Happy Mother's Day! - By Sharon Kendrick Page 0,101

before. On that occasion he could remember thinking that a man could only endure this sort of pain once. Yet here he was alive and feeling as if someone had pushed their hand into his chest and ripped out his heart.

‘That is bad?’

‘Well, any surgical intervention carries a risk.’

The breath left Francesco’s body in a long shuddering sigh. ‘You mean you can do something?’

‘Good Lord, yes! I’m sorry I wasn’t clear.’

Francesco suspected it was his mental acuity and not the doctor’s communication skills that were at fault.

‘Hopefully we will be able to perform the procedure via a laparoscope—no need, you understand, for an incision? That is the method of choice, but there are no guarantees. Depending on what we find, we might have to go in.

‘Your wife is very concerned about what the operation will mean for the baby, but I have made it quite plain to her that there is really no option.’

‘The baby is all right—alive?'Amazement swept over him. ‘I assumed when you said …’

‘No, your baby is doing very well, and there is no reason that it should not survive the surgery without taking any harm. Though again, and I emphasise this, there are no guarantees.’

‘But it has a fighting chance?’ If anything happened to the baby, Erin would never forgive him—he would never forgive himself!

‘Absolutely. Now would you like to see your wife?’

Francesco leapt to his feet. ‘I would.’

The doctor spoke into an intercom and a nurse appeared. ‘Would you take Mr Romanelli to his private room to see his wife?’

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE room was little more than a box, white and clinical. Francesco approached silently. Erin appeared to be sleeping, or possibly they had given her something to make her sleep? As he looked at her lying there she seemed so small and scarily fragile with an intravenous infusion attached to her arm.

Francesco stood at the bedside, his chest tight with the emotions that swelled and grew as he looked at her.

The cover was white, the gown she wore was white and her skin was if possible even whiter, her freckles standing out in stark relief across the bridge of her nose! The only colour was her glorious hair that peeked out beneath the ridiculous cap they had put on her head.

He closed his eyes. His silent prayer was interrupted by the sound of a slurred voice.

‘You look terrible.’

He opened his eyes and saw her looking up at him. ‘I thought you were asleep.’

She shook her head and made a weak flailing gesture, which he correctly interpreted as an effort to catch hold of his hand. Francesco caught her hand between the two of his.

‘They gave me something. I feel a bit drunk … do I sound a bit drunk?’

Francesco smiled into her glazed eyes. ‘A little,’ he admitted.

‘Thought so … Did they tell you?’

He nodded. ‘You’ll be fine,’ he promised.

‘And the baby will be fine?’ She looked at him with total trust that pierced him like a knife. He didn’t deserve her trust–if it hadn’t been for him there would have been no accident.

‘Absolutely,’ he said, hoping with all his heart that he was right.

Erin gave a sigh. ‘Good. Do you know that you have the most incredible … no, better than incredible mouth?’ she slurred. ‘Thank you.’ ‘I like your eyes, too.’

Before she had commented on any other parts of his anatomy two porters and a nurse arrived with a trolley.

They let him walk with them as far as the entrance to the anaesthetic room. She lay with her eyes closed, her small hand tightly curled over his.

He bent and kissed her lips before they wheeled her inside, resisting the urge he had to yell at the person who removed her hand from his.

As they closed the door the last thing he heard was a slurred, ‘And great legs, too!’

The first thing Erin became conscious of was voices, male and female; she couldn’t understand what they were saying.

‘Go away,’ she said crankily. ‘My head hurts. I’m thirsty.’ She lifted a hand to protect her eyes from the strong light shining in them. ‘Where am I?’

Someone spoke, Erin heard them say, ‘She’s back with us,’ and there was a click and light filtering through her fingers vanished.

The next thing that Erin was conscious of was fingers, cool on her forehead. They stilled for a moment. She tried to say don’t stop but her vocal chords did not respond. She struggled to open her eyes but gave up—her eyelids felt too heavy, and besides the soothing,