Disclaimer: I own nothing, except my own creations.


Hearing the phone ring, Lucille Bolton called down from upstairs where she was busy with a box of materials. 'Jack, get that will you?'

When the phone continued to ring, she dropped the checked pattern and velvet squares and quickly made her own way to the phone. Picking up the handset, she answered a little breathlessly. 'Hello?'

'Could I please speak to a Mr Jack Bolton please,' came the clipped voice on the other end. 'I have an Ingrid Darbus here at the hospital.'

'Ah sure,' said Lucille, wondering why the name sounded familiar. 'Let me just find him.'

'Thank you,' came the polite response as Lucille covered the handset and called for her husband. 'Jack!' she said loudly throughout the house.

Finding no trace of her missing man, she happened to glance out the front window. Spotting her husband on the driveway with his vintage motorcycle, she did a quick turn and headed for the front door. She was wondering vaguely what was on his mind as her husband used 'tinker time' as 'thinking time'.

Getting no response the first time she called his name, she shouted again. 'Jack!'

He finally turned. 'What?' he answered distractedly.

'Phone!' she called from the porch.

'Who is it?' he asked, still only mildly interested.

'The hospital,' she responded. 'They want to talk to you about a woman named, ah, Darbus.'

She was surprised at how fast he stood up at her announcement. Her attempt to retrieve some – well, any – information from her husband about where he was going or what he was doing after he hung up the brief phone call was met with silence.

Her husband was out the door in a flash.


Jack arrived at the hospital and was guided to the maternity ward. Before he can enter into where he can see Ingrid Darbus was lying on a bed, the doctor accosted him in the hall. 'Jack Bolton?'

'Yes?'

'I'm Doctor Cox,' said the tall man efficiently. 'I understand you're the father of Ms Darbus' child?'

'Ah yeah,' he agreed, somewhat nervous. Stuffing his hands in his jean pockets, he realised that this was the first time that he'd publicly acknowledged and accepted his unborn child.

'Okay,' replied the doctor, referring to the chart in his hand. 'Ms Darbus was admitted into the hospital with abdominal pains. She's having trouble keeping food down and is dehydrated. We have...'

'Is the baby okay?' he interrupted, his heart constricting in fear.

Later he would realise that if Ingrid had lost the baby, all of his problems would have gone away. There would have been no baby, no one night stand and no awkward conversations with his loved ones. But at that moment, his only thought was for his unborn child's wellbeing. And that of his or her mother.

The doctor squeezed his arm. 'The baby is fine.' Snapping the folder shut, he prepared to leave. 'The nurse will be in to see you soon about how you can help keep your wife hydrated and fed.'

He didn't process the fact that Darbus had just been called his wife as he nodded at the doctor's last words and reached out a hand for the door. His palms were sweaty as he struggled for a grip on the smooth metal. On the third try, he opened the door.

He realised that he should have knocked first when the woman on the bed before him startled. Raising his hand in apology, he shut the door gently and shuffled to the end of the bed, stuffing his hands into his pockets once again.

Raising his eyes to where the mother of his child lay on the bed, he noticed that she was not looking her vibrant self. Her large glasses couldn't cover the circles ringing her eyes and she had the pall of someone who had been repeatedly ill. Opening his mouth, she beat him to it.

'Sorry,' she whispered, her hands picking at the pale sheet. It was strange to see this usually feisty woman close to tears. 'I didn't know who else to call.'

'It's fine,' he responded, brushing off her apology.

When she reached out her hand, he had to take it. Stepping around the bed, she squeezed his hand tightly as she pulled him closer. 'I need a favour,' she croaked out.

'A favour?' he repeated uncertainly.

'I need you to feed Kobe.'

'Who's Kobe?'

'My cat.'


Sliding the bright pink key into the lock, he stepped into the apartment that he'd never expected to see again after that night.

He'd always joked that Darbus seemed to be the type that would have cats, but as he looked for the cat bowl, he realised that it didn't seem so funny now.

The nurse had entered the room after she'd made the request of him, and he'd listened nervously as she informed them on what needed to be done in order to avoid another visit to the hospital. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt as Ingrid had maintained her death grip on his hand and rested her other hand on the sheets that covered her – no, their – child.

He found the cat bowl easily, but it was dealing with the irate feline that suddenly sunk its claws into his leg that was a whole other story.

'Friend Kobe! Friend!' yelled Jack shaking his leg. 'And if you want dinner I suggest you retract them,' he added, muttering under his breath.

The cat finally let go and he poured the cat food into the bowl, plopping it on the ground. With one last hiss in his direction, the mangy cat missing half an ear stalked to the bowl and began eating.

Backing out gingerly, he locked the door and slipped the bright keys into his pocket.


Letting himself into the house an hour later, he dropped a set of keys onto the bench near the door and entered the kitchen.

He needed a drink.

Flicking on the light, he froze in his tracks at the sight before him. It looked like that drink would have to wait a little longer.

Lucille Bolton sat on a chair on the far side of the kitchen table, deceptively calm as she took a sip of red wine. He spotted the near empty bottle beside her.

With exact precision, his wife placed the drained wine glass on the table, raised her head and looked into his eyes.

'You have some explaining to do.'


Next chapter: I do?