With not long to go until the Christmas period, Leah and I had gotten used to the idea that we wouldn't be bringing Teddy home in time for Christmas. We had watched as the Christmas decorations were put up around the hospital corridors, each day reminding us how close we had come to spending Christmas with our loved ones rather than in the hospital.

Those negative moments were overshadowed by something much more positive: him. We watched day by day as other parents began the long road that we were coming to the end of, trying to offer kind words where we could but knowing that no words were enough. This time last year, we never would've imagined that our journey would take this detour, but this time a few months ago, we never could have imagined that we'd be going home with him. I guess you could call it bittersweet.

On December 23, the doctor appeared alongside a nurse, and for a moment, our hearts stopped beating. The last time this had happened, we were told that there was a strong possibility that he wouldn't get better, and in that moment, we truly believed that we were about to be hit with another piece of bad news. As always, we sat side by side, knowing that whatever this was, we would deal with it together.

"Quick chat?" The doctor said, his facial expressions giving nothing away.
"Course."
"I want to start by asking how you both feel Teddy has progressed in the last few days."
"He's been feeding well; he's definitely getting better too." Leah said, stress lining her voice.
"And you, Sophie?"
"To us, he definitely seems like a normal baby now; he just wants food, sleep, and cuddles." I chuckled nervously.
"And how do you two feel you are coping with him?"

Huh?

"Good." We both said in unison, with a little defensiveness in our tones.
"If we weren't here, would you know what to do?"
"Yes." Again, we spoke in unison.
"Great. How do you feel about taking him home tomorrow?" The doctor finally smiled.

Butterflies.

"For real?" Leah asked.
"For real." The doctor repeated.
"That would be amazing."
"Yeah - really amazing." I added.
"We will provide you with everything you need, and of course we will still be just a call away. It is important that if he stops feeding or has any digestive issues, you notice anything with his breathing, or anything that just seems a bit off, you call us right away."
"Of course."
"We would expect that he will struggle to adapt. He may be a little unsettled for the first few days, but this has become his safe place, so to speak."
"Yeah. We understand."
"He may not sleep as well; he might be an hour out or so on feeding times; that should settle within a few days. If it doesn't, obviously call us."

"Yeah."
"We run a home midwifery visit programme; she will attend your home twice a week at first. I like to make parents aware of that upfront, as some think we are there a lot because we think they're doing something wrong."
"No, that's understandable."
"Any further questions?"
"Not right now, no." I smiled.
"No problem; we'll speak before you leave tomorrow, so if you think of anything, just let us know."
"Thank you."
"Thank you so much." Leah added.

Amanda POV

There had been many times in my life when I thought things didn't get much better than this, but that phone call was better than all of those moments combined. As Leah's name flashed on my phone that day, I had expected it to be another call checking in or that there was something that they needed me to bring to them.

"He's coming home, mum. He's coming home tomorrow."

The cracking of her voice let me know that she was as overwhelmed as I felt, but Sophie's voice in the background comforting her seemed to ground both of us.

This moment had been building for so long that, at times, it had been questionable whether it would ever come at all. In this moment, it was hard not to think back to the events of that night—the night all of this began.

Flashback:

It had been an ordinary day, a day filled with running around after everyone, something I felt a sense of satisfaction doing. I had called into the office just after 3 p.m., finding Sophie sitting at her desk signing paperwork. We made jokes about her little arms not reaching the desk once her baby bump had grown more and about Leah being able to sun it up while we were stuck in a rainy England.

I've never been one to go to sleep early, but that night I was absolutely exhausted and fell asleep just after 10 p.m.It was the sound of Jacob's footsteps rumbling up the stairs that woke me and alerted me to something being wrong as I scrambled to get out of bed.

"Mum! Mum, there's something wrong with Sophie - can you - can you talk to her?" Jacob said, shoving the phone in my direction.

Not again.

That's what I thought. I expected to hear her sobbing over something that had happened with Leah, thinking this would be another round of distance getting between the two. I had kind of expected that—expected that all the issues they had ironed out before would show themselves again with Sophie being tired and pregnant and Leah being conflicted and stressed.

