LITMIR.BIZ

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      Then the baby—

      Grace, Emma, her name is Grace.

      The baby gave a small cry and Emma’s breasts tightened painfully. Breasts that did not have a role to play in feeding this gorgeous infant.

      Abbie looked up, panic in her eyes. ‘What now?’

      ‘You feed her. Food, warmth, love.’ Under the blanket, Emma’s hands clenched against the urge to reach for the baby to place her on her breast. No surprise here. Her body didn’t understand it was no longer the mother, despite the repeated messages from her brain. All it heard were the calls from her heart.

      The midwife bustled into the room. ‘Did I hear Baby cry? She’ll be wanting to be fed.’ Her eyes flicked to Emma, and she gave an almost imperceptible lopsided nod as if to ask, How are you doing?

      Emma nodded back. Okay, she mouthed.

      But take them away so my breasts can settle down.

      ‘She’s making noises like she’s hungry,’ Abbie muttered, still gazing at the baby, only now with trepidation.

      ‘You’ll be fine, Abbie.’ The midwife had all the reassuring words and actions. The baby hadn’t latched on when first placed against her mother’s breast, but hopefully now she would. ‘We’ll go along to the nursery and I’ll start you learning to breastfeed. Emma needs to rest.’ She helped Abbie to her feet.

      ‘Right.’ Abbie held Grace as though afraid of dropping her as she moved out of the room. With her injured arm, it was a distinct possibility, so it was no wonder she held her daughter carefully.

      Emma’s eyes tracked her until she disappeared around the corner, a lump the size of Lake Wakatipu in her throat and her chest painfully tight. Abbie and Grace. Her friend and her daughter. Her daughter? Or Abbie’s? Definitely Abbie’s. But...

      No buts.

      Where’s Rosie?

      A fierce ache throbbed in her breasts and there was nothing she could do to appease it. Bizarre didn’t begin to describe the fact that Abbie was able to breastfeed her daughter. ‘The wonder of modern-day drugs.’ Emma carefully slid further down the bed. The irony being that she would need something to help with stopping her milk supply, or at least to dull the pain while nature ran its course. Uncomfortable days were ahead, then hopefully everything would settle down and she’d get back to life as she knew it—raising Rosie and working day shifts in the emergency department downstairs; saving for a deposit on a house and keeping her head below the radar when it came to men.

      ‘Mummy, where’s the baby? Can I hold it?’ Rosie raced into the room, staring all about. ‘I can’t see the baby.’ She leapt onto the bed and lifted the cover to peer underneath.

      Emma gasped at the sudden movement. ‘Easy. Mummy’s sore.’

      ‘Where is it?’

      ‘It’s a little girl and her name is Grace, darling. She’s gone to the nursery with Abbie,’ Emma explained and had to bite down on the chuckle brought on by her daughter’s disappointment.

      ‘But I want to hold her.’

      At least she wasn’t jealous. The midwife had warned that Rosie could initially be anti the baby, might see her as competition for her mother’s affections. But these were unusual circumstances.

      ‘Rosie, love, remember what I told you?’ Emma’s mother appeared in the doorway. ‘The baby will be tired and only Abbie can hold her just now. You’ll get a turn soon.’

      Really? Would Rosie go along with having to wait? Emma raised an eyebrow at her mother. They were good at talking like this around a certain little madam.

      A nod. A frown. An eloquent shrug. Then in real speak, ‘I’ve been fobbing off demands to come see you since I picked her up. Daniel got tied up with a client and couldn’t make it,’ she explained. ‘When I received your text we were already pulling into the car park, the word “no” having long gone out the window. She was far more interested in the baby than what happened at school.’

      ‘That’s saying something.’ Emma laughed. Rosie believed school had been created just for her.

      ‘Where’s the nursy?’ Rosie bounced up and down on the bed.

      ‘Nursery,’ Emma corrected automatically as she tensed against the sharp pain brought on by the bed turning into Rosie’s trampoline. ‘Can you sit still, love?’

      ‘What’s the nursy?’ The bounces reduced in severity but didn’t stop.

      ‘Nursery. It’s where the babies sleep while they’re in the hospital.’ In this case anyway. Emma reached for her girl. ‘Got a hug for Mummy?’

      Little arms wound tightly around her neck. ‘A big, big, big one, Mummy.’ And a sloppy kiss apparently.

      Not to mention the elbow in her belly. Carefully dislodging Rosie’s arm, she kissed her daughter’s forehead. ‘Thank you, darling.’

      ‘Do you like my hug, Mummy? It’s special for you.’

      Tears sprang into Emma’s eyes, and she tightened her hold on her daughter. Pressing her face into the abundant dark curls, she sniffed and croaked, ‘It’s the best hug ever.’ It really, really was, and she might need plenty of them over the coming days.

      ‘How are you, sweetheart?’ Her mum kissed her gently on the other cheek and passed over a handful of tissues.

      ‘I’m good. About everything. Though I feel like a freight truck’s driven through me.’

      There was doubt in those knowledgeable eyes that she’d known all her life. Not even shock tactics had diverted her mum from her real mission. ‘When do you see the psychologist?’

      Give me strength.

      That was the last person she wanted to talk to, but there’d be no avoiding that particular conversation. It was part of the surrogacy deal she’d signed that she talk to everyone this side of the Crown Ranges about her feelings. If the shrink lady didn’t come looking for her then her mother would be hauling her to the counsellor’s rooms herself.

      ‘In a couple of days, unless I need her sooner. Honestly, Mum, I’m fine. When Grace cried, I felt a tug on the heartstrings, but she has always been Abbie’s baby and nothing’s changed.’

      Nothing I can’t handle. I hope.

      Hell, what if she couldn’t manage, was crippled with longing for the baby that wasn’t hers?

      Her mum cut through the sudden pain in her head. ‘If you’re sure.’

      ‘I am,’ she answered more forcefully than she intended. Pushing the demons back into their box? ‘At the moment I’m more in need of sleep.’

      Her mother smiled her special mum smile and gently pushed the hair away from Emma’s forehead. ‘I’m proud of you. I don’t think I could’ve done what you have.’

      More tears. ‘Thanks, Mum. You got a hug for me too?’ Why did she need so many?

      Rosie squirmed in close, pushing her way under Emma’s right arm. ‘Me, too, Mummy. I love hugs, don’t I?’

      ‘This a hug fest?’ The booming question came from across the room.

      Emma’s eyes flew open. Nixon stood at the entrance, looking uncertain of his welcome. ‘Hey. You want to join in?’

      ‘Me? I don’t think so. There’s a crowd already.’

      ‘Chicken.’ The challenge slipped out with no input from her brain. No problem, he’d refuse. He’d asked her out about six months ago. With every other available female, and some not so available, swooning at his feet, she knew she’d shocked him by saying no. She wanted nothing more to do with dating men, or so she’d told herself over and over since that day, trying not to wonder

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