Maybe This Time

chapter FOUR



EMMA JUGGLED SHOPPING bags full of baby things and the mail she’d collected from her box in the foyer and inserted the key to unlock her apartment door. After a nine-hour shift, then the mall, she was dying to shower, eat and put her feet up, not necessarily in that order.

She passed through the entry hall and into the small living room filled with inexpensive furniture she’d bought after the divorce. She hadn’t wanted anything from the old house, no reminders of the love and family and home she’d lost. Darcy had taken the beautiful red leather couch and chairs, the handmade teak coffee table and other unique pieces they’d collected together, and crammed them into his two-bedroom apartment above the pub. The pine coffee table and hard-wearing fabric couches she owned now held no memories and if she occasionally missed her old stuff, too bad. She needed to toughen up.

She sank onto the couch with her head on a cushion and her feet on the opposite arm and leafed through her mail. It felt good to lie down for a minute. She’d forgotten how pregnancy sapped her of energy.

The Monash University School of Nursing logo stared at her from the top left corner of an envelope. She tore it open. Her application had probably been rejected. After all, she’d already started it once, before she’d gotten pregnant with Holly, and quit. Having pulled out then might go against her now. And she’d applied late. Maybe the program was already full.

But she hoped not. She was counting on this extra degree to help her provide a good future for her and her baby. She quickly scanned the single typewritten sheet. Dear Ms. Lewis, yada, yada...

Approved.

She blinked and looked again, making sure she’d seen right, then grinned. Yes! She was in. It was all happening. The master’s, the baby. Everything she wanted was coming true for her.

Her smile faded. Not everything. Her marriage had fallen apart. She’d totally screwed up by getting pregnant with her ex-husband. Darcy didn’t want anything to do with her or the baby. When she’d told him she was pregnant he’d looked as if he might throw up. Then he’d stood and walked away from her and hadn’t come back.

Something had died inside her then, a tendril of hope she hadn’t even realized she’d been hanging on to. Even though it was what she’d expected, his reaction still hurt. Money was all he was willing or able to give. Nothing of himself, no love for his own baby, no warmth for her, the mother of his child.

Well, she didn’t want him. By his own admission and from her experience, he wasn’t husband and father material. He could be, if he wanted to be. He simply didn’t care about family as much as she did. Heat pricked the backs of her eyes and she pressed her fingers to them. Damn him. She’d thought she was beyond being hurt by him.

And how about his suggestion that she’d gotten pregnant on purpose? How insulting was that? Had he forgotten how quickly she’d become pregnant with Holly? She was obviously very fertile and his sperm so virile they’d done the backstroke up her vagina like mini champion athletes. On the cruise he was the one who’d started intercourse without a condom, assuming she still had an IUD.

Maybe she should have made it clear the second they’d entered his cabin that she didn’t, but she’d expected he would automatically reach for protection. They were too old to be carried away by the moment. But that’s what had happened. One thing hadn’t changed—the attraction between them. But a relationship couldn’t thrive on sex alone.

Bottom line, she was on her own. It might not be the way she wanted it but it was what she had to work with. She had to be practical not emotional, for the baby’s sake.

First thing Monday morning she would contact the School of Nursing and confirm her place in the program, look at the course requirements and find out times, etcetera. Then she’d talk to the hospital about managing her hours around her classes. She didn’t envisage any problem there. Barb was high up in administration, and besides being her friend, she was always encouraging the nursing staff to upgrade their qualifications.

Her stomach rumbled. Her meal of chicken salad at the food court was two hours ago. Another thing she’d forgotten, how ravenous she was all the time. She dragged herself off the couch and out to the kitchen to heat a bowl of minestrone soup in the microwave.

A week had passed since that night at the pub. Every day since she’d half expected to get a phone call from Darcy wanting to talk about the baby, but nothing. What kind of a man, even one who didn’t want to be a father, walked away from that kind of news with no discussion? Oh, the next day he’d sent her an email asking for bank details so he could deposit money for the baby. She’d deleted it without replying. Thought he could throw money at the problem and it would go away. Huh!

