Harry's POV:
Everything was quiet, too quiet.
"How is she doing?"
I wrung my hands roughly, twisting and turning them as I forced myself to look up towards the doorway.
The paramedics and the local doctor hadn't long left, and I was just sat here trying to figure out what the last couple of hours had done to me mentally, physically and emotionally.
"Shit... Harry." Gemma whispered, as she stepped forward and literally grabbed hold of me, forcing me into her arms as she hugged me tearfully; "I'm so sorry."
I couldn't speak or move, I was too stunned too, even though the event took place less than three hours ago.
It had been an insane couple of hours, from being woken up to the most terrifying blood curdling scream I had ever heard, to cradling the most important person in my life who had almost fainted on the bathroom floor.
Watching it all unfold before my very eyes had traumatised me in more ways than one.
Izzy had literally miscarried right in front of me... and there was nothing I could do, nothing I could do to stop it or ease her pain as she screamed and cried in my arms.
It was something that I would never forget for the rest of my life.
I remembered cradling her on the bathroom floor, my shirts (both mine and hers) soaked with her blood as I screamed with tears rolling down my face for my mum to help us as her fingers literally clawed at my skin, her eyes begging me to help her as she sobbed.
Never in my life had I ever been so terrified.
I thought she was going to die.
I literally had no sense of time, yet the last three hours had gone so fast and it felt it was dragging me by.
Everything was killing me, yet I was sat here trying to survive and cope with the images of Izzy bleeding and sobbing engrained into my mind.
My eyes eventually wondered over to her, where she was now curled up in a ball in our bed, wide awake and staring into space.
I had to be strong... for her.
"I just wanted to check if you two needed anything-" Mum quietly questioned, as I simply shook my head and gave her a look that was probably unreadable, but I guess she was more than used to it after years of knowing me.
Mum said nothing, and I could tell she felt nervous just being in the room, so I didn't blame her that she made a quick exit in the way that she did, giving me a soft, sympathetic smile on her way out.
"I'll leave you be." Gemma whispered, "And if you need anything, just call for me Harry."
I nodded, unable to say anything else.
Everyone now knew the real reason why I had requested mum to come down a few days ago, and the fact that my sister, my father and my stepfather now knew about our little Peanut broke my heart into a thousand pieces.
This wasn't how I imagined telling them about our baby.
Immediately, I pulled away from my thoughts, forcing myself to stop as I repeatedly rubbed at my eyes to stop themselves from leaking messily.
Carefully, I walked over to our bed and crouched down beside her, her chocolate brown eyes staring into the distance, not even glancing at me as I gently took both of her hands into mine.
"I'm still here, Izzy." I murmured softly, trying my hardest to get a reaction out of her; yet all she did was blink... and remained utterly still and silent.
I looked at the wall desperately for support and bit down on my knuckles, not knowing what to do or how to help her.
I realised pretty much after that, that I was shaking and the tears were forming pretty fast, but they felt unforbidden... unfamiliar territory.
I wasn't a crier in front of certain people, but as much as I tried to stay strong for my girl, I was mourning at what we had lost almost three hours ago.
She had practically given birth to our little peanut prematurely, on our bathroom floor and on the toilet, and we both sat there for what felt like hours, crying and holding our little miracle in the palm of our hands.
It wasn't messy, and peanut certainly wasn't bloody or full of clots like I had previously thought, but peanut was perfect, safely tucked away in the little sac that was protecting him.
I had a son, we had a son.
Even though you're told you can't be 100% sure until the 20 week scan, the doctor more or less confirmed that peanut was a boy.
We had a son... and I swore my heart split in two hearing Izzy wail when she realised what he had said.
A boy, we had a little boy together.
I had a son, and my heart was completely torn in two.
I would never know what type of little boy he would be.
Would he have been cheeky like me?
Would he have had all the girls chasing him in school just like me when I was little?
Would he have been a cheeky little shit and been naughty for Izzy while I was away on tour?
Would all of his teachers have loved him?
Would he have supported Manchester United like me and the old man?
Or would he have been a rugby fanatic like Izzy, bat shit crazy over Wales because his mummy was Welsh and nuts about the game too?
I'd never know, we would never know.
It terrified me seeing her like this, seeing her so traumatised, empty and dull; and a part of me was afraid that she would relapse after everything that she had fought against and got through with regards to her depression and anxiety.