"Sophie is everything -"
"There's something wrong with the baby, Amanda. There's something really wrong." Sophie winced down the phone.
"Listen, we're on our way, but you need to tell me exactly what's happening."

I motioned to Jacob that we were both going, not knowing exactly what we were going to have to deal with when we got there. As Jacob drove, I spoke to Sophie on the phone, gathering as much information as I could.

"I think my waters have broken. Why would that happen? Why would that happen so early?"

Sophie was erratic; I asked her multiple times if there was any blood, if she had fallen, and multiple other questions, but fear had completely consumed her, and that usual calm and cool nature that I was used to seeing from her had gone.

"How far away now?" She asked vulnerably.
"Not long, Sophie. Not long, pet." I reassured her.

I knew. The second we arrived, I knew.

Sophie was barely able to move; every so often, she would cry out in pain. During those moments of severe pain and in the moments in between, one thing stayed consistent: she just wanted Leah.

In the months that followed, multiple conversations took place away from the attention of the two of them. People were concerned, including myself; no one really knew if a marriage could survive this or not. But they did. They knew.

Days 27–32 were, in my opinion, the hardest of them all. After 27 days of loving Teddy from outside Sophie's womb, the news that he had developed an infection came as a fresh blow for the two of them. It was Sophie who called with the news; her voice was tired and weak, almost like she didn't have the energy to hope anymore. When I reassured her that he would pull through, she simply responded with a single sentence that showed me how numb she had become.

"I just want him to not be suffering anymore."

Of course, Sophie didn't mean that she wanted him to die; she simply didn't want his life to be like this anymore. When I arrived at the hospital later that day, Sophie and Leah had clearly taken the stress out on one another. Sophie was sat by the window, gazing out at the view that she made look interesting despite it being a disused car park, and Leah was scribbling her own name over and over again on a piece of paper.

"That noise is really annoying, Leah." Sophie sighed as I walked through the doors.

What I liked most about their relationship was their complete refusal to allow their arguments to be made visible to anyone other than them. Sure, at times the arguments were too big to be hidden, but whatever this one was over, it was obvious that they knew that's all it was—an argument—and so they felt no need to carry it on upon my arrival. Sophie greeted me with a smile and a hug, with Leah doing the same, before the two began to tell me exactly what the doctors were doing.

That night I told the rest of the family that Teddy had an infection. There were tears from most of them and gasps of disbelief that he wasn't out of the woods yet. That prompted a conversation between me and my own mum, one riddled with concern that not only could Leah lose Teddy, but she could lose Sophie too.

"How are they holding up themselves?" Mum asked.
"They don't say much. They'd been arguing when I got there today, although they tried to pretend they hadn't been."
"It's probably the stress of everything; they do say you take these things out on those closest to you."
"I worry about the other side of this. Whichever way it goes, I worry that it's not a journey made for two people who haven't even been married for a year."
"Jacob kind of said the same thing earlier."
"It's all well and good saying they don't resent each other for the decisions they made now, but if he doesn't pull through, who's to say Sophie won't blame Leah for not being there, or Leah won't blame Sophie for refusing to reduce her hours at work?" I sighed.
"It's something I'm not worried about."
"Really?"

"Those two know what they have—something that comes along very rarely. I remember Leah saying that every decision we make we make together, so that way neither of us can hold each other accountable for making the wrong decision. I can see that. I can see that they do that. They might be young, but they've grown together—into each other. They'll be fine, Amanda. I know it."

— — — —

Today didn't just mark the day that we found out Teddy would return from the hospital; it marked a poignant chapter in their marriage coming to an end—a chapter that had tested them beyond belief and a test that they had passed with flying colours.

"Just spoken to Rhys; Sophie called home to let them know that Teddy was getting home. They've sent some money; they were thinking maybe we could decorate for Christmas. I'm sure they haven't put a tree or anything up." Jacob said, standing in the kitchen with his car keys in his hand.
"Aren't they coming over?"
"After Christmas, Liv is with her Mum this year, and Sophie has apparently basically told them that they want a quiet Christmas, with the baby coming home and all that."
"I suppose that makes sense—after all that time in the hospital, they probably just want to spend time alone with him."
"Yeah. So, what do you think? You have a key for their house, don't you?"
"I do—do you think they'll want that though?"
"Christmas is literally their time, Mum. They always bang on about that Christmas they met. Plus, no nephew of mine will spend Christmas in an undecorated house." Jacob chuckled.

