A/N I've been absent for a while but I promise I haven't abandoned What Comes From Love or When I Fall In Love, I am in the process of finishing up new chapters for them both so stick with me! This is a bit darker than my other stories, some of you know my struggles with infertility and inability to bear children at all, but for those of you who don't, there is an explanation in my profile. This story came about one night when I was left to my own thoughts. Shelagh is my favorite character and I can certainly relate to her! But to me the time between when Shelagh had her surgery and diagnosis to when they started looking to adopt and actually getting Angela was not necessarily too short but it lacked some depth to me. As someone who received similar news I can tell you there would be break downs and moments where the pain is suffocating and while you do get through it and live again, it does not happen so easily as they depicted. Right, so I'll stop rambling now, on to the story. Please drop me a review should you wish to share your thoughts and as always I am available to talk should anyone need to!
Much love, Nanahbelle
The rain pattered softly against the window. Shelagh's eyes had long since adjusted to the darkness of the bedroom as she laid in her husband's arms. She focused on the steady drizzle trying to keep her thoughts on the sensuous, intimate moments spent with him instead of letting them spiral.
She felt empty. She knew she was loved by her husband and son, she knew she had her Nonnatus family, she knew she had a wonderful life. But it was as if that life were a puzzle with a hole where a piece was missing.
"I love you, Shelagh." Patrick had said, voice rough in the afterglow. She was nestled underneath him, her head cradled between his forearms, his hands woven in her hair. She had smiled up at him with every ounce of love she possessed and kissed him sweetly on the mouth. She loved him, more than she could ever express.
Now, laying in his embrace, his face buried in her hair, listening to his steady deep breathing, she did her best to keep her tears at bay. They threatened to spill forth and she could not bear Patrick catching on to her sorrow. It had taken so long for them come back together after her exploratory surgery and she would not do anything to risk that separation again. He had been worried for her, she knew he had only been looking out for her well being. For so long after the initial shock of her infertility she was numb, unable to feel much of anything.
That first week had been nearly unbearable. Shelagh had cried herself to sleep every night, Patrick did his best to help her, wanting to hold her in her heartbreak but terrified she would push him away, not ready for such closeness. The second night she had gone to bed before him. He had followed suit after checking on Tim and tidying up the sitting room, anything to help his wife. Patrick found her in tears, looking broken and rushed to her side, kneeling down in front of her. Her crying had increased ten fold, sobbing "Just hold me, please, hold me!" in an instant she was in his arms, weeping for the loss of a child they would never have.
Looking back on it she realized it was something she had never dealt with before, that kind of sorrow. She had helped women who had lost children. Miscarriages, stillbirths, the death of young children, she has seen them all, held grieving mothers as they wept over their child, helped them take the first steps to living again for there was no moving on. One never got over the loss of a child. But never had she come face to face with a barren woman, never had she tried to console someone whose hopes and dreams were crushed, snuffed out before they even came to be. Maybe if she had this would be easier for her, maybe she wouldn't have shut down the way she did.
If the first week has been terrible, the weeks after had to be labeled a disaster. Shelagh had taken the night dress she had lovingly stitched night after night to Sister Julienne. At first she had tucked it away in a drawer, out of sight out of mind she thought.
She was wrong.
Every time her eyes strayed to the drawer that concealed it her heart would rupture once more, the pain renewed and worse with each passing day. With it out of the house she thought maybe, just maybe she could begin to heal.
That's when she all but stopped talking. Shelagh had been used to a quiet life with her days in the order. Every night was spent on quiet solitude owing to the Great Silence the nuns observed, and rarely did she find the need to raise her voice with her patients and coworkers. So when she withdrew into herself, hardly speaking to her husband and stepson except only when necessary, she never noticed.
Patrick had been at a loss of what to do. He felt as though his wife was devolving, turning back to her old ways and becoming Sister Bernadette once more minus the habit. His Shelagh was outspoken, lively, always laughing with himself and Tim, always involved in life. This woman was a shell of her former self with hardly any life left in her. He had spoken to Sister Julienne, hoping her wisdom could help the one they loved. That's when he learned of the night dress and the feeling of dread and despair sank deep within him.
With neither of them having any idea on what to do, they decided to do as they had always done: love Shelagh unconditionally and be there for her when she came round.
How long had she been like that? Weeks, maybe even a month. Her work at clinic, which she had returned to only 2 weeks after her diagnosis, never faltered. She was not as lively and cheery as before but she was still just as efficient. She can recall the others trying to make conversation with her only for her give the briefest possible answer to cut the conversation short.
Each night she would spend with her boys, the occasional laugh shaking her body minutely, always from something Timothy had done. The boy had made it his personal mission to cheer her up and every smile was a win in his book.
