“It was her first word”
“Another baby girl? Are you pulling my leg?” Eleanor Mayhew slammed the ultrasound printout onto the kitchen table. “Four generations of men in my family have been on the railway, and now you bring what?”
“Poppy,” Amelia answered softly, resting a hand on her round belly. “We’ll call her Poppy.”
“Poppy” Eleanor elongated. “Well, at least the name’s decent. But what’s the point of her? Who’s going to need a Poppy?”
Max Turner stayed glued to his phone. When Amelia asked his opinion, he just shrugged. “Whatever comes, comes. Maybe next time it’ll be a boy.”
A knot tightened inside Amelia. Next time? Was this little one just a rehearsal?
Poppy arrived in Januarytiny, with huge eyes and a tuft of dark hair. Max showed up only for the discharge, bearing a bunch of carnations and a sack of tiny clothes.
“Beautiful,” he said, peering cautiously into the pram. “She looks like you.”
“And that nose of yours,” Amelia laughed. “And that stubborn chin.”
“Enough,” Max waved it off. “All kids look the same at that age.”
Eleanor met them at the front door with a sour expression. “Neighbour Valerie asked if I had a grandson or a granddaughter. I felt a bit embarrassed to answer,” she muttered. “At my age I’m still babysitting dolls”
Amelia retreated to the nursery and quietly wept, pulling the baby close to her chest.
Max’s hours grew longer. He took extra shifts on nearby tracks, picking up overtime. He kept saying the family was getting expensive, especially with a child. He came home late, exhausted and silent.
“Shes waiting for you,” Amelia would say as Max passed the nursery without looking in. “Poppy always perks up when she hears your footsteps.”
“Im knackered, love. Early shift tomorrow.”
“But you havent even said hello to her”
“Shes tiny, she wont notice.”
Poppy, however, did notice. Amelia saw her little head turn towards the door each time Maxs boots clacked on the floor, and then stare into the void as the steps faded away.
At eight months Poppy fell ill. First her temperature hit 38°C, then 39°C. Amelia called an ambulance, but the doctor advised trying ibuprofen at home. By morning the fever surged to 40°C.
“Max, get up!” Amelia shouted, shaking him. “Poppys really bad!”
“What time is it?” Max squinted. “Seven. Ive been up all night with her. We need to get to the hospital!”
“Is it that early? Could we wait until the evening? I have a crucial shift”
Amelia stared at him as if he were a stranger. “Your daughters burning up, and youre thinking about a shift?” “Shes not dying! Kids get sick all the time.”
She booked a taxi herself.
At the hospital the staff whisked Poppy into the infection ward, suspecting a serious inflammation that required a spinal tap.
“Wheres the father?” the head nurse asked. “We need both parents consent.”
“He works. Hell be here soon.”
All day Amelia phoned Max, but his line was dead. At 7p.m. he finally answered.
“Amelia, Im at the depot”
“Max, Poppy has meningitis! We need your consent for the tap! The doctors are waiting!”
“What? A tap? I dont understand”
“Come now!”
“I cant, Im on a shift until eleven. Ill sort it with the lads later”
Amelia ended the call, hanging up the receiver.
In the end, the mothers signature was enough. The tap was performed under general anaesthesia. Poppy looked like a speck on a huge operating table.
“Results tomorrow,” the doctor said. “If its meningitis, treatment will be longabout a month and a half in hospital.”
Amelia stayed overnight. Poppy lay under an IV, pale and motionless, her chest barely rising.
Max appeared the next day for lunch, looking like hed been dragged through a windstorm.
“Hows it going?” he asked, hesitating at the doorway.
“Bad,” Amelia replied shortly. “The lab results arent back yet.”
“What did they do to her? This whats her name again”
“Spinal tap. They took fluid from her spine.”
Max went as white as a sheet.
“Did it hurt?” he asked.
“She was under anaesthetic, didnt feel a thing.”
He walked to the bedside and froze. Poppy slept, a tiny hand curled over the blanket, a catheter glued to her wrist.
“Shes so small,” Max muttered. “I never imagined”
Amelia said nothing.
