Serendipity

Cradling my newborn in my arms, I can’t ignore the striking resemblance to his father. Jax.

Why Jax? I think bitterly, heart aching. Everything had been going so well —perfect, even.

Just the thought of last night makes my stomach twist, and my eyes drop to the diamond ring now resting on my finger.

It should be a symbol of love, of hope.

Instead, it’s a brand-new reminder of just how far things have fallen apart.

Macaulay lets out a soft cry, his tiny face scrunching up, fists bawled like he’s ready to take on the world — just like his father. The sound breaks something in me.

I shift instinctively, trying to soothe him, whispering soft nonsense against his downy hair, but it doesn’t take long to realise what he’s really searching for. He’s rooting.

He’s hungry.

I cradle him closer, gently rotating his warm, fragile body until his mouth finds my nipple. He latches on without hesitation, greedy and determined.

And as he suckles, drawing his fill with soft, rhythmic pulls, I stare down at him, blinking against the sting rising in my eyes. The weight of it all settles on me like wet concrete.

Jax is gone.

Permanently.

No one’s coming through the door with that signature smirk. No strong arms to take over when my body aches. No whispered promises that everything will be okay.

It’s just the two of us now.

Me... and this perfect little piece of him.

This makes my mind drift — unwillingly — to the others. Our family.

The thought alone drags another silent sob from somewhere deep in my chest.

How? Why? Jax.

The memory hits me like a punch: the look on T’s face, white with disbelief; the fear swimming in Levi’s eyes, so unlike him; the raw desperation in Chris’s voice as he shouted into the silence, hoping it wasn’t too late.

All of it slams into me with a force that steals my breath.

A single tear slips from the corner of my eye, trailing silently down my cheek — and lands on Macaulay’s.

He doesn’t flinch. Just keeps feeding, so calm, so unaware that the world he’s entered is already cracked.

I brush the tear from his skin gently, as if making a promise.

I’ll protect him. I’ll carry the weight. Even if it breaks me.

I wipe the tear from his cheek quickly, gently — like I can undo the weight it carries.

“I’m sorry, bud,” I whisper, my voice catching in my throat. “I promise I’m happy. So happy you’re here.”

I pause, breathing him in — the soft baby smell, the warmth of his tiny body against mine, the way he fits so perfectly in my arms.

“It’s just... a lot,” I continue, my voice barely audible. “Daddy can’t be here too. And I’m going to miss him so much.”

My chest tightens, but I keep going.

“But I know you’re gonna help me through this. And in return, I swear — I’ll be the best I can be. For you.”

I press a kiss to his head, holding him just that little bit tighter.

“Just give me today, baby boy,” I whisper. “Just today to feel it all.”

A shaky breath. “Tomorrow... tomorrow is a new day.”

There’s a knock at the door before it cracks open — and in walks Toby. He stops dead in his tracks.

“Oh—shit,” he blurts, quickly spinning around and facing the wall like it’s about to save his life. “Sorry! You’re, uh... feeding.”

Which means, yep — he definitely caught a glimpse of the boob not currently in use.

“Toby,” I say dryly, “I’m pretty sure you saw way more of me than a tit earlier.”

He freezes. “What? Shit. Yes. I mean—no. I wasn’t looking. Not really.”

His voice cracks, and his face turns a shade of red I didn’t even know existed on him.

It’s oddly comforting — the awkwardness, the normality of it — like a brief moment of light cutting through all the heaviness.

“Tobs, it’s fine,” I say softly. “I’m just... so grateful you’re here. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He scoffs gently, still facing the wall. “Of course you could, troublemaker. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. You could get through anything. I believe in you.”

I swallow around the lump in my throat. “I hope so, Tobs... because this? This is going to be my hardest test yet.”

There’s a quiet moment between us before I add, “Anyway, you can turn around now. I’m all covered up.”

He hesitates for half a second, then turns, crossing the room to grab a chair. He pulls it up right beside the bed, settling in like he’s not going anywhere.

“T texted,” he says, pulling his phone from his hoodie pocket. “She’s on her way. Not sure who she’s coming with, but she won’t be long.”

I nod, comforted by the thought. Our family, still showing up. Even now.

I nod in acknowledgment, a familiar memory of T surging to the surface. “I hope she brings the baby bags... I literally have nothing here. Not even a nappy for little man.”

“Don’t stress, Em,” Toby says gently. “I’m sure she will. And if not, I’ll go get whatever you need.”

That simple offer—so steady, so Toby—brings fresh tears to my eyes. I blink them back quickly, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. I don’t think he realises just how much he’s done. How much he is doing.