After she had tucked Timothy in for the night, Shelagh and Patrick would stay up a bit longer, watching a television programme or reading, neither of them saying much, if anything. When it was late enough they would retire to their room for the night.
She no longer cried herself to sleep. Instead she laid in her bed quietly while Patrick held her tight, mind blank and eyes staring off into the dark. Eventually she would doze off, catching a few hours sleep before rising with the sun to start the day over again.
One night, after weeks of this routine, she turned in Patrick's arms and kissed him forcefully. She hadn't shied away from his kisses since her procedure but he never pushed further than that, never asked for more than a chaste kiss on the lips goodnight or good morning. So when he didn't respond in kind to her kiss, Shelagh became flustered and tried again. And again he did nothing. She changed tactics at that point, peppering kisses down his jaw and neck, unbuttoning his pajama top when she reached his chest.
Patrick sighed and pulled her hands away from the third button she was working undone. He looked her in the eyes, searching, pleading for reason and was met only with pain and reckless abandon. He tried to pull her back to him, tried to hold her but she struggled against him. "Shelagh-"
"No!" she tried to push away from him but he was stronger. "Please, Patrick! Please! I need to feel something! Anything! Even just for a moment, please!" She sobbed in defeat, accepting his embrace as she cried into his neck. He stroked her hair till she quieted before he pulled back to look her full on.
"Shelagh, we will get through this. I know it seems impossible now, but we will. We just have to do it together, as husband and wife. I did not marry you just to have a child, Shelagh. I married you because I love you and because somehow you found it in your heart to love a poor sod such as me!" he paused, kissing her forehead. "You know that I loved the prospect of having more children. But if we aren't meant to then what we have now must be enough. You know Timothy loves you just as much as I do, he is your son just as he is mine. Please, Shelagh, don't turn away from us. Let us help you through it. Let us be enough."
The pain she saw in his eyes shook her to her core and reawoke her spirit. She realized that while she was feeling pain, it was not hers alone to bear. Patrick was hurting, not in the way she was for he had not lost a God-given right, but bearing the pain of ineffectiveness. She realised now all he wanted was to take her sorrow, her burdens upon himself and ease her struggling.
She softened immediately, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I promise, I won't."
It was a week or so after that they finally came together again as man and wife and she was grateful for the wait, glad she had gone into the situation with a clear mind and soul.
Now, months later, she laid still staring at the window. Regardless of the happiness, the joy she had in her life again, moments like these still threatened to suck her down. She thoroughly enjoyed her love life, relishing each moment she and Patrick came together, especially after their period of abstinence. It was different, though. No longer would the act be done in hopes of a child. No longer would they be excited and expectant each month. She would never feel the flutter of nerves at the prospect of bearing a child or giddily await the results of a pregnancy test. She forced herself to remember that she and Patrick make love now not to reproduce but to make their love tangible.
Shelagh desperately needed herself to realize that made it all the more special, more meaningful. That in spite of everything they have been through - chaste yet forbidden interaction between a nun and a man, nearly losing her life to illness without telling each other how they felt, and now this heartbreaking circumstance that nearly created an unmendable rift between them - they had love. Blessed, unending, unquestionable love. That is more than many ever get in their lifetime.
She knew she would not stop feeling this emptiness, at least not anytime soon. For so long her dreams had included a child of her own, even from the time she allowed herself to think in such away as a nun. Whether she saw herself as pregnant, holding a baby or toddler, or some combination, it was always Patrick and herself with Timothy and his siblings. Perhaps a little girl with her hair and a baby boy with Patrick's eyes.
Her eyes welled once more at the thought, she could see it so clearly. Shelagh shook her head, trying to clear the images. She must content herself with what God has graciously given her. Patrick loved her more than she could ever have hoped for. And Timothy, precious boy, her son. He had begun calling her Mum the day after her melt down and she realized now it helped her to overcome her depression. No longer would she call him her stepson, he was her son now and she was a Mum. She smiled at the thought. She loved that boy as if she had carried him herself, and even if she had she couldn't love him any more.
Her hand strayed to her tummy, resting over where she felt the longing and incompleteness. Yes, the hole was there, the emptiness there, but her love for Patrick and Timothy were helping. Helping to control the ache and dampen the darkness at the edges of her mind. Shelagh didn't think she would ever truly get over this but one day, hopefully soon, it wouldn't hurt so much.
Patrick stirred a little. Shelagh turned over in his embrace and snuggled into his chest. She breathed deeply, inhaling his scent and reveling in his heat. She could deal with being content, she thought as she finally dozed off.