She ate her soup then put her dishes in the dishwasher and went to have a shower. The hot water streaming over her head and shoulders gradually eased some of the tension out of her knotted muscles. She needed to let the incident go. She’d told Darcy she didn’t want anything from him and she meant it. She just wished, for her baby’s sake, that he cared even a little.

She turned off the tap and stepped into the steamy bathroom. Even though it was only 7:00 p.m. and still light out she didn’t bother dressing again but put on a camisole and panties, ready for bed. Rubbing a clear patch on the foggy mirror she turned sideways, smoothing a hand over her flat stomach. No sign of a baby bump yet. Her breasts had started to swell, though, curving above the lacy camisole.

A knock at the door startled her. Who could that be? She wasn’t expecting anyone and didn’t know a soul in the building. Anyone from outside would ring the bell to be buzzed up. Pulling on a dressing gown, she went down the hall and put an eye to the peephole.

Darcy stood there, holding a fistful of purple irises and orange gerberas. Despite herself, she melted a little. Just when she was totally, completely angry and had decided she hated him, he brought her flowers.

Emma opened the door. One bare foot crept over to rest on top of the other. “What brings you here?”

He presented her with the bouquet. “Sorry I acted like a dickhead.”

Wearing his button-down shirt and with his tousled dark hair, he looked younger than his forty years and sexier than he had any right to. How could she possibly feel attracted when she was so angry at him?

Hell, why was she even angry? She wasn’t supposed to feel anything anymore. “Thanks,” she said, accepting the flowers. Their fingers brushed. Nope, she felt nothing. That was static from the carpet, not a spark of electricity.

Darcy’s gaze dipped to the neck of her robe where the top of her camisole showed. “Looks like I caught you at a bad time.”

“I go to bed early. I have to get up at five.” Now she was explaining in case he thought she was expecting someone. Which she had every right to do, if she wanted. Except that she wasn’t, and had no plans to go out with a man in the foreseeable future. Maybe someday, after the child was a few years old she would be ready to date again, but not with Darcy’s baby growing inside her.

“Apology accepted. Thanks for the flowers. Now if that’s all you came for...”

She wasn’t going to automatically invite him in. The apartment, even small and poorly furnished, was her sanctuary, one she’d painstakingly constructed after their divorce. Nothing from their life together existed in this apartment and that’s the way she wanted it. She had to cut out all traces of the past or she would end up reliving it every single day.

“It’s not.” He jammed his hands in his back pockets. “Can I come in so we can talk instead of me standing out here like a delivery man? Or we could go out for coffee. Five minutes, that’s all I ask.” The lines bracketing his mouth deepened.

Reluctantly, she relented. It had cost him something, coming here. A baby wasn’t his choice, but he was trying to make amends with her. Stepping back, she gestured to the arched opening on her right. “Take a seat. I’ll put some clothes on.”

She slipped into her bedroom, tugged on a pair of leggings and threw on the green silk top hanging on the back of the door. Too late she realized he’d given her the blouse for Christmas the year she’d had Holly. What the hell. She tugged it down over her hips. No sense being neurotic about this. Getting rid of all her clothes wasn’t practical. Likely he wouldn’t even remember, or care about the associated memories if he did.

She stood at the dresser to brush her hair. Was she trying to look nice for him? No, her hair was ruffled from the shower cap. She would have done it for anyone. She ran the brush through her hair with her vigorous strokes. She hated second-guessing everything she did. As if she was nervous.

Although if she was honest, she did want to look her best around Darcy. She wanted him to regret that he’d lost her. What did it matter if it was out of vanity or pride? She would hate him to think she’d fallen apart without him.

