Little Ones [A Vikklan, Poofless and Merome Fanfiction]

↞Chapter 6↠

Preston's P.O.V.

We had been married for almost two years now but despite our best efforts, and our hopes and wishes, there had been no children. Both of us wanted children desperately and it seemed the next logical step in our lives considering we were financially stable, we owned our own house and we had the space in our lives and in our hearts for them. We wanted more than two, three or even maybe four, depending on what God gave us. We just wanted children.

We already had everything ready for children. We had a bedroom ready to be turned into a nursery, we had the support of our families who were constantly asking when we were going to have kids, and we had this huge desire, this wish, to have them. But children didn't come.

After those two years we knew something was up. We were both young, in the prime stages of our lives, so we went to see a fertility doctor just to try and work out what was going on. What was going wrong? Was it something on my end or hers? They didn't actually know. All they could say was keep trying, hope something comes of it, and if not IVF is always an option but only for later on. I, nor her, wanted to wait though- we wanted children now. We didn't want IVF to be a last resort treatment, something to try in our 30's if no children came.

Fortunately, it didn't come to that. After two and a bit years of trying, after praying and begging and trying every avenue we could think of, we finally got that positive test. Boy, the celebrations lasted a long time, we were just so excited to finally get the answer we were looking for. It was early on so we didn't tell anyone for the first three months in fear of a miscarriage, but everything went great. The first scans happened, I saw my child, a tiny little blob on the screen, for the first time, and when three months rolled around we told our family. They were ecstatic, as were we.

The preparation for our new arrival was the most fun part. We got to paint the nursery, pick out the colours and the furniture, buy toys and clothes and everything a baby might need. We discussed names, their meanings and if we would prefer a boy a girl- to be frank we really didn't care, we were just happy to know we were having a child.

My wife was so excited about the future. Although she was sick all the time, morning sickness, she simply couldn't wait until our baby arrived and talked about almost nothing else. She chattered about all the milestones the baby would hit, how fun it would be, how she was looking forward to being tired when the baby woke us up in the middle of the night. I wasn't sure why she was looking forward to that but then again it was something we had been looking forward to for so long, looking after a child, knowing that it was our own.

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The months ticked by. Her body changed, we saw the pictures of our baby, we went to the scans. We considered for quite a while if we wanted to know if it was a boy or a girl but eventually went against it- we could decorate the nursery in neutral colours and their birth would be a surprise. The gender really didn't matter to us.

On the final scan, a couple of weeks before the due date, we were excited as everything was going to plan. Baby had shifted itself to be head down, great because they had spent most of the pregnancy the other way up, they were a good size, estimated to be about 8 pounds currently and would be closer to 9 and a half or 10 pounds by the time of birth, so a larger than average baby, but that was good. The day was getting closer and it was becoming more and more nerve-wracking.

Rob was distracted. I could tell. For quite a while he had been happy, upbeat, working as hard as he could to earn some more money. He didn't tell me why but he just seemed so, so happy that I was happy as well. But then, pretty much on the due date of our child, he went silent. He was offline for almost a week, he didn't want to talk to me or tell me what was going on. He was upset. When I did finally talk to him- the day she went into labour- he looked exhausted, black bags under his eyes, shoulders slumped. He looked like he had been crying.

I didn't get to ask him what was going on because he simply shook his head and hung up the call- and moments later my wife yelled for me. Her water had broken after several hours of small but painful contractions and maybe we should go, like, NOW! Well shit.

I drove her there, bag prepared days earlier sitting by her feet, whistling every time she breathed. God if I could take her pain away I would, but I couldn't, so I just had to sit there and hold her hand. They almost turned us away because she wasn't that far into labour, a nurse came and told us to go home and come back in a few hours when things progressed- and then she collapsed.

I managed to catch her, thank god, but after that we were admitted at once. We were left mostly alone for the first portion of her labour, a nurse coming in once every half hour to check on her, take her vitals, see how the labour was progressing. Everything was going fine, the fainting didn't mean anything and it was just the excitement of everything.

"It's going to be fine." I whispered, holding her hand. "Everything's going to be okay. God is with us."

If only God was with us that day.

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Things progressed slowly, but I think I knew something was wrong very early on. She became less and less conscious to my presence at her bedside, she was sweaty and didn't seem to know where she was or what was going on. I voiced these concerns to the doctor and several nurses but they all either dismissed me or reassured me it was normal- and who was I to say it wasn't normal? This was my first child, I didn't know anything about this process.

Looking back on it later I desperately wished I had fought more, said something was wrong more, insisted on getting them to check. Maybe it would have saved them.

The moment my child was born there was celebration, but something was wrong. The child was rushed away to be cleaned up, screaming and wailing which reassured me a lot, but the doctor looked panicked. My wife was bleeding- a lot- and he didn't seem to be able to stop it.

"She's haemorrhaging!"

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Time of death was declared to be 1:34am. There was nothing any of them could do to stop the bleeding despite their best efforts and suddenly I was alone.

Alone.

I don't think it even clicked that I still had my son as I sat in the hallway and sobbed, praying, begging, pleading, wanting to know why he had taken her. Why me? Why her? We hadn't done anything wrong and now I was left alone with a newborn to care for with none of the passion I had in the beginning. I was meant to raise my son with her, not alone. We had had our whole lives planned out ahead of us, more children, a home, maybe a dog. But that was all gone now.

I couldn't bear to go and see him until the next morning. His name, the name we had agreed on, was written on the sheet of paper at the bottom of his cot, as well as on the strip of plastic around his ankle. Liam Charlie Arsement. A simple name, but one we both loved. That was his name now.

It was complete denial. She wasn't gone, she was lying in a bed around the corner recovering from the birth. We would take our child home the next day and raise him just like we said we would.

Only now, that wasn't going to happen.