AFTER BEING PUT through the wringer, Molloy was wheeled into the recovery room ninety minutes later, hooked up to more wires and drips than I’d ever seen in my life.
When I was taken in to be with her, I felt faint.
She was grey in color.
Fucking grey.
All completely normal, I was continuously reassured of by the nurses and doctors still gathered around her, monitoring her vitals, as I remained by her side. My attention flicked between the girl asleep on the bed, and the baby that had been returned to me with his mother.
Baby boy Molloy.
Date of birth: 30/08/05
Time of birth: 02:22
His details were scribbled on his little hand and ankle name tags, but I didn’t think he needed any of that to be recognized.
He was every inch his mother’s son with clumps of bloodied blond curls matted to his little head, and a pair of lungs he clearly inherited from his mother’s side.
Even though Molloy lost a lot of blood after delivery, the team had managed to stop the postpartum hemorrhaging without having to operate, but the thought of how they managed to do that sent a shiver down my spine. I was grateful that they knocked her out, because nobody deserved to be put through that kind of physical manhandling.
Torture.
That was the only word for it.
For what I’d witnessed them do to save her and the baby’s lives.
“You’re amazing,” I whispered, leaning over the bed, as I pressed a kiss to her clammy forehead. “You’re a soldier, baby.”
Repressing the urge to pull her sleeping frame into my arms and cling to her, I continued to hover anxiously. With our son in my arms, I needed her to wake up and stay asleep all in one breath.
“I’m so proud of you,” I whispered, using one hand to adjust the blanket draped over her limp body. “You’re a queen.”
“We’ll be moving her back up to the labor ward soon,” one of the nurses told me, as he adjusted the flow of whatever the hell they had dripping from a bag into the iv line in her arm. “She’s going to be in and out of it for a few more hours,” he added. “All normal, so nothing to worry about. Her body has been through it, and she needs time to rest and recover. She has a catheter in, so no need to wake her, Dad.”
“She’ll be okay, though, won’t she?”
“Absolutely,” he reassured me, smiling down at the baby in my arms. “This little guy has a one heck of a fighter for a mammy.”
Back on the ward early Tuesday morning, with Molloy sleeping off the drugs they gave her, I sat at her bedside, cradling the tiny bundle in my arms.
For the second time in my life, I was a father.
For the first time in my life, I had a child of my own.
It felt different now than it had with Ollie, Sean, and Tadhg.
It felt deeper.
There was something inside of me, an invisible cord of sorts, that went from my chest into his. I felt it every time I laid eyes on him.
Feeling his tiny body pressed to my chest when I fed him was the reality check I needed. I was responsible for this tiny person and his sleeping mother.
Anxiety thrummed through my body as my attention flicked between my son and his mother.
The two people that created me had destroyed each other.
My father killed my mother.
He tried to take the whole fucking lot of us out with him.
And now we were here.
Me and Aoife and this tiny little baby.
He was depending on me just the same as I had depended on my old man.
I just kept staring at him, wondering how he could do it to us, when every instinct inside of me was demanding I protect the infant in my arms and the girl who bore him.
They said he was huge, but he looked tiny to me.
He had a cute little button nose that reminded me of Shan, and puffy swollen lips just like the rest of us.
Mam’s lips.
We all had them.
All six of us.
His fingers were freakishly long to match the rest of him, but Jesus did he have his mother’s looks.
Honestly, I’d never seen a more beautiful baby in all my eighteen years on earth.
A little while later a nurse came in to check on the line in Molloy’s arm, and to replace the bag of fluid on her drip.
“Is she okay?” I asked, instantly on edge, as I watched the nurse like a hawk. “She’s been asleep for a long time.”
“She’s fine,” the nurse replied with such certainty that it put me at ease. “Poor mite is exhausted.” Turning to look at me, she offered me a sympathetic smile. “How’s baby taking his feeds for you, Dad?”
“He took two ounces in theatre, and another two down in the recovery room, and he’s after taking another three ounces now,” I told her, gesturing to the half-empty bottle resting on the arm of the chair. “I don’t know if I should give him any more formula until his mam wakes up.” Feeling helpless, I shrugged before saying, “She mentioned something awhile back about wanting to breastfeed.”
She gave me a sympathetic smile before asking, “Any dirty nappies?”
“Yeah, he’s been wet and dirty.”
“Fantastic.”
“He had the, uh, the black poo. You know the first one they have?”
“Meconium.”
“That’s the name of it.”
She gave me this strange smile. “Younger siblings?”
I nodded.
“How many?”
“Four.”
“Uh-huh.” Her smile deepened. “We could tell.”
My brows furrowed. “We?”
“All of the nurses on the ward.” She smiled again. “It’s not often we see young boys on this ward taking to fatherhood like you.”
“Oh.”
I wasn’t taking to anything.
I was fucking petrified.
But I was determined.
To be present.
To do right by this boy and his mother.
“Does your son have a name?”
“I, ah…” Blowing out a breath, I shook my head. “I don’t know what she wants to call him yet.”
“Ah, mammy is making the decision.”
“She did all the work,” I replied, settling my son on my shoulder to wind him. “She can name the baby.”
“Smart boy.”
“Could that happen again?” Gently patting our son’s back, I gestured to his mother. “What happened to Aoife after delivery? The bleeding. It won’t come back, will it?”
After consoling me with a whole heap of medical terminology and lingo that went clean out of my head, the nurse stopped in the doorway and asked, “Do you need me to help you with anything?”
Yeah, I need you to make my girlfriend open her eyes.
“No,” I replied gruffly. “I’ve got this.”
I waited until the nurse left before setting my son back down in his bassinet and returning to my post of hovering over his mother.
“You’ve got this,” I whispered, stroking her cheek. “Little fighter.”
Remembering what the nurse said about letting her sleep, I reluctantly shoved my hands into the front pocket of my hoodie to stop myself from touching her, only to frown when my fingers grazed paper.
Nanny’s letter.
Returning to my perch on the chair at her bedside, I withdrew the envelope my great grandmother had given to me yesterday.
Christ, it felt like a million years ago.
Tearing open the envelope, I reached for the note inside only to halt in my tracks when my eyes landed on cash.
A lot of cash.
“Holy fuck,” I strangled out, eyes widening as a thick wad of fifty-euro notes spilled onto my lap.
Panic stricken; I looked around to make sure that I was alone before quickly counting the money up.
I broke into a cold sweat when I finished counting and had to re-count it another three times before my head registered what my brain was telling me.
Fifteen thousand euro.
Fifteen grand.
Fifteen fucking k.
“What the hell?” Beyond confused, I stuffed the cash back into my pocket and quickly unfolded the note.
Dear Joseph,
To know that I finally get to write this letter brings me both immense joy and sadness in equal measures.
Joy, because I know that you are thriving and most importantly finally free of that horrible man, but great sorrow because it came with such a high price.
I know you’re probably wondering about the money, so I won’t beat around the bush. When Granda passed away, he left you a few bob in his will, but with it came strict instructions to not hand it over to you until you were away from your father and out from under his roof.
I suppose Granda knew as well as I did that you would give it to your mother, who, in turn, would give it to him.
This money was meant for you, Joseph.
Granda wanted to do this for you.
For your future.
And by God do you have a bright one ahead of you, sweet boy.
I want you to take this money and look after your little family.
I like her very much, Joseph. Don’t let her slip through your fingers. Trust old Nanny when I tell you that she’s a keeper.
You’ll make a wonderful father and a devoted husband in time.
I sleep well at night knowing that I have a grandson like you in the world.
All my love,
Nanny Murphy.