She was the organized one, the one in control of herself and her life. He was the one who always had projects planned that never got finished. Even though he was a hard worker, he tended to procrastinate. Look at the pub. He should have at least painted when he’d taken over from his dad, but had he? No. He hadn’t changed a single thing regardless of how tired or worn-out the pub appeared.

Not that she cared what Darcy did with the pub or anything else.

He was perusing her bookshelf stuffed with crime novels when she came out. Only because he was too impatient to sit, not because he would ever actually read a book, God forbid. Funny how the things she’d overlooked as being unimportant when they were married had became huge deficiencies once they’d split. How could she have married a man who didn’t read? Who would rather do any activity at all rather than sit quietly with a book?

She perched on the edge of the couch, resisting the urge to tuck her hands between her knees. “What can I do for you?”

He sat in the chair opposite, his legs sprawled and his arms relaxed. “I wanted to apologize for my reaction last week. It can’t have been easy for you to come there and tell me you were pregnant, not after...everything.”

It had taken him a whole week to come around to that conclusion? He had her phone number. He could have called to say this. Or emailed. Or sent her a text message. She supposed he deserved points for saying it in person.

“I hope you’ve recovered from your shock enough to realize I didn’t get pregnant on purpose. I knew how you felt about having another child. I wouldn’t knowingly bring a kid into the world whose father didn’t want him.”

“I believe you.”

A tiny wash of relief took the tension out of her shoulders. Even after all they’d been through, his opinion still mattered to her and she hated to think he believed her capable of something so underhanded and manipulative. Part of what she’d always loved about him was how he looked for, and saw, the best in people.

She leaned back and smoothed out the hem of her blouse. “Why are you here?”

“I was worried about you. I wanted to see how you were.”

“As you can see, I’m fine.” She gestured around the apartment. “I’ve got a nice place to live. I’ve got my job. I’m pregnant. Even though the situation wasn’t planned and I’m going to be a single mum instead of having a family, I’m really happy about the baby. Everything’s working out.” She brightened and leaned forward again. “And I’ve just been accepted into the master’s of nursing program.”

“The master’s program?” He frowned. “Are you still going to have time for that? Even when we were together and you were only nursing part-time you found it hard to juggle work and caring for Holly.”

No thanks to him! She opened her mouth, wanting to snap out that she would have found studying easier if he’d helped out more, taken an active role in baby care instead of always, always going to the pub.

Yes, Darcy worked long hours and she’d been part-time—they’d needed both incomes. But that didn’t stop her from resenting the time he spent at the pub. He loved socializing with customers and his friends who dropped in. Sometimes she wondered if he’d loved the social scene more than her and Holly. And though she could never prove it, and he would deny it if asked, she wondered if he spent more time there than strictly necessary to get away from the chaotic home life with a baby and then a toddler.

But she bit her tongue and said nothing. Stress wasn’t good for the baby. She rested a hand on her abdomen and breathed slowly and calmly. Water under the bridge. Let it flow away and take her anger with it. “I can handle it.”

“If anyone can, you will. But, Emma...” Darcy leaned forward, elbows on knees, as if finally getting around to the reason for his visit. Even then he didn’t speak right away but stared at the carpet. Finally, he looked up. “Are you emotionally ready for a baby? It’s awfully soon after...Holly. Are you doing this for the right reasons, or are you trying to fill a gap in your life?”

The emotional seesaw in Emma’s heart that continually teetered between love and resentment tipped sharply toward the latter. What right did he have to even ask these questions? They were divorced. How dare he act as if he still cared or even had a say in her emotional welfare?

“Soon? It’s been a year and a half. I’m thirty-five, not getting any younger.” Emma got to her feet and paced the small space between the couch and the coffee table. “As for a gap in my life, yes, there’s a huge gap that I want to fill. I had a family. Now I don’t. I want children. You don’t give up just because tragedy strikes. Or, rather, some people don’t.” She ignored his slight flinch. He wanted to be blunt—she would be, too. “Are you talking about me or yourself, because you can’t handle the thought of being responsible for another baby?”

