When the Heart Knows Best
“I’m not your nanny, Emily. I work, I’m exhausted.”
“And I’m not? Can I just… get a haircut for once?”
This conversation played out in Emily and Thomas’s home more often than the doorbell ringing. He was a builder—self-made, successful, firm. She was the wife, the mother, the backbone. Quietly carrying the weight of the house, their child, herself. Her friends didn’t understand. Especially Laura, her closest since childhood.
“Emily, he’s not a partner—he’s a dictator. If he were mine, I’d be gone in a month!”
“He’s a good man,” Emily insisted, though the words felt flimsier each time.
Her parents weren’t around. Her mother had passed from cancer eight years ago; her father was a blur—gone by the time she was three. Thomas’s parents had retired to Spain, and despite being just over sixty, they weren’t rushing back, not even for their grandson.
When Emily was alone after her mother’s death, it was Thomas who stayed. Her friends were busy—one with flu, another with work. He just showed up, stayed, supported her. Back then, that was enough to make her believe.
Three years later, they married. Another three, and little Oliver arrived. That’s when she realized: at home, Thomas wasn’t much help. “I’m not a babysitter,” he’d say, and it became his mantra.
She tried to keep up with her old life—meet-ups, walks, girls’ nights. But a pram made people tense. Some didn’t want to hear about nappies; others pretended to rush off. Only Laura still came. Until one day, she asked:
“Can’t you even afford a nanny?”
Emily didn’t know how to reply. She probably could, but Thomas would’ve snapped, “Handle it yourself.” So she did. Out of habit. Love. Duty.
When she found out she was pregnant again, her stomach knotted with a strange, creeping fear. Not for herself—for the family. How would he cope? What if something happened to her?
“Brilliant! Oliver’s getting a sister!” Thomas cheered.
They enrolled Oliver in nursery—”so he doesn’t wear you out,” Thomas said. But the housework still fell on Emily: cooking, cleaning, laundry. She didn’t dare ask for help.
Her friends invited her out. Once, she went. But when she turned down wine, Rachel smirked:
“First with the pram, now pregnant again. What kind of life is this?”
Emily didn’t answer. Just clenched inside—yes, not like theirs. But hers. And she loved it.
The pregnancy was smooth. Until labour hit. In the dead of night, she went to the hospital.
“I’ll drop Ollie at nursery and come straight back,” Thomas promised.
But the birth stalled. Hour after hour, pain, fear. Doctors waited, avoiding a C-section. Then—emergency surgery.
A girl. Tiny, healthy. But Emily worsened. Fever spiked. Tests showed nothing. After three days, the baby was discharged—Thomas took her home. Emily stayed. Alone, burning up, panic gnawing. How were they? What if she died?
They called in Professor Barrington. He didn’t wait.
“CT scan. Now.”
Hidden infection. They put her in a coma. Before the darkness, she heard: “We’re removing the uterus. It’s the only way.”
Then—nothing.
She woke to a nurse, an IV. A weak smile. Alive.
“Your husband came. With the pram. Everything’s fine—don’t worry.”
“He can’t even boil an egg…” Emily whispered.
“Already done. Made formula. Takes Ollie to nursery. Holding up. Honestly.”
Tears welled. He was holding up.
Ten days later, she was home. The house was tidy. The baby—fed. Oliver—at nursery. Thomas—there. Fresh nappies. Clean dishes. She stared at him like he was a miracle.
“Who’ll change the dressing?”
“Me. Any objections?”
“You?”
“Me.”
And every night, it was him who tended to little Grace. No complaints, no asking. Just doing.
“How’d you manage?”
“Surprised?”
“Honestly? Yes. But I always knew you were good.”
“I’m no hero, Em. I’m your husband. Just a normal one.”
Two months later, on Emily’s birthday, the doorbell rang. She answered.
“Surprise!” whispered Margaret, bustling in with bags and hugs. Behind her—Edward, tired but smiling.
Emily wanted to ask where they’d been when everything was falling apart, when she nearly died—but her chest tightened. They were part of this world too. The one where she had Thomas.
“Sweetheart, don’t be cross we didn’t fly sooner. But Tom didn’t let you down, did he?”
“No. He didn’t. And he never would. Because he’s the best I’ve got.”
