I cast my mind back to five years ago. The way we thought it would effortlessly happen for us. Knitting another square in our patchwork blanket of the family we wanted to create had almost caused us to unravel. I tried to remember how it was when we were happy. But I couldn’t. It was impossible to focus on anything except the here and now. The fear that I was losing him. The nagging, gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach telling me I had caused this. Divine intervention. Wasn’t that what I believed I had wanted, last week, last month, last year? To be without him? And now that I was faced with that prospect, I found myself clinging on too hard.

Too tightly.

The following day Adam was still under sedation. Still just lying there, and although I knew it was safer this way so the pressure in his brain didn’t increase, I longed for them to wake him up. The nurse urged me to go back to the hotel to shower and rest, but I convinced myself that we’d only be here for one more night. That tomorrow Adam would wake and we’d both be leaving together. For the second night, I settled down at the side of his bed and tried to snatch some sleep.

My heart pounded. At first I wasn’t sure what had pulled me from my fitful dreams. It wasn’t the nurse carrying out her regular checks. Adam’s machines were still illuminated, still silent. No alarm had sounded. Then I felt it. A cramping in my stomach. Not a niggling, time-of-the-month cramp. Or cramps from not eating properly for two days. Steel fists twisting my insides. Sweat slick on my skin. The scrubs I was still wearing sticking to me. My breath came hard and fast. I doubled over on the chair, waiting for the pain to stop. When it finally did, I cautiously raised my head. Where was the nurse? There was supposed to be somebody in the room with Adam at all times. I willed my pain-weak body to stand so I could fetch her, but the pain hit again. Winded, I crossed my arms over my stomach and dropped forward, my head almost in my lap. The spasms were intense. The way I imagined contractions would feel. My body fighting to push something out.

No.

There was a dampness between my legs. I was crying now. The pain unbearable, both physical and emotional.

No.

Waves of nausea battered me. I vomited all over the floor. Shaking, my hand reached for the emergency buzzer. I wrapped my arms around myself tightly as though I could hold myself together.

As though I could keep my baby inside.

‘Please,’ I gasped as the nurse rushed into the room, flicking on the light. ‘Please. There’s something wrong with me.’