Before I can completely fall apart again, there’s a knock on the door.

Claire walks in, a tight smile on her face and a warmth behind her eyes that I hadn’t realised I needed.

“How are you holding up, Mama?” she asks gently.

“I’m okay,” I manage, my voice thin but steady.

Her gaze drops to Macaulay. “Wow, Emma. Is he latched on?”

I nod, and when she asks if she can take a look, I adjust the sheet without hesitation.

She leans in, checking carefully, then nods with genuine approval. “Well done, Emma. He’s latched perfectly. That’s not always easy—especially without experience.”

A flicker of pride warms my chest. A small win. And right now, I’ll take every one I can get.

“He pretty much did it himself,” I admit with a small shrug, glancing down at Macaulay.

A flicker of pride stirs in my chest again.

Claire smiles. “You have a few visitors waiting outside. Am I okay to let them in?”

Apprehension crawls slowly up my spine — tight and creeping — but then I look down at Mac, peaceful and safe in my arms, and something settles in me. I’ve got this.

“Actually...” I say, voice calm but firm, “can you ask T to come in? If she’s here.”

Claire nods, understanding without needing explanation, and quietly leaves the room.

Toby stands from his chair, giving me a reassuring smile. “I’ll wait outside, give you some space.”

I nod silently, appreciating his instinct to step back just when I need it.

The room quiets again.

I take a deep breath, bracing for what’s next — for her— and look down at Macaulay. He’s fast asleep now, tiny chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm, still swaddled in Jax’s T-shirt like it’s his armour.

So small. So innocent. So his.

There’s a brief pause, and then T walks in, her arms full — my hospital bag in one hand, Macaulay’s in the other.

Thank God.

I look up at her face, and it hits me — the heartbreak written in every line, every flicker of her expression. I can only imagine it mirrors my own.

“Hey, chick,” she says softly, her voice cracking around the edges. “How are you? Is everything okay? Tobs has been keeping us updated but... we should’ve been here. I’m sorry. We’re here now.”

I shake my head gently. “No, T. You were exactly where you needed to be. And I’m okay — physically. And of course... Macaulay is absolutely perfect."

She looks down at the tiny bundle in my arms, her eyes filling.

“Macaulay Jaxson Toby Mayweather,” I say with a soft smile, “meet Aunty T.”

Jax and I had agreed on that long ago — T and Jess would always be aunties. I couldn’t be closer to them if we shared blood. Levi and Chris would be uncles. That’s just who we are — family, no matter what.

T lets out a sob as I gently offer Macaulay to her so I can get dressed and sort through his things. She cradles him to her chest like he’s the most fragile thing in the world, her face nuzzling into his soft hair.

“Oh, baby boy,” she whispers through her tears, “you look so much like your dad.”

“I know,” I say quietly, pulling a shirt over my head as I watch them. “I wish he was here to see. He’d be so proud.”

T looks up at me, eyes glassy but steady. She nods, a small, bittersweet smile tugging at her lips.

“He is proud,” she says. “And he always will be.”

T settles into the chair beside the bed, her voice low and full of love as she whispers to Macaulay, telling him all about his family — a brief run-down of the people who already adore him. I hear her soft descriptions: Uncle Levi, with his quiet strength; Uncle Chris, who always brings the chaos and the calm in equal measure; Auntie Jess, fierce and loyal; and of course, Toby — the protector. The rock.

I turn away, giving them their moment as I start pulling clothes from my bag.

But the second my fingers brush over the fabric I’d packed, my breath catches.

One of Jax’s t-shirts — worn soft and stretched in the collar — folded neatly beside my comfy PJ bottoms. My sexy big knickers, and the massive maternity pads that had once made me laugh but now just feel necessary. I reach for my maternity bra and breast pads, hands trembling as I move on autopilot.

I slip into the clothes quickly, Jax’s t-shirt swallowing my frame and clinging to me like it knows I need it. His scent hits me instantly — familiar, grounding, him. My eyes close for a moment as I breathe it in, deep and desperate.

If I could bottle it, I would.

Burn it into my skin. Etch it into my soul.

Because I never want to forget this smell — the smell of my safety, my protection.

My world.

My life.

He’s gone.

That truth hits harder than any contraction, any tear, any pain. Never again will I feel his arms around me. Never again will I be held in his love. His laughter, his steadiness, his unwavering support — all of it, just...gone.

The tears come fast, blurring my vision, blurring everything.

A sob escapes before I can swallow it down, and T looks over sharply, instinctively clutching Mac closer.