“I’m talking about you, of course. According to you, this doesn’t affect me.” His voice held a trace of bitterness.

“Only because you’re adamant you don’t want another child. If I thought for one second—” She broke off. Their marriage was finished. There was no point holding out hope for reconciliation simply because she was having his baby. Especially when their conflicting desires regarding babies had torn them apart in the first place.

“I’m not ready for another child. I haven’t gotten over Holly yet.” Quietly, he added, “If I ever will.”

“You won’t unless you work through your guilt.”

He pressed fingers to the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t on the spot. There’s nothing I could have done.”

In other words, she was to blame. Is that what he was saying? “Go ahead...you keep telling yourself that. But just ask yourself, why have you given up drinking?”

“I wanted to lose some weight, get healthier.” He shrugged, apparently bewildered at her question. “Alcohol dependency is an occupational hazard in my job. I didn’t want it to get the better of me.”

“You weren’t an alcoholic.” She turned away, breathing out the tightness. “You haven’t got a clue. And yet you come here and lecture me.”

Silence settled over the room.

“You still cry over her,” he said at last, gently.

“I will cry over her for the rest of my days.” The words tore out of her. “It doesn’t mean I can’t love another child and have joy in my life.” Her throat closed and she had to take a breath, clearing away the huge ache in her chest. Of course she was still emotional about Holly. Who wouldn’t be? A mother didn’t forget, ever, losing a child. But that didn’t mean there was something wrong with her, as he seemed to think.

“I don’t want to have these conversations anymore,” she continued, her voice stronger. “I’m happy for the first time in eighteen months. I get that you don’t want to be part of this. That’s fine, believe me. More than fine.”

“What does your family think?”

“Alana’s thrilled for me.”

“Really?”

“With a few reservations,” Emma admitted. “But you know how cautious she is. She doesn’t like any sort of risk.”

“Alana, cautious? I think you’re mixing her up with yourself. You don’t do anything without having all your ducks lined up and ironclad safeguards that nothing will go wrong or fail. Why else do you think I’m worried about your mental and emotional state? Lots of women have a baby on their own, but for you it’s risk taking. It’s out of character.”

He was right. Before she embarked on any new course of action she did her research. And she had. She knew babies back to front. But no amount of research could alter the fact that life had thrown her a curveball. Her baby’s conception hadn’t been planned, and everything that happened next would be unknown and therefore very scary.

“Doesn’t that show you how much I want this baby?” The tremor was back in her voice. “What can I be but a single mother? I’m pregnant, with no partner.”

He got to his feet, took a few paces and stopped in front of her. “Have you thought about—”

“Oh, no. You better not be about to say what I think you’re going to say.”

“You could consider it. It’s not a bad solution.”

“Not in a million years would I do that. If you say another word, I’ll throw you out.”

“Don’t reject the idea out of hand. I know you’re a private person but having other people around, especially a woman in the same situation as you, can be a support.”

“A woman...?” She frowned. “Wait. What are you talking about?”

“Sharing a house with another single mother and her kid or kids. What did you think I meant?”

“Oh.” She pressed a hand to her forehead and sank onto the couch. “I thought— Never mind.”

He stared at her. Then shook his head as he got it. “Oh, Em, I know you better than that.”

“I couldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t want you to,” Darcy said quietly. “I thought you knew me better than that, too.”

She turned to the window and gazed out at the view of the bay, the merest glimpse of blue between the trees. Okay, the thought of terminating the pregnancy had crossed her mind—once—in the dark hours of the night when she was feeling scared and vulnerable and alone. She’d lain awake wondering how she was going to manage on her own. But that was just night terrors. By morning her fears had evaporated and she’d once again felt happy knowing she would be a mother again.

