Arrive

FIVE YEARS AGO

For forty-eight hours, Tess had been drifting in and out of moments — pain, silence, panic, morphine-laced calm — with a tiny boy curled up beside her who looked exactly like someone she'd never speak to again. Same mouth. Same frown. Same eyes, only innocent.

The hospital room still smelled like antiseptic and bad vending machine coffee, and the little cot beside her bed felt too formal, like a prop in a decision she hadn't fully made.

The others had come yesterday. Naomi with posh snacks and a card that said "holy shit" in gold foil. Emily pressing kisses to his hair like she couldn't believe he was real. JJ, who made every single person sanitise their hands at least three times before they were even allowed near the baby. Effy, mostly visited in silence. Katie, who didn't stop glaring at the midwife anytime she got too close.

Tess had watched them all take turns holding him — this fragile little thing that shouldn't have existed, but did.

The plastic tray still sat in front of her, half a plate of lukewarm mash and overboiled carrots gone mostly untouched. Tess had made a decent effort — a few forkfuls here and there — before giving up entirely. Her stomach couldn't decide if it was hungry or hollow, and either way, everything tasted like cardboard.

Her mum had left forty minutes ago for the visitors lounge, apparently it was an urgent work call. Tess hadn't stopped her. If anything, the idea of being alone — not just physically, but really alone — felt like a break.

Well. Not alone alone.

A soft grumble cut through the silence.

From the clear bassinet near the end of the bed, he stirred. A little stretch, a scrunch of his face. Then a sound — high-pitched, breathy, not quite a cry but the start of one.

Tess glanced over.

He wriggled again, more insistently this time. A small hand shot out, waving at nothing in particular. Then came another noise — louder this time, more urgent.

Tess sat still.

Her body wanted to stay put. Her heart... didn't.

She sighed, pushing the tray away and slowly swung her legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold under her feet, and her limbs still ached from everything — birth, worry, all of it — but she stood anyway.

She crossed the room slowly, like the space between them meant something. Like going from here to there was more than a few feet — like it was a choice. Maybe it was.

He was properly fussing now, little face red, eyes still scrunched shut.

Tess hesitated at the side of the bassinet, hand hovering for a second.

Then she reached down and picked him up.

God, he was small.

His whole body fit into the crook of her arm, his tiny fingers curling reflexively near her chest.

He didn't stop crying straight away, but his sounds softened, more like murmurs now. He tucked in a bit, nuzzled against the fabric of her hospital gown like he belonged there. Tess blinked, her throat suddenly tight.

"Hi," she whispered, her voice a little croaky. "It's just me."

She made her way back to the bed, slower this time, one arm cradled protectively around him. Once she was settled back against the pillows, she looked down at him again.

His eyes were shut, face still slightly scrunched. But peaceful now.

She studied him. Every feature. That soft dimple near his mouth, the fluttering lashes, the shape of his nose.

She let out a breath, barely a whisper. "You've really got his face, haven't you?"

He wriggled slightly, like he agreed.

"It's honestly a miracle you've even got my DNA," she murmured, brushing a fingertip over his cheek. "You look nothing like me... I guess you've still got time."

She smiled — just a little.

Tess ran her thumb gently along the edge of his blanket, watching the rise and fall of his chest. "I've been trying to name you," she murmured. "Tried a few in my head. Nothing's stuck."

She shifted slightly, careful not to jostle him. "Oliver?" she tested aloud, then made a face. "Nah. Sounds like a posh horse."

The baby made a little noise, something between a sigh and a squeak.

She smiled again. "Thought so."

She tried another. "Eli? Sam? Jamie?" Her voice faltered slightly on the last one. "...James?"

The room was quiet, but something in it felt different now. Softer.

Tess looked down at him again.

"I keep saying I'm not naming you," she said quietly. "Because once I do... that's it, isn't it? That's the end of the maybe."

His head shifted slightly against her chest, and her arms tightened instinctively.

"I didn't think I'd be able to do this," she admitted, more to herself than to him. "Didn't even know if I'd want to."

The baby made a soft clicking sound with his tongue, and she felt it — that strange flicker of warmth in her chest. Not full-blown love. Not yet. But something dangerously close.

She rested her chin lightly against his head, shutting her eyes for a moment. He smelled like detergent and milk and newness. Like a blank page.

"I think I'm in trouble," she whispered.

She stayed like that for a long time — still, quiet, holding him close like she'd done it every day of her life. And maybe, somehow, it already felt that way.

When her mum returned ten minutes later with a bag of food and tired eyes, she paused in the doorway.

Tess didn't even look up.

She just said softly, "I don't think I can give him away."

The rustle of a shopping bag stilled in the doorway.

Her mum's breath caught — not loud, but Tess heard it. Felt it.

For a moment, there was nothing. No footsteps, no reaction. Just the soft click of the door closing gently behind her.

Then her mum walked across the room, slower than usual. She didn't speak right away — just looked at the two of them: Tess curled up on the hospital bed, her body still clearly aching, her hair messy and eyes ringed with exhaustion... and the tiny bundle in her arms, nestled so close it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

"I figured," Anna said eventually, voice quieter than usual.

Tess blinked. "You did?"

Her mum nodded as she set the shopping bag on the cabinet. "You've been holding off. Trying to stay detached. But I know that look."

Tess didn't respond. She just adjusted the blanket around him slightly, eyes fixed on his tiny face.

Her mum leaned in a little, resting her elbows on her knees. "I don't blame you for thinking about adoption, Tess. Not for a second. You've had to carry so much. And Cook..." Her voice tightened.

