For Ali, who isn't very well. I hope you feel better soon xxx
When Sister Bernadette became ill and left for the sanatorium, Doctor Turner's heart had twisted painfully upon itself. She was a nun, her illness should not break his heart. But it did.
When Shelagh returned, left the Order and her Sisters and pledged herself to him, agreed to become a Turner, his heart freely expanded once more. He had his son, he had his fiancée, his life was perfect.
When his son became ill and she was ejected from the cubicle in which his son lay motionless, he walked past her in to the hospital ward. Left her alone outside as he had left her outside the large sanatorium months before. And she had left him. While he sat at Timothy's bedside, she had wandered the streets alone. Miserable.
But she returned, returned to him and his son. She had rejoined the Sisters, who pledged to love her as they had done when she was one of them. And Shelagh returned to his side, returned to Timothy's bedside.
When he had lied to her about his past, not told her the truth, that it could be an issue in getting her what she wanted - a child of her own, when all he wanted was to make her happy, and he had left her again. Alone. He had soldiered on while his - their - son firmly tried to push them together once more. Shelagh hadn't been alone, for she had Timothy. And she had him, if only he allowed it.
She had never given up, had always returned to his side.
But he didn't leave, the one time it was important.
He left her, standing in a room full of cots. Left her alone before picking up the small baby - his daughter, and cradled her in his arms, before returning to Shelagh's side and giving her the piece of the puzzle that completed their family.
He would always return. Life had joined them together in ways they had never imagined a mere few years before. They always found each other. Would always find each other. Life was not worth living apart.
He was a doctor and she was a nurse, and they healed each other by mere presence alone. He loved her, and she loved him, and their first Christmas together as a healthy family, they spent the day together. No hospital wards, no shutting each other away from the broken pieces of their hearts.
The night before Boxing Day, once their children were asleep, Shelagh returned to Patrick's arms in front of the fire. They lay quietly together, no need for talk. They would always return to each other. Their hearts would never mend themselves if they didn't. The love they had for each other was greater than anything either had imagined when Shelagh had left the Order. One could see it in the blush upon her cheeks, in the tender look in his eyes, the sparkle in hers, as they kissed underneath the mistletoe.