On a grey late September day, they buried Derek Morgan.
The funeral was a small solemn affair, with only Emily and Ian in attendance. Even that felt wrong to Emily – to have her husband attend the funeral of her secret lover. She wished it were her alone in her mourning.
Actually, if she were wishing for things, she'd wish he were still there with her. But she'd never been one for wishing for things she couldn't have. Maybe because she'd long known that she never got what she wished for anyway.
She listened vacantly as a priest who'd never known Derek droned on about the Lord and forgiveness and other things Derek had never cared for – she knew he'd hate having a priest there. He'd always hated religion, though she'd never asked why for the sake of not opening up painful wounds and, if she were being honest with herself, she'd been rather too wrapped up in her own struggles to ask about his.
Even if she'd been a good Catholic, she would have found it difficult to concentrate, as the baby had chosen that morning to toss and turn – every kick and jab and twitch a stark reminder of all that she'd lost. A reminder of him – of the father her child would never get to know, of the love she'd let slip through her fingers out of fear.
Ian squeezed her hand gently and she looked over at him to find him staring at her with concern and that's when she realized she was crying. She cursed silently, quickly wiping at her tears with her free hand, even though the damage had already been done. (Later, when he asked, she'd blame the hormones...and she'd never be certain if he believed her.)
He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his chest so he could press a kiss to the top of her head. "He was a good man," he murmured into her hair. "I'm sorry he's gone – I know he was your friend."
She nodded slightly, shakily, but didn't trust herself to speak.
A few errant drops of rain spattered down from the clouds as if the sky wept for him too and Emily was immediately taken back to Declan's funeral, all those months ago. It had rained then too. She wondered if she'd ever again be able to see a cloud and not think of all those she'd lost...
She shivered, the rain quickly soaking the black woolen dress she wore.
Ian gestured to the priest to cut the eulogy short and Emily opened her mouth as if to argue, but Ian tightened his hand on her shoulder. "You're going to catch pneumonia, Love," he cautioned and she knew he was right. Derek wouldn't have wanted her to put the baby's health at risk for him.
She nodded. "Give me a minute?" she asked softly, giving him a pleading look.
He nodded once in acquiescence, wandered a few steps away to give her privacy.
Once she was sure he was out of earshot, she sighed wearily, as if holding herself together for his sake was taking every last bit of self-control. She'd had a speech prepared that morning, all the things she wished she'd said while he was alive, but in that moment, words failed her. She gestured uselessly, shook her head. "What do I do now?" she whispered.
Emily scheduled her next ultrasound for a day when she knew Ian would be too busy to join her. If he was suspicious of the inconvenient time, given that she normally made a point of making him come, he didn't say anything, simply kissed her and told her to call him afterwards.
"Do you think the baby looks like Dad?" the doctor asked conversationally.
She couldn't help the small hysterical little laugh that bubbled up in spite of her best efforts to keep her emotions in check (an endeavour that had been less and less successful in the days since the funeral). The trouble was, the baby did in fact, look like Derek. And there was no way Ian wasn't going to figure out what had happened when the baby was very obviously not his, no way he wasn't going to be filled with unimaginable fury. And as far as she could see, no way she made it out alive.
She could deal with her own death, her own mortality. But she couldn't make peace with her baby growing up without its mother or father, with Ian as its only moral compass. That wasn't what Derek would have wanted, wasn't what she wanted. Even if she loved Ian, she knew he wasn't a good person...
"Hypothetically speaking, if I needed to give this baby up for adoption, how would I go about that?" she asked, almost apropos of nothing.
If the doctor was thrown by the sudden change of subject, she didn't say so. She did, however, hesitate in answering. She had delivered Declan, been to his funeral – she'd known just how deeply the loss had cut Emily and she knew how happy (albeit conflicted) she'd been over the new baby, so this question was deeply concerning.
"You'd be best to go with an agency," she said slowly as if choosing her words carefully. "They'll guide you through the process of choosing parents with which to place the baby, with the legalities and policies. I can have my receptionist give you a list of agencies and adoption counsellors."
Emily smiled her thanks, but said nothing.
"You will, however, need the father's consent," the doctor continued after a moment's hesitation.
Emily winced visibly. "What if the baby's father is dead?"
It didn't escape the doctor that she'd chosen the words baby's father, rather than husband.
Before she could answer, however, Emily continued, "What happens if I were to die? Does my husband get custody, even if he's not the father?"
"Emily..." the doctor started, concern heavy in her voice.
Emily shook her head before she could continue. She attempted a reassuring smile that, if the doctor's expression was anything to go on, came off as more of a pained grimace. "Never mind. Forget I asked."