The Midwife's Pregnancy Miracle

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘I’m not.’ She lifted her chin. ‘We did nothing to be ashamed of.’

He had. He’d taken her virginity without a second thought. But if he pressed the issue, he had a feeling she’d take it the wrong way and think he was ashamed about sleeping with her—that she was the problem, not him. Which wasn’t true.

‘Uh-huh,’ he said awkwardly. Normally he was good with words, but tonight that ability had completely deserted him. ‘Ella—we’ve worked together well for eighteen months. I don’t want that to change.’

‘It won’t. Nobody at the hospital needs to know anything about what just happened.’

She didn’t meet his eye, he noticed. So that comment about not being ashamed had obviously been sheer bravado.

‘I’m not a good bet when it comes to relationships, Ella,’ he said softly. Though he didn’t want to tell her why. How stupid was he not to have realised that Justine had been seeing someone else, and that he was her golden ticket to the good life for her and the baby that wasn’t his? He knew that Ella wasn’t a gold-digger, the way Justine had been; but he still couldn’t face taking a risk with a relationship again. Making another mistake. Having his heart trampled on again. So it was better to stay exactly as he was, where everyone knew the score and that all his relationships were just for fun.

* * *

Not a good bet when it comes to relationships.

Neither am I, Ella thought ruefully.

What did she have to offer anyone? Thanks to the endometriosis that had dogged her for years and caused the ovarian cyst to grow and rupture, Ella couldn’t have children. It was one of the reasons why she’d avoided relationships; what was the point of starting anything when you knew you were taking someone’s future choices away? Who would want a wife who couldn’t give him a family? She’d seen first-hand from her own best friend’s experience how the pressure of infertility could cause even the strongest marriage to crack.

So she knew she was better off as she was. She’d come to terms with the situation over the last few years; now she had the chance to concentrate on her job and prove that she was better than her grades at university suggested—that she was worthy of her job. And her job would be enough for her.

‘I don’t want a relationship with you, Oliver,’ she said. It wasn’t strictly true, but she wasn’t stupid enough to long for something she knew she couldn’t have. ‘Except a working one.’

The relief in his expression was so dazzling, it almost blinded her.

Well, she could be just as bright and chirpy. She wasn’t going to let him see how much his relief had hurt her. ‘Shall I make you a cup of tea while you’re getting dressed?’

‘No, it’s fine, thank you. I’d probably better go.’

‘I’ll, um, let you get changed,’ she said, and headed for the kitchen to give him some space.

The two mugs of instant coffee—never made—sat accusingly in front of the kettle. She tipped the coffee granules in the bin, rinsed out the mugs and made herself a strong cup of tea. Mam’s solution to everything, she thought wryly. Though she had a feeling that it would take an awful lot more than a cup of tea to sort this out.

She’d just have to pretend that tonight had never happened. And hopefully things wouldn’t be awkward between Oliver and her at work.

CHAPTER ONE (#u7249a6a3-d18f-5f05-b1b0-faf39a1587c7)

Saturday 3rd December

‘EXCUSE ME, PLEASE. I’ll be back in a second.’ Ella held her breath and made a dash for the door. This was hardly professional behaviour, but it would be better than throwing up in front of the poor mum-to-be and her partner.

She made it to the staff toilet with seconds to spare. And then, weirdly, as she leaned over the bowl, she stopped feeling sick.

Huh?

If she was coming down with the sickness bug that was sweeping its way through the hospital and leaving all the departments short-staffed, she should’ve been throwing up right now. Big time. But the queasiness that had left her feeling hot and sweaty in the consulting room seemed to have vanished.

She frowned. The last thing she’d been aware of was how strong the dad-to-be’s aftershave had been.

Sensitive to smells and feeling sick...

Had any other woman listed those symptoms, Ella would’ve suspected early pregnancy. But she knew that she couldn’t possibly be pregnant. Her doctor had given her the bad news more than five years ago, after her ovarian cyst had ruptured. Between the cyst and the endometriosis that had dogged Ella and caused her to fall behind in her studies, her Fallopian tubes were in a bad way and she’d been told she’d never have children of her own.

How ironic that she’d specialised in midwifery. Cuddles with a baby she’d just delivered, or with a friend’s or cousin’s child, were all she would ever have. But after a lot of heartache and tears she’d come to terms with the situation. She loved her job. Trying to find a Mr Right who wouldn’t mind that she couldn’t ever give him a baby of his own—well, that was just being greedy and expecting too much.