She was always so full of life and to see her reduced to the shell of her former self after working so hard on bettering herself, was physically painful for me.
I tried to remember Mum's words as the paramedics literally tended to Izzy's every need.
"It's been a massive shock for you both... It will take time to recover, for both of you to recover... She needs you Harry, and you need her... but right now, she needs some privacy. Let them deal and clean her up."
I did as I was told, and let them deal with Izzy, while I just simply sat on our bed covered in her blood, staring into space, wondering how this could have happened to us.
To her.
It wasn't fair.
"I'm sorry, baby." I whispered, swallowing hard as I eyed her drawing up her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs tightly; "I'm so fucking sorry."
She was still staring blankly ahead and neither registered me or anything else within the room, including Mum and Gemma's departure.
I gently moved my fingers to her cheek and stroked her, and in that split second, she moved her head to face me and I felt nothing but relief to garner some sort of reaction from her.
"Let me take care of you." I pleaded with her, as I cupped her face, "Don't shut me out, Izzy. Please."
I need you too.
Izzy blinked slowly, then nodded as I smiled at her softly, running my thumb along her cheekbone soothingly.
I moved closer to her on the bed, carefully taking hold of her in my arms, reminding myself to stay comforting and in control.
Using my hands, I ran them down her back, seeing her watch me intently as I worked slowly and methodically, rubbing soothing circles as I stared right into her beautiful eyes.
I pressed closer to her neck, feeling her arms tighten around my own slowly, as my lips peppered lightly just the once against her pulse.
Then I remembered how heartbroken she was, and how ripped apart I was feeling, mournfully thinking about the little miracle that we had created... and had now lost.
Our baby.
Our little miracle.
Our little boy.
I dipped my hands over her hipbone and across her stomach in an attempt to reconnect what we had lost there, when I felt her flinch against my touch that made me look up at her.
She didn't want me touching her there, obviously.
"I'm sorry." I whispered guiltily, feeling her warmth from the tear stained pillow she adorned herself too, "I just want to take care of you... make the pain a little easier." I added, not protesting as I moved my hands slowly, caressing and worshipping every part of her back, hips and lower thighs; "I just want to be close to you."
I wanted her to know I loved her in every single way and that none of this was her fault.
It didn't take long for her to relax fully against me, and I noticed that she had begun to grow cold, even though I was embracing her.
So ever so gently, I pulled away from her a little and grabbed the duvet, pulling it back over us as I cradled my precious girl once again.
We laid in our bed, arms and legs tangled flimsily, my arms firmly wrapped around her as I buried my face into her hair, holding on ever so tightly as she buried her own into my neck.
"I'm sorry, Harry." She whimpered, before beginning to cry helplessly; "I'm really, really fucking sorry."
I pulled back, cupping her face.
"You have nothing to be sorry for." I whispered, "It's not your fault-"
"But I drank... what if, what if it is all my fault?"
Her mind was torturing her.
"Listen to me." I whispered, "You heard what Dr. Stewart said... nothing could have prevented this."
"I want him back." She sobbed, "I want him back, Harry."
Her words literally gutted me.
"I'm so sorry I couldn't keep him alive-"
"Izzy, stop." I whispered tearfully, stroking her hair as she cuddled me harder; "This is not your fault and we are going to get through this. I promise." I told her, as she slowly nodded into my chest and wrapped her arms tighter around me.
"I love you."
"I love you too," I murmured back, leaning forward to kiss her lips perfectly, just as she sighed tearfully and settled her head against my chest.
I watched her awhile, willing her to have a painless, peaceful sleep before I placed a lone kiss into her hair before resting my chin upon her head.
Tomorrow we would deal with what was to come... what was ahead of us, as best friends, as lovers and as parents, but for now, we revelled in the comfort of each other, wrapped up safely in each other's arms.
We were together, and that was all that mattered for now.
Izzy's POV:
Life was sometimes hard, horrific and horrible.
I wasn't entirely sure how to feel anymore, because just when I figured things were going the right way again for me, life came along and kicked me right where it hurt; and it stung like a fucking bitch.
Have you ever felt like you were in some kind of freeze frame, but everything else around you was travelling at some kind of rapid speed, making you feel slow and trapped?
My life for the past couple of months had been just that, hell, the last 21 years of my life had been just that.
My emotions were stuck, but the world around me was constantly changing, and despite trying to throw myself back into normality, I was failing and falling apart for the second time in my life.