“Em?” she says gently.

But I can’t speak.

I just stand there, wrapped in the only piece of him I have left, and let the grief swallow me whole.

I watch as T taps something out quickly on her phone. Moments later, there’s a soft knock at the door.

Jess pokes her head in.

“Room for one more?”

There’s no smile on her face — just raw grief written in the lines around her eyes, in the tightness of her mouth. It mirrors mine.

I nod, unable to speak, and before I know it, I’m surrounded — enveloped by their arms, by their warmth, by the only kind of hug that truly matters right now.

T and Jess wrap themselves around me, holding me up without saying a word. No platitudes. No pretending. Just being with me in the heaviness.

Over Jess’s shoulder, I glance quickly at Mac. He’s snug in his incubator, peaceful and safe, oblivious to the grief flooding the room.

I let myself go in that moment — let my head rest on T’s shoulder, my arms tighten around Jess’s waist. For the first time since everything shattered, I allow myself to be held. To feel loved.

To be comforted.

Because these two? They loved him too.

They lost him too.

And right now, standing in the arms of the only people who understand the ache tearing through me — I finally let the tears fall freely.

Not alone. Not today.

I pull away from my girls, swiping at my damp cheeks, and give them a small, grateful smile. “I needed that. Thank you,” I say earnestly, my voice still thick with emotion. Their presence, their arms around me — it helped more than they’ll ever know. But now, reality tugs me back with quiet urgency.

“My poor little baby is currently naked and without a nappy,” I add with a watery chuckle, trying to lighten the moment as I reach for the baby bag.

I busy my hands, pulling out a fresh nappy, wipes, a tiny vest, and a Babygro. My movements are automatic, unpractised — but my mind is elsewhere, caught somewhere between the now and all the memories pressing on my chest.

It’s not until I’m fastening the poppers that I really see it. The soft grey sleepsuit, the one I’d packed without thinking. Across the front, stitched in gentle blue thread: Daddy’s Little Monkey.

My breath catches for a second — but not from pain. Not this time.

I stare at the words, a slow smile blooming through the ache. The image rises uninvited but welcome: Jax, grinning like a little boy himself, holding this exact outfit up in our bedroom, pride all over his face. He couldn’t stop going on about how Macaulay was going to look in it. He was so proud of himself.

It should break me. But it doesn’t.

Because deep down, I know this was always the outfit Jax wanted Macaulay to wear first. He planned it, imagined it, dreamed it — long before this heartbreak. And somehow, even now, he gets his wish. Even in the chaos. Even with the empty space he’s left behind... he’s still here. His love is still wrapping around us like the soft cotton of that sleepsuit.

So, I smile. Not through the pain, but alongside it. Because love like Jax’s doesn’t die — not really.

And Macaulay, dressed in his daddy’s chosen outfit, is proof of that.

I scoop Macaulay into my arms, holding him close for a long, breathless second, just listening to the soft puff of his breath against my neck. Then I turn back to the girls. My heart aches, but it’s full.

I press a kiss to his warm, perfect head and carefully offer him to Jess, who reaches for him with trembling arms and an expression that wrecks me all over again. She cradles him like something sacred, like she knows how rare and fragile this moment is.

“Em... he’s perfect,” she whispers, her voice cracking, her eyes red and swollen from crying. Her gaze never leaves his face. “He’s Jax’s double.”

That knocks the air out of me, but I manage a small smile. “I know,” I murmur, my voice thick. “I see him every time I look at him.”

Jess swallows hard, brushing a finger down Macaulay’s tiny cheek. “How... how was it? I’m so sorry we weren’t here.”

Her words hang between us, thick with guilt, but I shake my head, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“You didn’t miss it,” I say quietly. “You’re here now. And honestly... it was beautiful. Painful, chaotic, heart breaking — but beautiful. Jax was with me the whole way. He got me through it, even if he wasn’t—” My voice falters. “Even if he wasn’t in the room.”

Jess nods, tears slipping down her face, but she doesn’t speak. She doesn’t have to. We both know the truth of it: Jax may be gone, but he left everything that mattered behind in this little boy — in us.

I sit down gently, exhaling shakily. “He would’ve loved this, you know,” I whisper. “Seeing us all here. Seeing Macaulay being loved like this. Jax would’ve... he would’ve cried his eyes out.”

Jess lets out a broken laugh, cuddling Macaulay close. “He really would’ve, wouldn’t he? Sorry we weren't here”

I smile, wiping a tear from my cheek. “Big, soppy badass. He would’ve ruined his reputation.”