"Mum," Tess interrupted gently.

Anna stopped. Nodded once.

Tess looked back down at the baby. "It's not about him. Not really. Or... not just him."

She shifted, pressing her lips together before saying, "I thought maybe if I let him go, I'd get to have my life back. Not just the old one. But a new one. One that wasn't ruined."

Her mum sat quietly, listening.

"But the second I picked him up... it was like—" Tess shook her head slightly. "He's not ruining anything. He's just... here. He exists. And he didn't ask for any of it."

Anna was quiet for a long beat. Then she said, "That's what being a mum is, you know."

Tess gave her a wary look.

Anna continued, softer now. "It's choosing them. Every day. Even when it hurts. Even when it's messy. Even when you don't have all the answers."

Tess looked down at the baby again. "I'm scared," she whispered.

Her mum reached over and placed a hand gently on her knee. "Good. You're supposed to be."

That made Tess snort. "Great. That's comforting."

Anna smiled faintly. "Welcome to the club."

They sat like that for a moment — not fixed, not healed, but aligned in something.

After a while, Tess said, "I still don't have a name."

"You will," her mum said, leaning back with a sigh. "He'll tell you who he is eventually. They always do."

Tess glanced down, eyes tracing the delicate outline of his cheek, the barely-there brows, the way his hand had curled tightly into her gown.

She wasn't sure about anything else. Not what life would look like. Not how she'd manage. Not even what would happen if Cook ever came back.

But this—this part? Right now?

She was starting to feel like maybe she could do it.

Maybe she already was.

-----

The knock came softly — hesitant, uneven. Too unsure to be a nurse. Too polite to be Katie.

Tess didn't look up. She figured it was someone checking the tea rounds again, or asking about the lunch tray she hadn't touched.

But then the door creaked open, and she heard a voice she hadn't expected in years.

"Hi, Tess."

Her entire body tensed.

Slowly, she turned.

Her dad stood in the doorway, clutching a takeaway coffee cup like it might explain his presence. The last time she saw him was a couple months ago and yet he looked older than she remembered — not in an obvious way, but in the slump of his shoulders, the deeper lines around his eyes. His hair was flat on one side like he'd slept funny and hadn't noticed, or hadn't cared.

She stared at him. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard," he said quietly, glancing at the bassinet, not quite meeting her eyes. "Your mum told me."

She said nothing, gaze already drifting back to the window. The glass was fogged slightly from the heater, the sky outside dull and pale.

"I wasn't sure if I should come," he added, stepping further inside. "Figured you'd probably throw this at my head." He lifted the coffee a little.

She didn't smile. Didn't even blink.

His eyes flicked to the bassinet by her bed. "He's...Tiny."

Tess's arms stayed folded tightly across her chest. "He's four days old."

"Right," he said, nodding awkwardly. "Yeah."

He hovered near the edge of the bed, like he wasn't sure if he was welcome — which, to be fair, he wasn't.

"What's his name?" he asked after a second.

"Haven't decided yet."

"Oh." A pause. "We didn't name you for a couple of weeks either. You were just 'the baby' until your mum came up with it. She wanted Fern, remember that?" He gave a dry little laugh. "Think it was the pain meds."

Tess didn't laugh.

Silence crawled between them again, heavy and close.

After a long minute, he shifted on his feet. "So... you're keeping it, then?"

She stared at the corner of the wall, jaw tight. "Yep."

He exhaled — not loudly, but enough to say everything else he wasn't. Doubt. Worry. That usual flavour of disappointment she'd known her whole life.

She stayed facing the window, jaw clenched.

"I'm not here to argue," he said finally. "I know you probably don't want me here."

"You're right."

That shut him up.

He scratched the back of his neck. "I just... thought maybe I could be around this time. If you wanted."

She turned her head slowly, eyes cold. "You didn't want me to keep him!"

He winced. "I didn't think you'd want to do this alone."

"I'm not alone."

It came out sharper than she intended, and maybe not even true. But she said it anyway.

He hesitated. "And Cook?"

Tess looked down at her hands, wanting nothing more than to prove her father wrong but having no way around it she said, "Gone."

That one word was enough. It didn't need unpacking.

Her dad gave a slow nod. "Right."

They sat in the silence that followed — him standing, her sitting, the baby breathing soft and steady in his cot beside them.

"I know I messed things up with you, Tess. I wasn't there. And when I was, I was useless. And yeah, sorry doesn't fix any of that."

She blinked hard, looking anywhere but at him.

He glanced toward the baby again, then back at her. "But I see how you're looking at him. And whatever you choose to do next... you're braver than I ever was."

Tess looked away quickly, swallowing hard. She didn't want him to see her break.

He hesitated, then placed the coffee cup gently on the bedside table. "It's black. Thought you'd need the caffeine."

She didn't say thank you.

He lingered for a second, then turned toward the door. One hand on the handle.

"I know I don't have a right to ask for anything. But... I'm around. If you ever want it."

He didn't wait for an answer.

The door clicked softly behind him.

Tess stayed completely still, heart thudding too loud for the quiet room.

She didn't cry. Didn't move.

But her hand drifted toward the bassinet, fingertips brushing the edge, then curling lightly around it.

She looked down at the baby, asleep and warm and unbothered by any of it.

He might've inherited his dad's face, but that didn't mean he had to inherit the rest of the baggage too.

Whatever happened next, he wouldn't have to wonder if he was wanted. She'd make sure of that. And if Cook came back? He'd have to prove it too.