‘No, Lexie, there was never going to be a miracle for our son. He would’ve needed full-time care for the rest of his life. His brain didn’t work, his organs didn’t work. He was never going to walk or talk or feed himself.’

‘I know.’

‘No, you don’t, Lexie. You’ve got no fucking idea.’ Marty’s spittle hit her forehead. ‘He’d be kept alive by feeding tubes and medication. He’d have seizures, spasticity, leg contractures. Infections from the lack of movement. He’d be incontinent. Unable to understand what was happening around him. Unable to communicate. And in constant fucking pain.’

Still holding the photo album, Lexie reached out for a stuffed toy—a bunny rabbit one of their oldest friends had given them just after the birth, when they’d known Archie’s prognosis wasn’t good, but they hadn’t realised how bad.

‘Do you understand that our baby was in pain all the fucking time?’ Marty shouted.

And he, the paediatrician, hadn’t been able to do anything for his own son.

Marty should have been able to treat him.

Help him.

Stop the pain.

Bestow on him the miracle that Lexie wished for.

Marty glowered at the bunny rabbit. He wanted to rip its head off, tear it in two, stomp on it until the black thread of smile had disintegrated and the stuffing had shredded. Spinning around, he knocked a pile of baby clothes to the floor, reached the door in three strides and slammed it shut on his way out. Marty grabbed his keys and wallet and shot out of the house, racing to the car before the photographers could even lift their cameras.

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Help find Bella Parker Facebook page

Sweet Bella is still missing. We will be holding a prayer vigil tonight at 8 pm at St Paul’s. Everyone is welcome. Many of us will be joining the night search later on.

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– Little Bella is on our prayer list this morning in Berlin. xxxxxx

– My psychic said she could see a light-coloured ute.

– Has that schoolgirl Fox taught her about running away? That delinquent steals peaches and nectarines from my front garden.

– Hope she’s safe from the wild dogs—we’ve got a pack of them killing sheep at our place.

– I heard a schoolteacher is involved—anyone know about that?

– Shut up, all you keyboard detectives. Let the police do their job.

– I feel sick for the parents. Imagine waiting each night.

Dickhead—the parents did it.

Is he a doctor? I don’t want him touching my child.

Why won’t the parents speak to the media?

– There’s a story about the parents on the Weekend Wrap tonight.

37 TARA

37

TARA