Darcy picked up a plush teddy bear from the carpet. The bag of baby things she’d bought earlier had fallen open. Emma hadn’t been able to resist even though it would be months before the baby was born. All Holly’s toys had gone to a church bazaar. He smoothed the bear’s fur. “I want you to be happy, Em.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice. His good wishes meant a lot to her. But she was so mixed-up, one minute angry with him, the next minute wishing they could still be a family. She had to get that notion right out of her head.

“What did your parents say?” Darcy asked.

“I sent an email but I haven’t heard back yet. They’re on the road, somewhere near Darwin, out of phone range.” She sighed. “You know them. No doubt you can predict their reaction.”

“Your mother will be excited but your father will worry about you. He didn’t have anything good to say when your cousin had a baby on her own a couple of years ago.”

“What about your family? What’s their reaction?” He was silent. “Oh, my God. You haven’t told them yet.”

“It’s only been a week. I haven’t seen them.”

“Your father is in the pub every week.”

“Yeah, well, I need to think about how to tell them. They took our divorce pretty hard.” Darcy ran a hand through his hair. “This whole situation is unexpected.”

“It’s not going to get any easier. Just tell them.” She paused, suddenly understanding his reticence. “You know they’ll be thrilled. You’re just afraid they’ll pressure you to reconcile with me.” Was he also afraid he might be tempted? “Don’t worry. I’ll set them straight on that score.” The last thing she wanted was to reunite only because their families wanted it.

“I’ll talk to them soon.” He studied her face. “You look tired. I’d better go.” Then he paused. “Before I do, is there anything you need?”

Oh. The electrical outlet in the nursery wasn’t working. But she couldn’t ask... “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

“Your eyes flickered. What is it?”

“It’s all right. I’ll call an electrician—”

“Those guys charge an arm and a leg and take a week to come. Where is it?”

“If you really don’t mind... The socket in the spare room sparks when I plug something in.”

“I’ll have a look.” He offered without hesitation which was to his credit, given she hadn’t exactly welcomed him into her home. That was the great thing about Darcy; he was always ready to lend a hand to anyone who needed it. Including her.

“This way.” Emma reached for the bags and carried them across the foyer and down the short hall to the second bedroom. She was practical but some things, like electrical problems, were beyond her. His steady footsteps behind her were comforting. She shouldn’t like that he was taking charge. But she did.

* * *

DARCY FOLLOWED, half wishing he hadn’t agreed to look at the outlet because he had to get to the pub. But Emma needed his help. She was one of the most competent people he knew, but like a lot of women she didn’t know how to handle tools. That wasn’t being sexist, simply stating a fact. Even though they weren’t together he still felt responsible for her. Holly had tied them together and now this baby was another link. He had mixed feelings about that. He couldn’t imagine life without Emma in it. On the other hand, how would he ever move on if he kept seeing her?

The new-paint smell hit him as he stepped in the doorway. He stopped dead, his gaze sweeping the room. The walls were a pale yellow below a frieze of colorful balloons. He took in the white-painted cot, matching dresser and changing table.

This wasn’t a spare room. It was a nursery.

He hadn’t been prepared for baby furniture. Or for the tightness in his chest. Or the flash recall of Holly, her bright hair and gurgling smile, as she played peekaboo through the bars of her crib.

He didn’t usually allow himself to think about her. Holly was gone. Never coming back. There was no point in torturing himself. Love and happiness were ghosts. They flitted in and out of his life, haunting him with memories and taunting him with unfulfilled dreams.

“Darcy?” Emma was looking at him strangely.

He shook his head, banishing the image. “Sorry, were you saying something?”

“It’s this socket next to the dresser. I want to put a lamp here for when the baby wakes in the night.” Emma dropped the bags on a toy chest with a padded lid that doubled as a bench seat. “When I tried to plug it in, the outlet crackled.”

“Have you got a screwdriver?”

“In the laundry room. Hang on a tick.” She hurried out of the room.

