Free Miracle In March by Juliet Madison

isn’t best suited to our needs anymore.’
    â€˜To my needs,’ he corrected.
    She was right. The two-storey house wasn’t the most suitable for a wheelchair, her dad having to live downstairs, much smaller than the upstairs, which had been designed to maximise the view.
    â€˜Still, there’s no rush to sell, right? Why not see it through for a bit longer?’
    â€˜Don, my decision is made. Besides, I’ll have more time to spend with Emma, and being retired will be good for us.’ She took a sip from her glass.
    â€˜Emma needs to live her own life, Barb. And it’s not like she’ll be able to give us any grandchildren to keep you occupied.’
    Barbara’s spoon clanged against the bowl as she placed it down. Emma felt a dull thud in her chest and her jaw clenched.
    â€˜Don, that was uncalled for,’ Barbara said.
    â€˜Well it’s true. And you need to get over the fact that you’ll never be a grandmother, and Emma will never be a mother. It’s a simple fact.’
    Emma covered her mouth, willing the hurt and sadness to stay within and not unravel her composure. Barbara’s eyes became red and glossy.
    She’d tried. She really had. But she couldn’t take anymore, not tonight. Emma’s chair skidded as she stood, and Barbara followed suit.
    â€˜Em, it’s okay, he didn’t mean it,’ her mother said.
    Emma shook her head and clamped her lips tight, turning to the kitchen counter to grab her bag.
    â€˜Wait, sweetheart, don’t go. We haven’t had dessert yet.’
    â€˜I can’t… I…’ Every word hurt to release, and if she tried to talk any further her words would morph into tears, and she didn’t want her dad to see her cry.
    â€˜C’mon, love. Don’t miss dessert, it’s the best part of a meal,’ he said.
    Emma had always considered good conversation the best part of a meal, but tonight, it was sadly lacking.
    â€˜Thanks for dinner,’ she said curtly. ‘Goodnight, Mum. Dad.’ She pecked her mother briefly on the cheek and retreated towards the door.
    â€˜Emma!’ Barbara called out, but Emma was already halfway down the ramp.
    She couldn’t get inside fast enough. A sour, salty taste worked its way up her throat. Her lips still clamped tight and her heart pinching with each beat, she flung her bag onto the couch and went into the bathroom, turning on the shower. As it heated up she stripped off her clothes and let them fall into a limp pile on the floor. Standing in front of the mirror she avoided her own stare. Instead, her eyes turned downward to her stomach. She ran her shaking hand tentatively across the dull, purple-grey scar, her heart aching like it once had, at the deep, dark emptiness within.
    * * *
    After drowning her tears with the hot stream of water for what felt like hours, Emma stepped out and dried off, and she knew what had to be done.
    She had to tell him.
    She changed into trackpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt, and tied her wet hair haphazardly into a bun. It was late, but there was no way she could sleep tonight, feeling like this. Her dad had hit a nerve, a raw nerve, and although he meant no harm, it had hurt her. He was right, though: it was a simple fact, and she did have to get used to it. But maybe she wouldn’t be able to if she didn’t tell the one person she’d ever really loved what had happened.
    Should she just turn up at his cabin? She didn’t want to disturb Jackson, who was probably sleeping. James might even be sleeping too, God knew he probably needed as much as he could get.
    She could call the landline of cabin number one, but again, it might wake Jackson.
    She could wait till tomorrow, but she’d have a restless night and be tired for work, and most importantly, she might lose her resolve and change her mind.
    She withdrew her phone from her bag and pressed ‘contacts’. She still had his number in