«It was her first word.»
«Another baby, is it? What a joke!» Margaret Whitmore snapped the ultrasound printout onto the kitchen table. «Four generations of men in our family have worked the railways! And what have you brought home now?»
«Ethel,» Emily whispered, rubbing her swollen belly. «We’ll call her Ethel.»
«Ethel» Margaret drew out, a thin smile forming. «At least the name’s proper. But what good will she do? Who needs this Ethel of yours?»
James stayed glued to his phone. When Emily asked for his opinion, he merely shrugged. «What you have, you have. Maybe next time it’ll be a boy.»
Emily felt something tighten inside her. Next time? Was this little one just a rehearsal?
Ethel arrived in Januarytiny, with huge eyes and a tuft of dark hair. James only showed up for the discharge, carrying a bouquet of carnations and a sack of baby clothes.
«She’s beautiful,» he said, peering gently into the pram. «She looks just like you.»
«And that nose of yours,» Emily laughed. «And that stubborn chin.»
«Enough,» James waved him off. «All babies look the same at this age.»
Margaret met them at the door with a sour expression. «Neighbour Doris asked if it was a grandson or a granddaughter. I was embarrassed to answer,» she muttered. «At my age, I’m left holding dolls…»
Emily retreated to the nursery, tears slipping silently as she pressed her daughter to her chest.
James worked longer hours, picking up extra shifts on nearby lines, claiming the family was expensive, especially with a child. He came home late, exhausted and mute.
«Shes waiting for you,» Emily said when he passed the nursery without looking in. «Ethel always perks up when she hears your footsteps.»
«I’m knackered, Em. Early start at work tomorrow.»
«But you havent even said hello to her»
«Shes too small to understand.»
Ethel understood, though. Emily saw her daughter turn her head toward the door every time his steps echoed, then stare into empty space as they faded away.
At eight months, Ethel fell ill. Her temperature rose to 38°C, then 39°C. Emily called the ambulance, but the doctor said they could manage at home with fever reducers. By morning it spiked to 40°C.
«James, get up!» Emily shouted, shaking him. «Ethel is in terrible shape!»
«What time is it?» James squinted open his eyes.
«Seven. Ive been up all night with her. We need to go to the hospital!»
«Is it that early? Maybe we wait till evening? Ive got an important shift tonight»
Emily stared at him as if he were a stranger.
«Your daughter is burning up, and youre thinking about a shift?»
«Shes not dying! Kids get sick all the time.»
Emily called a taxi herself.
In the emergency department, doctors immediately placed Ethel in isolation, suspecting a severe infection that required a lumbar puncture.
«Wheres the father?» the consultant asked. «We need consent from both parents for the procedure.»
«He works. Hell be here soon.»
Emily rang James all day, but his line was dead. At seven p.m. he finally answered.
«Em, Im at the depot, busy»
«James, Ethel has meningitis! We need your consent for the puncture now! The doctors are waiting!»
«What? A puncture? I dont understand»
«Come! Right now!»
«I cant, my shift runs till eleven. After that Ill sort something with the lads»
Emily hung up, the line going dead.
Only a mother could sign the consent. The puncture was done under general anaesthetic; Ethel looked a wisp of a thing on the massive operating table.
«The results will be ready tomorrow,» the doctor said. «If its meningitis, treatment will be longabout a month and a half in hospital.»
Emily stayed the night in the ward. Ethel lay under an IV, pale and still, her chest rising only faintly.
James appeared the next day for lunch, looking gaunt and worn.
«So hows she?» he asked, hesitant to step fully into the room.
«Bad,» Emily replied curtly. «The lab results arent back yet.»
«What did they do to her? The whats her name?»
«Lumbar puncture. They took spinal fluid for testing.»
James went ashen.
«Did it hurt her?»
«She was under anaesthetic. She felt nothing.»
He walked to the bedside and froze. Ethel slept, a tiny hand draped over the blanket, a catheter glued to her wrist.
«Shes so small,» James muttered. «I never imagined»
Emily said nothing.
The tests came back clearno meningitis, just a nasty viral infection with complications. She could be treated at home under a doctors watch.
«Lucky,» the consultant said. «A day or twos delay could have been disastrous.»
The drive home was silent. Only when they pulled into the driveway did James ask in a low voice, «Am I really that bad? As a father»
Emily adjusted the sleeping child and looked at him. «What do you think?»
«I thought there was plenty of time. That she was too little to understand anything. Then I saw her there, tubes and all realized I could lose her. And losing feels real.»
«James, she needs a fathernot a provider, not the one who brings home the money. A father who knows her name, who can tell you her favourite toys.»
«What are they?» he whispered.
«A rubber hedgehog and a jingling rattle. When you come home, she crawls to the door, waiting for you to pick her up.»
James lowered his head. «I never knew»
«Now you do.»
At home Ethel stirred, a thin, mournful cry escaping her. James instinctively reached for her, then stopped.
«May I?» he asked Emily.
«Shes your daughter.»
He lifted her carefully. The little girl sniffed and fell silent, studying his face with solemn, large eyes.
«Hello, little one,» James whispered. «Im sorry I wasnt there when you were scared.»
Ethel pressed her tiny hand against his cheek, a tremor of tears in his throat.
«Tat,» she said clearly, her first word.
James stared at Emily, eyes wide.
«She she said»
«Shes been trying for a week,» Emily smiled. «Just when youre not home. Probably waiting for the right moment.»
That night, when Ethel fell asleep cradled in Jamess arms, he gently placed her back in the cot. She didnt wake, but clenched his finger tighter in her sleep.
«She wont let go,» James murmured.
«Shes afraid youll disappear again,» Emily explained.
He lingered by the cot for half an hour, unwilling to release his hold.
«Tomorrow Ill take a day off,» he announced. «And the day after that too. I want to get to know my daughter.»
«What about work? The extra shifts?»
«Well find another way to earn. Or live more modestly. The point is not to miss how she grows.»
Emily moved to hug him. «Better late than never.»
«Id never forgive myself if something happened and I didnt even know her favourite toys,» James said quietly, eyes never leaving Ethels sleeping face. «Or that she could call me dad.»
A week later, fully recovered, the three of them went to the park. Ethel perched on Jamess shoulders, laughing, snatching at autumn leaves.
«Look at those golden maples, Ethel!» James pointed out. «And theres a squirrel!»
Emily walked beside them, thinking how sometimes you have to nearly lose the most precious thing to realise its worth.
Margaret waited at home with a displeased look. «James, Doris mentioned her grandson is already playing football. And yours only with dolls.»
«My daughter is the best in the world,» James replied calmly, setting Ethel down and handing her the rubber hedgehog. «And dolls are wonderful.»
«The family line will break»
«It wont. It will continue, just in a different shape.»
Margaret tried to protest, but Ethel crawled up to her and clutched her hands.
«Grandma!» she shouted, beaming.
Margaret, bewildered, took the little girl in her arms. «She shes talking!»
«Our Ethel is very clever,» James said proudly. «Right, love?»
«Dad!» Ethel exclaimed, clapping her hands.
Emily watched the happy tableau, reflecting on how happiness often arrives through trials. The deepest love, she thought, is the one that doesnt burst forth instantly but matures slowly, forged by fear and loss.
That night, as James sang a lullaby, his voice hoarse yet gentle, Ethel stared with wide eyes.
«You never sang to her before,» Emily noted.
«I missed a lot,» James admitted. «Now I have a chance to make up for it.»
Ethel fell asleep, clutching his finger. James stayed in the darkness, listening to her breathing, realizing how much hed almost missed by not pausing in time.
She slept, smiling in her dreams, certain that her father would never leave again.