Darcy pushed aside the bags and sat on the toy box. Though he tried to block the memory of Holly, traces lingered like cobwebs in the dark corners of his mind. In the weeks before she’d died, she’d started climbing out of her crib. Emma had wanted to get her a child’s bed. She’d been after him to go look for one. He hated malls and had put her off, and put her off. In the end, he’d gone shopping with her—not for a bed but for a coffin.

He pressed fingers to the inner corners of his eyes.

“Will these do?” Emma entered and handed him a set of screwdrivers in a folding plastic case.

He grunted, not trusting his voice, and kneeled to unscrew the faceplate. Carefully, he prodded the wires with a fingertip. “The connection is loose. If you can turn the power off, I’ll tighten these wires.”

“I think the switchboard is in the residents’ garage. Tell me which switch to flip and I’ll do it.”

“The main breaker. It should be labeled. I’ll go.” Anything to get out of this room so he could breathe. He was on his feet and heading out the door in seconds.

“You’ll need the key to get into the garage.” She came after him and fished in her purse for a set of keys. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” He swallowed, hating that she’d seen him react to the baby things. It made him feel weak.

He went to the garage, flipped the breaker then came back up, using her keys to get into the apartment. Tightening the wires took only a few minutes. He’d learned a few basic skills of the trade from his older brother Dan, an electrician. They came in handy when things needed fixing around the pub.

As he worked, he could hear Emma in the kitchen, moving around, running water. It was almost like the old days, at their home. Doggedly he pushed those thoughts away, too, and turned on the flashlight Emma had set on the carpet by the outlet. Nostalgia was a trap that would be easy to fall into, but it didn’t make the bad stuff go away. The fighting and the tears, the words that could never be unsaid. Those memories were burned into his brain, too.

He put the faceplate on and put away the screwdrivers. Then he went out to flip the breaker on and returned a few minutes later to the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee.

Emma appeared in the foyer as he shut the door. “Do you want a cuppa? It’s decaf.”

“No, I have to get to the pub.” Seeing the strain in the faint lines of her face he forgot about himself and his feelings. “Anything else I can do?”

“No, that’s it.” She straightened her shoulders and smiled. Then she touched his arm. “I really appreciate this. Thanks.”

“It’s nothing. Look, Em, I don’t agree with what you’re doing.” Her smile faded. “But I am going to support you and the baby.”

“You don’t have to. I’ve decided I won’t name you as father on the birth certificate. That way Child Services won’t be able to come after you for support payment.”

That took his breath away. It hadn’t even occurred to him that she wouldn’t name him as father. Knowing there would be a blank line where his name should appear...well, he didn’t like the idea one bit. Nor did he like the idea of the baby seeing that blank line when he or she grew up. It was almost as if Darcy didn’t exist. Or that he’d abandoned the child.

“You can raise the baby any way you want,” he said. “It’s yours. I won’t interfere. But I will do the responsible thing for any child of mine.” She opened her mouth to protest and he raised a hand to stop her. “I’ll do it because I want to and because it’s right, not because Child Services tells me I have to.”

“You can’t have it both ways, not being an active father and also getting to have a say in whether you’re named on the birth certificate.”

She had him there. “Clearly you hold all the cards,” he said tightly. “You do what you think best.”

“Darcy, I wish...” She spread her hands. “I don’t even know what I want to say. I’m sorry it has to be this way.”

He wished it didn’t have to be this way, too. He’d give anything to turn back the clock if only he knew how. He would even go on that damn picnic if it meant he could do over that day and Holly would still be alive.

“Don’t say anything.” His voice turned gruff. Something—nostalgia, again?—made him lean in and kiss her on the cheek. Feeling her soft skin beneath his lips, breathing in the clean scent of her, he wanted to slide his hands inside her silky blouse—the one he’d given her that Christmas—and feel the heat of her body. He wanted to angle his face and put his mouth on hers and deepen the kiss.