She splashed water on her face, took a deep breath and returned to the consulting room to finish the antenatal appointment with her parents-to-be.

But when exactly the same thing happened at her next antenatal appointment, Ella began to wonder quite what was going on.

She and Oliver hadn’t used protection, the night of the Hallowe’en masked ball. But she’d thought it wouldn’t matter.

Of course she wasn’t pregnant. She couldn’t be.

As for the fact that her bra felt a bit too tight and her breasts felt slightly sore... That was purely psychological. Her imagination was simply running riot and coming up with other pregnancy symptoms. There was no way this could be a miracle baby. No way at all.

But, now she thought about it, her period was late. A quick mental count told her that it was two and a half weeks late. She hadn’t had time to notice because they’d been so short-staffed and busy in the department lately. Actually, that was probably the reason why her period was late in the first place; she’d been rushed off her feet and working crazy hours, so it wasn’t surprising that her menstrual cycle was protesting.

‘Ella O’Brien, you’re being a numpty,’ she told herself crossly. ‘Of course you’re not pregnant.’ All the same, during her break she took one of the pregnancy test kits from the cupboard. Just to prove to herself once and for all that she was being ridiculous, and then she could get on with the rest of her life.

She peed on the stick, then waited.

A blue line appeared in the first window, to show that the test was working properly.

And then, to her shock, a blue line appeared in the second window.

But—but—this couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. How could she possibly be pregnant?

She sat there staring at the test, in turmoil, emotions whirling through her.

The test result was clear: she was expecting a baby. The one thing she’d been told would never happen, by specialists she’d trusted absolutely. From what they’d said, the odds were so stacked against her falling pregnant, she’d have more chances of winning a huge prize on the lottery.

Though in some ways this felt better than winning the lottery. A baby. The gift she’d never dreamed she’d ever be able to have, except from the sidelines. Although she’d smiled and been genuinely pleased whenever one of her cousins or one of her friends had announced she was pregnant, a tiny part of Ella had mourned the fact she’d never know the joy of being a mum. And now she was actually going to be a mum. Have a baby of her own. For a moment, sheer joy flooded through her. Despite almost impossible odds, she was going to have a baby. A Christmas miracle.

But then panic took over. What about her career? She’d already lost a lot of ground during her studies, thanks to the combination of her dyslexia and the pain of the endometriosis. Some days, the pain had been so debilitating that she hadn’t been able to sit through lectures, and she’d had to borrow notes from friends instead of recording the lectures, and struggled as the words danced across the page. Even when her doctor had finally found some medication to help deal with the pain, things hadn’t got much better, because then she’d had the ruptured cyst...

She’d worried that if her tutors knew the truth about her illness, they’d make her drop the course. They knew about her dyslexia and they’d already given her so much help, letting her record lectures so she could listen to them and absorb the knowledge that way. She couldn’t possibly ask for yet more help. It’d be greedy and selfish. Ella almost gave in to her parents’ suggestion to forget all about being a midwife and go home to Ireland. But then she’d had a work placement and she’d loved working on the ward so much. It had made her more determined to follow her dream of being a midwife, so she’d struggled on and scraped through her exams.

And she was always aware that she should’ve done better as a student, that her grades had let her down. It drove her to work harder on the ward, to prove to everyone round her that she was better than her exam results said she was. All the way through her medical career, she’d asked to use computer software to dictate notes rather than rely on her terrible handwriting, she’d used coloured lenses in her glasses so she could manage with bright paper or a screen, and she’d asked colleagues to proofread her notes—because she’d never, ever put a patient at risk by not double-checking that everything in the notes was absolutely correct. And, even though people weren’t supposed to discriminate against you at work if you had a medical condition, Ella had always felt the need to work extra hard, just to prove that her dyslexia wouldn’t make any difference to her ability to do her job.

But going on maternity leave in six months’ time would have a huge impact on her career. She’d lose experience and study time. And what would happen when her maternity leave had ended? Juggling work and still managing to spend a decent amount of time with the baby, as a single parent, was going to be tricky. Arranging childcare to fit round her shifts would be tricky, too.

Though she wasn’t the baby’s only parent.

And that was something else that worried her.

There was only one man who could be the father, because she’d only ever slept with Oliver.