“We have to let him go, Sarah. Your grandad was a proud man, he’d hate to be left like this.”
I didn’t want her to be right, but I knew that she was. He’d hate it. With that in mind, and after another round of tests that confirmed no brain activity, Grandad’s ventilator was switched off at two o’clock the following afternoon. I kissed his cheek, and both Nan and I held a hand each as the man that had raised me, passed peacefully away, just twelve minutes later.
Liam and Luke finally made contact just two short hours after that. I’d just faced one of the most devastating moments of my life and once again, my husband wasn’t around.
I was sitting at my nan’s kitchen table when Liam’s call came through to my mobile. I was exhausted and emotional. I contemplated not answering, my head was pounding, and I felt a little sick.
“Sarah?” He spoke before I even got a chance to. “Thank fuck. What’s wrong? You okay?”
“I hate you so fucking much right now.” It was all I had to say. I ended the call and switched off my phone. I stood from the table, intending to go and crawl into bed with my nan, but dots started to dance in front of my eyes. At first, I thought I was having a panic attack, but the pain in my head suddenly became excruciating and I once again felt dizzy. I just made it to the sink, before I threw up.
Twenty minutes later, Maggie had me back at the hospital. There was an explosion of activity around me as a nurse rushed me from the emergency department, straight to a theatre up on the maternity ward. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me again. On the day my grandad died, I was going to give birth to twins in the very same hospital, and my husband was absent for both events.
With Maggie dressed in scrubs and holding my hand in the operating theatre, my twins came into the world. Archer Mason Delaney—Archie for short—weighed in first at four pounds one ounce, and forty-seven seconds later, Flynn Lewis Delaney arrived, weighing in at four pounds exactly.
They both looked exactly like Carter when he was born, including having full heads of blond hair.
I was devastated that Liam missed the birth. Devastated, pissed off, angry. Between dealing with that and my grandad’s death, I was a mess, and during the night after the twin’s birth, I barely stopped crying long enough to think straight.
I felt so torn. I wanted to be happy that our twins were delivered safely, and despite being early and small, they were doing well, but I was also heartbroken at losing the man who had raised me.
I’d just been helped back into bed by the nurse after seeing the babies in the special care unit, when Liam walked into my room around lunchtime the following day.
Maggie was sitting in the chair next to my bed and stood the instant she saw him. She smacked him so hard around the face that I saw stars.
“You should’ve been here. She is your wife. They are your children, your family. Your fucking priority. I’m so disappointed in you right now. You do realise that you’re turning into him, don’t you? And just like Dad, you’re gonna lose it all if you don’t make some changes.”
Liam didn’t move. His eyes remained fixed on his sister as she spoke, and he dropped his head to stare at the floor when she left the room.
He finally looked up and met my gaze. My heart broke for him, for me, for us. But overriding the heartbreak, was anger.
“I don’t want you here.” His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak. “I need you to go. You should be with Carter, he needs you; I don’t.”
“Sarah, please. I’m so—”
“No. Not this time. I don’t want to hear it this time. One of the most important people in my life died yesterday, and then I gave birth to twins. I did all of that without you here. I didn’t need you then, and I certainly don’t need you now, so you can fuck off.”
“I wanna see my babies.”
“You can see them. I’d never stop you from doing that. I just don’t want to be around you right now.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I need your sorrys even less than I need you right now. You manage to forget I exist and put me at the bottom of your priority pile most of the time, so let’s just keep up with that tradition shall we?”
I watched him push his hands down deep into the pocket of his jeans as he stared once again at the floor in front of him. His hair had grown, his usual stubble was a full-on beard, and I wanted nothing more than to reach out to him. I wanted him to hold me. To love me. I knew that if I did reach out for him, he would do both of those things, but I let my anger get the better of me and pushed him away.
When he looked up at me he was crying.
“You’ve broken my heart,” I told him. My words coming out on a sob.
“I know. I fucking know, pretty girl, and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”