But he didn’t. If the past wasn’t enough to stop him, now he had the future child to deter him, as well. There could be no going back for him and Emma, no second chance. He would not touch her or kiss her or any of the things his body was begging him to do.

“I’ll see you.” When, he had no idea. He made himself step back, turn the door handle and leave. Walking away from her right that minute felt like one of the hardest things he’d ever done.

He punched the button on the elevator at the end of the hall. Damn thing must be broken. The light seemed to be stuck two floors above on five. He hit the button again. If he had to stand here one more second, he might turn around, take her in his arms and make the second biggest mistake of his life—the first being sleeping with her after their divorce.

But he wouldn’t. Seeing the nursery had brought up sad memories, but it had also reminded him that sex had consequences. Like careless teenagers he and Emma had been caught. Hopefully they were both smart enough not to compound their mistake by thinking they could get together again.

The elevator still wasn’t moving. He spun on his heel and pushed through the emergency door to the stairwell. His footsteps echoed off the concrete walls as he clattered down and down.

The days of wine and roses and Latin dancing were truly over.

* * *

EMMA CLOSED THE DOOR behind Darcy. Dissatisfaction nagged at her, but it was worse than a near-miss sexual encounter. It had been a near-miss emotional connection. She’d wanted so badly for him to hold her close the way he used to, and tell her he loved her and that everything would be all right. She craved it so badly, it scared her.

Instead he’d retreated. No doubt he’d done so out of honorable intentions. She could picture each step he took away from her. Fifteen paces to the stairwell—because he would be too impatient to wait for the elevator once he’d found out how slow it was—then down three floors and out to the lobby. Another ten paces and he would be out of the building, heading to his truck.

With every step he took away from her, the tug in her chest grew. She wanted to run after him and beg him to come back. Was she wrong to want the father of her child and the love of her life to love her and love their baby? Maybe this pregnancy was a sign that they should try again. Maybe the joy a baby brought would lift them out of their impasse and set them on the path to a brighter future—together.

Yet even as she longed to reunite with Darcy, she knew it would be a terrible mistake. He didn’t want a role in the baby’s life. He hadn’t even protested when she’d said she wouldn’t name him as the baby’s father. That proved how detached he was. It was wrong and sad. Even though he hadn’t been a hands-on father with Holly there had never been any doubt he loved her.

Emma stroked a hand over her belly. If only he could love this baby. She pictured him holding her and pressing his hand on her stomach to feel the baby move, love in his eyes and in his smile. Talking about baby names, planning where to live. They’d always dreamed of building their own home, somewhere with a big yard and lots of trees—

But it wasn’t going to happen. She was being weak, giving in to wishful thinking. She would only make herself unhappier by allowing herself to hope.

Pushing those thoughts out of her mind she went to the nursery. She plugged in the lamp and pressed the switch. Light spilled through the darkening room, and she pulled the curtains against the coming night. He’d only fixed an outlet, but it was an act of caring.

When they’d been married, she was the one who made sure bills were paid on time, who got the groceries and cooked the meals. Darcy kept the pub going, remembered everyone’s birthday in both their families and maintained the house and cars. And they’d looked after each other. They made a good team. She missed that.

She emptied the shopping bags of baby clothes, folded the clothes neatly and laid them in the dresser. She’d bought more than she’d planned on, in sizes up to twelve months. She started to rip the tags off then paused. Maybe she should leave them on just in case.

She used to go through life thinking nothing bad was ever going to happen to her. And then it had. So many things could go wrong—miscarriage or stillbirth or even an accident to herself.

Again, she pushed the unwelcome thoughts away. She didn’t want to dwell on the negative, not when she had so much that was positive to look forward to. She started to walk out of the room then stopped in the doorway to survey the nursery. She’d painted, bought furniture, even put up a frieze. What were those if not acts of faith?

She went back to the dresser, took out the baby clothes and tore off the tags. Nothing was going to go wrong with this baby.