“I already told T — don’t apologise,” I say, my voice low but steady. “None of us saw that coming. I honestly don’t know what would’ve happened if Toby hadn’t just... picked me up. I wasn’t present, I wasn’t functioning. It didn’t feel real. One minute I was going to wake Jax and have a baby — and the next...”

I trail off, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“I was in shock,” I continue, quieter now. “And you guys were too. I get it. I don’t blame anyone, not even for a second. I’m just grateful Toby was there. He grounded me when I couldn’t breathe, when everything fell apart. He pulled me out of that black hole and back into the moment. I wasn’t even thinking about Macaulay. And for that... I’ll always owe him. I will never forget that he gave me the strength to bring our son into the world.”

T reaches across, taking my hand gently, her eyes glassy.

“I’m so glad he was there for you, chick,” she says, voice thick with emotion. “We were all frozen. Every one of us. And then Toby just moved — no hesitation, no fear. He didn’t think, he just did. We’ll be grateful to him for the rest of our lives.”

I nod slowly, the silence that follows feeling heavy but sacred. A shared grief, a shared miracle, all tangled up together.

A sudden ringtone cuts through the quiet, sharp against the soft hum of hospital machines. T jumps, fumbling to pull her phone from her pocket. She holds it up, squinting at the screen, then glances at us apologetically.

“I’ll just take this outside,” she whispers, already moving toward the door. She slips out silently, the door clicking shut behind her.

Jess shifts her weight on the chair, rocking slightly with Macaulay still in her arms. She glances down at him and then looks up at me.

“How was the actual birth, Em?” she asks gently.

I exhale slowly, sinking deeper into the bed. “Honestly, Jess... it’s all a bit of a blur. Everything happened so fast. I know it hurt—God, did it hurt—but somehow, now that he’s here... it doesn’t matter. He’s perfect. Worth every second.”

Jess’s eyes shine as she nods. “He’s definitely perfect. I’m so proud of you, Em. We all are.”

“Thank you,” I say softly, my voice catching. Gratitude floods my chest like warmth, chasing away some of the ache still clinging to me.

Just then, the door opens again and T walks back in. Her face is pale, lips tight, like she’s holding back something big. She doesn’t say anything at first, just closes the door quietly behind her.

At that exact moment, Mac stirs in Jess’s arms, letting out a soft whimper — like he senses the shift in the room.

I straighten up, my heart skipping. “T, what is it?”

She hesitates, eyes flicking from me to the baby, then to Jess.

And I know — whatever the call was, it’s not good.

Jess gently passes Macaulay back into my arms, her touch lingering a little longer than necessary — like she doesn’t quite want to let go. I cradle him close, breathing in his warm, milky scent, grounding myself in the weight of him as we both turn to T.

Her face says it all. Even before she speaks, I know. The tension in her jaw. The slight tremble in her hand as she runs it through her hair.

“That was Chris,” she says quietly. Her voice doesn’t shake, but her eyes do. “Jax has been picked up. The police want to speak to you, Em... but they’re saying — at the moment — it looks like a straightforward case. Overdose. Choked on his own vomit. They’ll do a post-mortem to confirm it, but... they’ll release his body after that.”

The words land like bricks, heavy and unmovable. I just sit there, letting it all settle in my chest. The finality of it. The cold, clinical language wrapped around the person I loved more than anything. The boy who kissed my belly and begged our son to be gentle with me. The man who promised me a forever he didn’t get to keep.

Jess wipes her eyes, her lip trembling. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to go out there again,” she whispers, a shiver coursing through her. “That outhouse... that room...”

I nod slowly, feeling the echo of her pain in my own bones. “I don’t think I can walk back into that house either. Not without him. Not after everything we shared there. That was our home. It doesn’t feel like mine anymore.”

T, ever the rock, steps forward, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Let’s not think about that right now,” she says, offering me a faint but warm smile. “The others are on their way. You’re not alone, Em. We’re all here.”

I nod, tightening my arms around Macaulay. His soft sounds and wriggling legs pull me back into the moment — this small, powerful life anchoring me to the earth.

I draw in a breath. The grief is still there, sharp and raw, but now it’s threaded with something else. Something steadier. The knowledge that soon, I’ll come face to face with the rest of my family — the ones who held us up before, and the ones who’ll carry us forward now.

And somehow, I know I’ll survive this.

Because I have to.

Because he gave me this boy.

And because, in some small way, Jax is still here — in Mac’s eyes, in his hands, in the rhythm of his tiny heartbeat pressed against mine.