“It was her first word”
Another girl? Are you joking! Eleanor Whitaker slammed the ultrasound printout on the kitchen table. Four generations of men in our family have worked on the railways! And what have you brought home?
A little one, Claire answered quietly, rubbing her swollen belly. Well call her Blythe.
Blythe the motherinlaw stretched the name out. At least its a proper name. But what good will she do? Who will she be for, your Blythe?
James stayed silent, eyes glued to his phone. When his wife asked what he thought, he simply shrugged.
Whatever comes, comes. Maybe the next will be a boy.
Claire felt a knot tighten inside her. The next? Was this infant just a rehearsal?
Blythe arrived in Januarytiny, with huge eyes and a tuft of dark hair. James only showed up for the discharge, bearing a bouquet of carnations and a bag of baby clothes.
Lovely, he said, peering cautiously into the pram. She looks like you.
And a nose like yours, Claire laughed. And that stubborn chin.
Enough, James waved his hand away. All babies look the same at that age.
Eleanor Whitaker greeted them at the front door with a sour expression.
The neighbour, Mrs. Valentine, asked whether I had a grandson or a granddaughter. It was mortifying to answer, she muttered. At my age Im still playing with dolls
Claire withdrew into the nursery and wept softly, pressing her daughter to her chest.
James began working longer hours, taking extra shifts on nearby lines. He kept saying the family was expensive to run, especially with a child. He came home late, exhausted and mute.
Shes waiting for you, Claire would say as he passed the playroom without looking in. Blythe always perks up when she hears your footsteps.
Im knackered, Claire. Ill be at work early tomorrow.
But you havent even said hello to her
Shes too small to understand.
Yet Blythe understood. Claire watched her turn her head toward the door the moment she heard her fathers steps, then stare into the empty hallway as the steps faded.
At eight months Blythe fell ill. Her temperature first rose to 38.5°C, then 39°C. Claire called an ambulance, but the doctor said they could try paracetamol at home. By morning the fever spiked to 40°C.
James, get up! Claire shouted, shaking him. Blythe is really badly ill!
What time is it? James forced his eyes open.
Seven. I havent slept a wink all night. We need to get her to hospital!
So early? Maybe we wait until evening? I have an important shift
Claire stared at him as if he were a stranger.
Your daughters burning with fever, and youre thinking about a shift?
Shes not dying! Kids get sick all the time.
Claire booked a taxi herself.
At the hospital Blythe was rushed to the infectious diseases ward. Doctors suspected a severe infection and needed a spinal tap.
Wheres the father? the senior registrar asked. We need consent from both parents.
Hes at work. Hell be here soon.
Claire called James all day; his phone was dead. At seven oclock that evening he finally answered.
Claire, Im at the depot
James, Blythe has meningitis! We need your consent for the tap now! The doctors are waiting!
What? A tap? I dont understand
Come immediately!
I cant, my shift ends at eleven. Ill sort it with the mates
Claire hung up without a word.
Consent was signed by the mother aloneher legal right. The tap was performed under general anaesthetic. Blythe looked minuscule on the large operating table.
Results will be ready tomorrow, the doctor said. If its meningitis, treatment will be longabout six weeks in hospital.
Claire stayed the night at the ward. Blythe lay beneath an IV, pale and still, her chest rising only faintly.
James appeared the next day for lunch, looking gaunt and trembling.
Hows she? he asked, hesitant to step fully into the bay.
Bad, Claire replied shortly. The lab results arent back yet.
What did they do to her? This whats her name
Spinal tap. They took fluid from her spine for testing.
James went white.
Did it hurt her?
She was under anaesthetic. She felt nothing.
He stood by the cot, frozen. Blythe slept, a tiny hand resting on the blanket, a catheter taped to her wrist.
Shes so small, James muttered. I never imagined
Claire said nothing.
The lab report came back negative for meningitisjust a nasty viral infection with complications. She could be treated at home under a doctors supervision.
Lucky you, the registrar noted. A day or twos delay could have been disastrous.
On the drive home James was silent. Only when they pulled up to the house did he whisper:
Am I really that bad a father?
Claire rearranged Blythes blanket and looked at James.
What do you think?
I always assumed there was plenty of time, that she was too little to understand anything. Then I saw her on that table, tubes everywhere I realised I could lose her. And that losing meant losing something irreplaceable.
James, she needs a dad, not just a provider. A dad who knows her favourite toy, who can name her favourite song.
Whats that? he asked softly.
A rubber hedgehog and a little jinglebell rattle. When you come home she waddles to the door, hoping youll pick her up.
James lowered his head.
I didnt know
Now you do.
At home Blythe awoke and began to crya thin, plaintive wail. James reached instinctively toward her but stopped.
May I? he asked Claire.
Shes your daughter.
He cradled Blythe gently. She sniffed, then fell quiet, studying his face with big, serious eyes.
Hello, little one, James whispered. Im sorry I wasnt there when you were scared.
Blythe reached up and brushed his cheek. A lump rose in Jamess throat.
Daddy, she said clearly.
It was her first word.
James stared at Claire, eyes wide.
She she spoke
Shes been trying for a week, Claire smiled. She only found the right moment when you werent home.
That night, when Blythe fell asleep in Jamess arms, he carefully laid her back in her cot. She didnt stir, but squeezed his finger tighter in her sleep.
She doesnt want to let go, James said, astonished.
Shes scared youll disappear again, Claire explained.
He sat by the cot for half an hour, unwilling to free his hand.
Ill take a day off tomorrow, he told her. And the next day too. I want to get to know my daughter.
What about work? More shifts?
Well find another way to earn. Or well live more modestly. The point is not to miss how she grows.
Claire hugged him.
Better late than never.
Id never forgive myself if something happened and I never even knew her favourite toy, James murmured, watching his sleeping daughter. Or that she could say daddy.
A week later, when Blythe was fully recovered, the three of them went to the park. She perched on Jamess shoulders, laughing, clutching fallen autumn leaves.
Look at that, Blythe! James pointed at the golden maples. And theres a squirrel!
Claire walked beside them, thinking how sometimes you have to nearly lose the most precious thing to realise its true worth.
Eleanor Whitaker met them at the doorway, her face still sour.
James, my neighbour Valentine told me her grandson already plays football. And yours only dolls.
My daughter is the best in the world, James replied calmly, placing Blythe on the floor and handing her the rubber hedgehog. And dolls are wonderful.
The family line will break
It wont. It will continue, just in a different shape.
Eleanor tried to protest, but Blythe crawled up to her, tugging at her hands.
Grandma! she shouted, smiling broadly.
The old lady took the little girl in her arms, bewildered.
She shes talking! Eleanor exclaimed.
Our Blythe is very clever, James said proudly. Right, love?
Daddy! Blythe cheered, clapping her hands.
Claire watched the scene, aware that happiness often arrives through trials, and that the deepest love is the kind that is forged slowly, through fear and loss.
That night, as James sang a lullaby, his voice rough and low, Blythe stared with wide eyes.
You never sang to her before, Claire noted.
I didnt do much before, James admitted. Now I have time to make up for lost moments.
Blythe fell asleep, clutching Jamess finger. He stayed there in the dark, listening to her breathing, thinking how much he would have missed if he hadnt stopped and looked back.
She smiled in her sleep, knowing her father would never go far again.
The story was sent in by a reader. Sometimes destiny does not demand a choice, but a hard test to awaken the brightest feelings in a person. And perhaps, when we truly realise what we could lose, we find the strength to change. The lesson is clear: a life lived only for work can easily forget the priceless moments that give it meaning; pause, look around, and cherish the ones who matter most.
