And the fragile walls of hope came crashing down around her, snuffing out the ray. Both effacement – shortening and thinning of the cervix – and dilatation were required for the baby to be delivered. Which meant…
‘So, it’s definitely preterm labour?’ Valentino asked, putting voice to what Peyton couldn’t.
Erica nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.’
Peyton swallowed down on the hot rise of bile rising in her throat. It was happening all over again. She was going to give birth to Valentino’s baby soon. Too soon. A hundred memories of Daisy and McKenzie floated before her. And her son was going to be even earlier.
A whole four weeks of crucial development time.
‘So what’s the plan?’ he demanded, all business.
‘Oral nifedipine regime to relax the uterus and hopefully stop the contractions, even if it’s only for a few days to give us time to administer some steroids to mature the baby’s lungs.’
Valentino nodded. ‘And then?’
‘Hospital for a few days, monitoring blood pressure and regular ultrasounds to check on the cervix.’
He nodded again. ‘And then?’
‘If we can stop the contractions, home on twice-daily tablets and lots of bed rest. If she makes it to thirty-six weeks we take her off the medication and let nature take its course.’
Peyton appreciated Valentino’s methodical medical mind prioritising and sorting because she was taking none of it in. She was numb now. Numb all over. There were no more tears left as flashes of three years ago bombarded her brain.
The twins on life support, Daisy’s tiny white coffin, Arnie walking away…
She tried to stop them because she knew somewhere in the thick sticky morass of all that grief, she needed to reach a mental place where she could shut down her emotions and deal with thenext few days, maybe months if Valentino’s child was a fighter. Juggling McKenzie’s needs on top of it and watching Valentino become ever more distant.
‘So, the worst-case scenario is that we buy a few days. The best case is we go to term?’
Erica nodded. ‘Spot on.’
‘You hear that, Peyton?’
Valentino’s voice invaded her thoughts and the mental place moved further out of reach. She looked at him but didn’t really see him as a sob caught in her throat. ‘Leave me alone,’ she whispered.
‘No!’
Peyton had started to recede again, but his insistent denial dragged her back. She frowned. ‘What?’
‘I saidno.’
Peyton shook her head. He truly didn’t understand how much of her had died last time. ‘Just do what needs to be done,’ she muttered.
He’d said he loved her, hadn’t he? Then he could do that for her.
She was only vaguely aware of Valentino looking at Erica and saying, ‘Do it.’
It was all action stations then. Peyton swallowed pills and lay passively as they put in an IV and gave her a steroid shot and took her blood pressure endlessly. She didn’t feel the belt of the CTG strapped to her abdomen or notice the contractions slowing and then stopping or Valentino’s bedside vigil when she was finally transferred to Maternity.
Inside her head she was in a warm dark place with her babies – McKenzie and Daisy and her little boy – and she was singing them a lullaby and, as she drifted to sleep, they were all happy.
Two hours after her transfer, Valentino lifted his forehead where it was pressed against Peyton’s mattress to find Erica striding into the room. She headed straight to the constant readout on the graph paper. ‘They’ve stopped,’ she murmured after a close inspection.
Valentino nodded, too exhausted from his flight, which seemed a million years ago now, and worry about Peyton’s mental state to truly appreciate the deep well of relief that his son was doing okay.
That they’d dodged a bullet.
Erica gave his shoulder a squeeze. ‘She’ll be all right,’ she murmured. ‘Peyton has been through a lot. It’s just her way of coping. She’ll be a different person when she wakes.’
