Aspen talked about work a lot, so Jones knew losing faith like this wasn’t just common in transition—the very last stage before the baby came—but a symptom of it. If Gloria wanted to give up, that meant she was almost there.
“You can. You can do it,” Jones said, trying to channel Aspen’s confidence, though he actually couldn’t imagine how Gloria would be able to do this at all.
Gloria roared her way through another contraction. Jones gripped her hand. Aspen always made birth sound so beautiful—she was passionate about giving women a voice in their own labor, about rewriting the cultural narrative around birth. But this just seemed…terrifying. His ex-wife had known she didn’t want children, so theidea of childbirth wasn’t something he’d ever dedicated much time to thinking about, and though they’d talked in the abstract about labor when Aspen discussed her job, he’d had no idea it would be likethis. It was absolutely wild. How onearthhad mankind kidded themselves that men were the strong ones?
Gloria let out another deep, guttural sound. Jones remembered something Aspen had once told him and tried suggesting Gloria should relax her jaw; she swore at him so colorfully he found himself genuinely slightly offended for a moment.
“That’s amazing,” Aspen was telling Gloria, who had begun to growl. “You’re doing it! Listen to your body. Your baby’s coming, Gloria, this is it.”
“Not here,” Gloria panted.
“Here,” Aspen said firmly. “Definitely here. I’ve got you, Gloria. I’m really good at this, OK? And I’m telling you, you’re almost there.”
The next few minutes were a primal blur, and some of the strangest moments of Jones’s life. Soon, Aspen was calling his name—perfectly calm, with a streak of blood on her cheek like war paint—and handing him his coat, now soaked and stained. Gloria’s baby was pressed to her mother’s chest, screaming and pink beneath the blood, and Gloria’s face was beatific. Jones himself felt fundamentally changed. As though he’d just seen some sort of religious miracle, perhaps, or a supernatural occurrence.
The ambulance was five minutes away, much to the Uber driver’s profound relief. Aspen had climbed in beside Gloria now and smoothed the woman’s hair back from her face as Gloria shifted her top, bringing the baby beneath it to keep her warm. Her little eyes were scrunched closed, her tiny hands balled in fists. Jones leaned on the car door, looking down at them all. It seemed almost impossible that this miniature creature would eventually grow into a person, with opinions and habits all her own.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Aspen whispered.
Jones nodded, awed. “That was amazing.”
“Right?” Aspen said, beaming at him.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her smile that way. Something fluttered inside him. He did love Aspen, hedid. Perhaps he simply couldn’t fall in love the way he had once—perhaps when your heart had been broken that badly, it was never quite the same again.
“Youwere amazing,” he told her. “We’re sacking off Shakespeare, right? Shall we go to the pub instead? You deserve a drink after that.”
Aspen’s smile dropped to something questioning. “It’s half past one. And I’m on shift later.”
“Right, right,” he said hurriedly. “Of course.”
His brain was like cotton wool. Gloria’s roars still seemed to be ringing in his ears, and his broken heart felt sorer than ever, for reasons he couldn’t quite name, but felt sure were to do with the baby. He looked down at the child’s tiny, bloodstained feet. She was the smallest person Jones had ever seen.
Jones pressed his hand to his chest. What was it he was feeling? Whatever it was, it was big, and he didn’t understand it at all.
Friday September 19th 2025
Guess what was in the pile of post Rog just brought me?
Should probably say at this point: still haven’t told Jones about Rog. Or fired Rog. I know it’s bad, but he’s not been on shift anyway, and Jones is just so happy at the mo! Canseethe change in him. Can’t bear to share this crappy news and watch his good mood disappear.
Am just going to handle it myself, I’ve decided. If I was here solo, this would be my task alone—no reason for me to drag Jones into it to help me. Will fire Rog today. Thought about doing it just now, on the doorstep, butreallydidn’t want to, to be honest, then saw the return address on the top parcel and could suddenly think of nothing else but opening that envelope.
Rog has brought me my sperm catalog.
It’s not called that, obviously. The very fancy fertility clinic calls it the sperm donor bank. But it’s a big glossy catalog full of men’s profiles, and any one of them could be the father of my child.
There are no photos, but even so, it reminds me of flicking through a dating app—except I don’t have to talk to these people. Or fall in love with them. Or let them break my heart. They can’t hurt me, they can’t let me down and they’ll never leave me.
And looking through this catalog brings me a step closer to the dream that I fought to hold back for so long. All the little elementsthat I’d catch myself thinking about when I wasn’t strong enough to shut the longing down. A first flicker of movement in my belly. A first cry. A first grip of a hand that I’ll hold through a first feed, and first steps, and first heartbreak—a hand I’ll hold as long as they need me to, whenever they need me.
Even writing it makes me cry, right here on these pages, but this time I’m not crying because I’m scared I’ll never have all those firsts. I’m crying with hope.
I can joke about sperm catalogs and make out like it’s all fun and easy but in truth this feels so monumental I can hardly bear it. My test results were good; I have the money. With help from one of these beautiful men who donated their sperm, I can probably have a baby. It won’t be easy—have enough friends who’ve gone through fertility treatments to know that, and I’ve seen single mums struggling through those early months with a newborn on their own, but…I also know without a shadow of a doubt that it’ll be worth it.
There are no words, really, for the way I want this. I’ve imagined each of those small steps so many thousands of times, always knowing that my chances diminish by the day unless I find the mythical man for me before it’s too late.
But here I am. Single, independent. And closer to my baby than I’ve ever been.
