without seeing the horrible image of his wife, unconscious and covered in a pool of blood. If it wasn't that, it was the funeral. He didn't know which was worse.
He glanced at the empty spot next to him. She wasn't there. Oswin wasn't next to him. He felt like crying again. He felt like screaming in anger and crying his heart out whenever he thought about his dead wife and baby.
He should have told her to stay inside. He should have stopped her from watering those stupid plants. He should have said something.
The police came by to his home a day before the funeral. They had informed that the drunk driver was apprehended and they were going to press charges against him. An off-duty military officer had killed his wife because he was intoxicated and thought it was a good idea to drive. Fuck him.
But it was still his fault. John's hands curled into fists. He should have stopped her, but he didn't and now Oswin is no longer with him.
His train of thought was interrupted when the bedroom slowly creek opened. He saw a tiny figure standing by the corridor, hand still on the door handle. The boy sniffed. He should be asleep at this time of night.
John immediately sat up. "Max?"
The five-year-old immediately ran to his father and hugged him, as he continued sobbing.
It looks like he wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep.
The father wrapped his arms around his son securely before lifting him up a bit, so the boy could sit comfortably while hugging him.
"It's alright," he murmured, rubbing his back. "It's alright."
"I want mummy," he cried, soaking his father's t-shirt. "I miss her."
John felt as if he would break down at any moment. "I miss her too."
"Couldn't you do something, daddy?" Max cried. "Aren't you a doctor, too?"
He looked away, feeling as if he had let his child down. A doctor, yes but not a medical doctor. "I'm sorry, Max."
He scooted over a bit so that his son could lie down.
"Try to sleep."
Still hiding his face in his father's chest, the boy said, "I can't."
John felt his own tears trailing down his cheeks. "Would it help if I told you how I met your mummy?"
Max nodded, arms still wrapped his father.
His father rubbed his back soothingly. "I was in my final PhD year," he began. "It was the start of the academic year and I was in the photocopy room, printing the second draft of my thesis."
"And when you stepped out, you bumped into mummy."
John smiled at the memory. "That's right… and she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my entire life, so I apologised, and she apologised too and just like that, she walked away."
He took a moment to collect himself. "But then I spotted this small notebook on the floor – it contained recipes for souffles, oddly enough… long story short, I ran after her and saw her enter the lecture room – that was how I knew we were in the same department."
"And then you gave her the notebook and asked if she likes souffles," Max added sleepily.
"Yep, she started blushing like a tomato and sat at the back of the room."
John didn't continue, as he guessed his son had fallen asleep. At least one of them could.
Silently, he brushed away the curls from his son's forehead and stared at him. He was going to have to raise his son all by himself. He wasn't sure how, but he had to. He had to be strong for Max's sake.