He looked tired. His shirt and trousers were wrinkled and she knew that he’d worked through the night. He was doing that more and more now as the business had just exploded.
With Caleb, she would never need to worry about another woman. He didn’t have enough hours in the day for her and Tristan, let alone another woman. For the last three years his work had been everything. They’d drifted further and further apart. The man she used to love cuddling up to barely came to bed any more. If he wasn’t working at his office in the city, he was working in his office in the house.
Her work had exploded too. She’d started as a naïve young student who’d lost her sister to ovarian cancer, setting up a website and trying to get information out to others. Then, a famous celebrity had been diagnosed with the same cancer—and credited the information she’d read on Addison’s site as being the catalyst for her challenging her doctor’s diagnosis. After that, things had just gone crazy.
The last ten years had been a whirlwind. She’d met Caleb at a charity auction and fallen head over heels in love. They’d got married, had Tristan and life had seemed perfect. She’d hired some people to help her with the charity and Caleb’s business had started to take off.
To the outside world they were the perfect couple—the perfect family. She couldn’t deny her husband was handsome; even with the deep furrows in his brow and tired lines around his eyes he could still make her heart flutter. Tristan, their son, was like a mini-me version of his father. They lived in one of the best areas in London.
But a few weeks ago she’d got a wake-up call. Something she hadn’t even had a chance to sit down and talk to her husband about.
That was when she’d realised just how far they’d slipped from one another. That was when she’d booked this holiday and told Caleb to arrange the time off. She had some major decisions to make. And they desperately needed some time away together as a family. She needed to be able to talk to her husband without fear of a phone ringing or an email pinging into his inbox to distract him.
He was still talking into his mobile. He’d barely even acknowledged her. Her stomach gave a little twist. She couldn’t keep living like this. This wasn’t living. It was existing.
This was the man who’d made her laugh, cry and scream with excitement when they’d first met. This was the man who’d spent every single night taking her in his arms and talking until the early hours of the morning. Then, he’d get up early and bring her breakfast in bed. When they’d got married he’d surprised her by flying in her friends from all over the world—all expenses covered. When she’d shown him the pregnancy test one morning he’d whooped with joy and by the time she’d got home after work the house had been filled with pink and blue helium balloons.
A million special memories of a relationship that seemed to have died.
A few weeks ago she’d tried to arrange something special. Lara had watched Tristan and she’d spent hours preparing Caleb’s favourite meal, setting the table and lighting candles on their rarely used dining table. She’d changed into a dark pink dress that he’d bought her a few years earlier and sat and waited for him to appear. And waited...and waited...and waited.
The silver dome covering the second pregnancy test had never been lifted.
The candles had finally burned down and gone out. The dinner had been ruined and her dress tossed back into the wardrobe. He hadn’t got in until just after two a.m.—that was when she’d finally felt the sag of the bed as he’d sat down.
She’d never mentioned a thing to him. A tiny little part of her was worried. They’d disagreed a year earlier about expanding their family. She’d been keen—but Caleb hadn’t.
She’d been hoping and praying that he’d be delighted they were unexpectedly pregnant—just as he’d been the last time. And that tiny little seed of doubt had allowed itself to take root and grow over the last few weeks because it just felt as if he was slipping further and further away from her.
The phone rang and she picked it up. Caleb was still talking on his mobile—still not even looking at her.
‘Hello, can I speak to Addison Connor please?’
She vaguely recognised the voice. ‘This is Mrs Connor.’
‘Ah, Addison. It’s Dr Mackay.’
It was like a cool breeze dancing over her skin. Her obstetrician. She’d seen him last week to have her pregnancy confirmed and her first scan and tests.
Her eyes went automatically to Caleb. She was conscious he would be able to hear her words but he was far too engrossed in his own phone call to notice her.
‘What can I do for you?’
The doctor hesitated. ‘I wonder if you would be able to come along to the clinic later today, or tomorrow.’
The cool breeze turned into an arctic chill. ‘Why?’
‘We need to have a chat.’
‘I’m leaving in an hour’s time. I’ll be out of the country for a month. I can’t come to the clinic. If you need to discuss something with me then do it now.’
She was being curt. But she couldn’t help it. This didn’t sound like good news. Everything had seemed fine the other day. Her ultrasound had appeared fine and her pregnancy had seemed to be progressing as normal.
She heard him draw in a deep breath. ‘This isn’t ideal. I’d prefer to do this face to face.’
‘I’m sorry, that just isn’t possible. What do you need to tell me?’
He gave a sigh. ‘We need to talk about your test results from your NT test.’
She straightened up. ‘The measurement at the back of neck? I saw that being done. The...’ She glanced towards Caleb. She’d almost said sonographer. But he’d turned his back and was facing into their front room. ‘The technician never said there was a problem.’ She paid attention. She could remember the sonographer taking a few minutes to take the tiny measurement needed.
‘I realise that. But you’ll know that we calculate risk based on a number of things. We use the nuchal translucency measurement, along with the blood test and mother’s age, to calculate risk. Our tests at this stage show you could be at higher risk of having a baby affected by Down’s syndrome.’
Her heart skipped a beat. ‘How high?’
All other noise just faded into the background. The only thing she could focus on right now was what the doctor was saying.
He spoke clearly. ‘The screening test gives us a range. We would normally expect the measurement of a nuchal translucency test to be under three point five millimetres. Yours was slightly above that at three point seven. A woman of thirty would normally have a risk of around one in a thousand. Along with your age and your blood test results it means that your risk of having a baby affected by Down’s syndrome is around one in one hundred and forty.’
There was a roaring sound in her ears. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Everything had looked fine. She’d had this test before when she was pregnant with Tristan. No one had phoned her then. She’d just received a letter in the post a week later saying she was low risk.
‘Mrs Connor?’
‘I thought you were more at risk if you were in your forties. I’ve just turned thirty.’ Her brain was trying to make sense of what she’d just been told.
‘Age can be a factor, but that’s not always the case. If you’d like we can consider some other tests. You’ve just passed the first trimester of pregnancy so we’re too late for a CVS test.’
She had no idea what he was talking about.
‘But