— — — —

Sophie POV:

The day that we got to take Teddy home was one filled with anxiety, happiness, and a whole lot of laughter.

Leah had been insistent that she would drive us home in her car and that she would be the one to put the car seat in, leaving the ward at 7:30 a.m. and returning four times to rewatch the installation video.

"Nah, how can they say just clip it in? It doesn't fucking clip!" She puffed.
"I don't think they would say it clips if it doesn't clip." I chuckled.
"Sophie, don't even. It literally doesn't clip."

She huffed and puffed before returning to the car for the fifth time, coming back fifteen minutes later with a smug look on her face.

"Got it." She announced proudly as she came back through the door.
"How'd you manage it?"
"Just clipped it in."

She is so proud of herself.

"I thought you said it didn't clip?" I smirked.
"God, stop wounding me." She chuckled, placing her hand in the centre of her chest dramatically.

We waited patiently for the doctor to come for some final checks before we were allowed to leave, watching on as he chuckled down into the crib.

"Rookie error." He giggled, fumbling about with Teddy's hat.
"Huh?" I asked.
"His hat is on back to front." He chuckled.
"Oh dear, Soph. Maybe you should've clipped it in." Leah smirked.

I rolled my eyes at her, unable to hide the smile that plastered itself across my face.

"That's him, good to go. Have you got the base of the car seat in the car, okay?" The doctor asked.
"Yeah." Leah smiled proudly.
"They're tricky, those things. How many tries did it take you?" The doctor asked as he signed off on the last of the discharge notes.
"Who me? Nah, I just clipped right in."

"Leah, you fucking liar!" I chuckled.

We thanked every member of staff on our way out, Leah cooing down at the tiny little human in the car seat she was carrying. She proudly placed him in the car, stopping to kiss me before we both began the drive home. Leah had both hands on the steering wheel, refusing to take hold of my hand no matter how many times I wiggled my fingers beside her.

"I need both hands for the steering wheel." She said, eyes glued to the road.
"You always hold my hand when you're driving." I huffed.
"Not when I'm driving royalty."
"Royalty? Is that what he is?" I chuckled.
"Yep. Isn't that right, mate?"
"What am I then? Some kind of peasant? How come you don't need both hands on the steering wheel when it's just me?"
"No, you're royalty too. But he's like King, and you're like, - like -"
"Stop talking, Leah, before you get yourself into something you can't get yourself out of." I chuckled.

The first thing I noticed as we pulled into the driveway was the Christmas lights on the porch, shining faintly as the sky had begun to darken.

"Was this you?" I asked.
"Nope." Leah said quietly.
"Amanda." We chuckled at the same time.

As we entered the house, every decoration was perfectly placed, much better than we could've done ourselves.

"Soph, come look at this." Leah shouted from the kitchen.

I made my way to her, still pulling my hoodie over my head. She was holding up a baby grow, red and white (of course), with baby's first Christmas Eve written across the chest.

"Oh my god." I cooed.
"She left a note; it says: we will leave you three to get settled back in tonight. Call you tomorrow. Lots of love, the Williamson-Kelly clan. Kiss kiss."
"That's really sweet." I croaked.
"Are you crying?" Leah chuckled, holding her hand out to me.
"No." I shook my head, burying it into her chest.
"Softy." Leah whispered, placing a kiss on my head.

As the hospital had expected, Teddy was unsettled for the first few hours. We finally got him to sleep just after 11:30 p.m., and crept about the house trying to sort things out.

"Le." I whispered.
"Yeah?" She popped her head around the doorframe.
"Look at the top of the tree; it's not the usual star."
"God." She whimpered.

Instead of a star, they somehow managed to get a decoration that mounted the tree and held a picture of the three of us at the hospital the first time we held him.

"Are you crying?" I raised my eyebrows.
"No." Leah croaked, repeating my actions from earlier.
"Softy." I whispered into her hair.
"Merry Christmas, Soph."
"Merry Christmas, Le."