The lab later confirmed there was no meningitisjust a nasty viral infection with complications. She could be treated at home under a doctors watch.
“Lucky you,” the head nurse said. “A day or two more delay and it could’ve been worse.”
On the drive home Max was silent. Only when they pulled up to the house did he whisper, “Am I really that awful? As a father?”
Amelia adjusted the sleeping Poppy and looked at him. “What do you think?”
“I thought there was plenty of time. That she was too little to understand anything. Then I saw her there, tubes and all realised I could actually lose her. And that losing something is a proper thing to lose.”
“Max, she needs a father, not just a breadwinner. A dad who knows her name, her favourite toys.”
“What toys?” he asked quietly.
“A rubber hedgehog and a jingly bell. When you get home she always scampers to the door, hoping youll pick her up.”
Max lowered his head. “I didnt know”
“Now you do.”
At home Poppy awoke and let out a soft, plaintive wail. Max instinctively reached for her but paused.
“May I?” he asked Amelia.
“Shes your daughter.”
He lifted her carefully. The little girl hiccuped, then fell still, studying his face with big, earnest eyes.
“Hello, tiny one,” Max whispered. “Sorry I wasnt there when you were scared.”
Poppy tugged a hand to his cheek and brushed it with her cheek. A strange tightness clenched Maxs throat.
“Dad,” she said clearly.
It was her first word.
Max stared at Amelia, eyes wide as saucers. “She she said”
“Shes been trying for a week,” Amelia smiled. “Just waits until youre not home to shout it out. Mustve been biding her time.”
That night, when Poppy slept cradled in Maxs arms, he gently placed her back in her cot. She didnt stir, only squeezed his finger tighter in her sleep.
“She doesnt want to let go,” Max remarked.
“Shes afraid youll disappear again,” Amelia explained.
He lingered by the crib half an hour longer, unwilling to free his finger.
“Im taking a day off tomorrow,” he told her. “And the day after that too. I want I want to get to know my daughter properly.”
“What about work? The extra shifts?”
“Well find another way to earn. Or live more modestly. The point is not to miss how she grows.”
Amelia wrapped her arms around him. “Better late than never.”
“Id never forgive myself if something happened and I didnt even know her favourite toy,” Max murmured, watching his sleeping girl. “Or that she can say dad.”
A week later, fully recovered, the three of them went to the park. Poppy perched on Maxs shoulders, giggling as she grabbed at the amber leaves.
“Look, Poppy, isnt that a beauty?” Max pointed at a golden maple. “And theres a squirrel!”
Amelia strolled beside them, thinking how sometimes you have to almost lose the most precious thing to realise its true worth.
Eleanor Mayhew met them at the front door with a disgruntled look. “Max, Valerie told me her grandson is already playing football. And yours only playing with dolls.”
“My daughter is the best in the world,” Max replied calmly, setting Poppy on the floor and handing her the rubber hedgehog. “And dolls are wonderful.”
“But the line will break” Eleanor muttered.
“It wont break. Itll just keep going, maybe a different tune, but itll keep going.”
Eleanor tried to protest, but Poppy waddled over, grabbing her hands.
“Grandma!” she exclaimed, smiling broadly.
The old lady clutched the little girl, bewildered. “She shes talking!”
“Our Poppys very clever,” Max said proudly. “Right, love?”
“Dad!” Poppy shouted, clapping her hands.
Amelia watched the scene and reflected that happiness often arrives through trials, and the greatest love is the one that matures slowly, forged by fear and pain.
That evening, as Max sang a lullaby, his voice a little hoarse, Poppy stared with wide eyes.
“You never sang to her before,” Amelia noted.
“I havent done much of anything before,” Max admitted. “But now Ive got time to make up for the lost years.”
Poppy drifted off, clutching Maxs finger. He stayed in the dark, listening to her breathing, thinking how easy it is to miss the important stuff if you never pause to look around.
And Poppy slept, smiling in her dreams, now absolutely sure her dad wasnt going anywhere.
This tale was sent in by one of our readers. Sometimes destiny needs more than a choiceit needs a proper test to rouse the brightest feelings in a person. Do you believe a person can truly change when they realise they could lose what they love most?