My baby boy had died inside of me, and I pretty much deemed myself utterly useless.
I choked on my sobs just at the pure thought of it.
I wasn't sure how I was feeling anymore- saying that, I don't think I was feeling anything other than my heart beating at a thousand beats a second.
My mind was constantly racing and I couldn't think straight.
My skin felt all sweaty and clammy, and my entire body ached.
I wasn't sure if it ached with confusion and heartache, or from the devastating physical activities that took place just hours before in the bathroom with Harry.
My poor, sweet, peanut baby boy... he deserved so much more than what he had tonight, and it broke my heart in two that I couldn't keep him... that I couldn't give him the life that he deserved to have.
It hurt me that I couldn't do just the one simple thing, and that was to give him the nourishment he obviously needed and didn't get from me.
Harry had told me over and over that it wasn't my fault, but how could I not blame myself?
It was my job to look after our little one, to nourish him and nurse him to life inside of me until he was ready to face the world on the outside unaided.
I knew, deep down that it wasn't my fault.
I knew that these things happen and that it was science more than anything.
But I also knew that it was going to take me a while to completely get over this (if I ever could) but I knew as long as I had Harry and the incredible support from his family, I'd get through this.
We both would.
I wasn't there, but with my blessing, Harry had asked his mother to inform his father, Robin and Gemma of what was happening.
Of course, Gemma already knew that I was pregnant, and I was grateful to her that she carried on pretending, so it allowed Harry to talk about our little boy when he wanted or needed too.
I knew that it would comfort him and I would never be able to repay her.
Gazing longingly at Harry as he slept beside me, I flinched feeling his fingers entwine around mine and I turned, pulling him closer towards me.
His eyes were finally shut and his hair was messily tied up into a bun, bits and wisps of his curls sticking out at the back of his head.
I was barely holding myself together just looking at him.
Would our son have looked like him?
Would he have inherited his heart and soul, and became Harry's mirror image with his dimples, dorky smile and hilarious personality?
Would he have been like Harry in every way, shape and form?
Completely good and full of love, admiration and compassion like his father?
Or would he been like me, stubborn, fiery, argumentative and "frustrating" as Harry called me.
Would he have had my eyes or Harry's?
Maybe my lips?
Maybe he would have been a good mixture of us both... the best of us combined into our little boy, but we would never get to know.
Thankfully, as the tears began to sting again, we were laying down in bed, so I was grateful because my knees were getting weaker and they were shaking.
Hell, my entire body was shaking.
I tried to take in a deep breath as I stared at my wonderful, beautiful boyfriend but my throat tightened and I felt my lungs become constricted even more.
I immediately sat up in the bed and got out, balancing myself on the bedside table.
I was so weak, so tired and worn out, and trying to fill my lungs with oxygen because I was really struggling to breathe, but I could only manage a simple gasp.
My heart began to pound in my chest and I could feel my pulse thumping in my neck hard.
Every cell in my body sparked with a buzzing, agonising energy, each one begging for it's dose of oxygen... and each one crying for my baby.
I felt empty, like completely empty.
With smothering panic, I attempted another breath.
I felt my burning lungs fill with air, but somehow it wasn't satisfying enough.
My limbs were tingling, I felt like I was in a messed up dream and my legs were heavy with each awkward step I was making- it required much effort to even move them.
My mind was unleashing sacred memories I held closely of when we were told we were pregnant, Harry and I dreaming of those first kicks, and when our little boy would have been eventually born.
I thought of when I would hold our baby for the first time, Harry being called dada, seeing those magical first steps and teaching Harry how to change nappies.
My stomach began to twist and saliva rushed into my mouth, quickly forming into bile, making it's way up my oesophagus and it wasn't far from making it's release.
I really wanted to be sick.
The heartbreak and guilt of carrying this on my conscience for the rest of my life was too much for me to bare.
I squeezed my eyes shut, praying that all of this was a dream and I was hoping we'd be back home to normal, back to being pregnant once I'd wake from this dream.
But I knew it wasn't a dream and this nightmare was in fact real.
I was never going to be able to share my exciting news with Phoebe, and there was never going to be tears of joy, no congratulations, no celebrations of the birth, no registering my boy's name, no nappies, no bath times.
I'd never be able to feed my baby, I wouldn't be able to hold him and I would never know if he would smell like me or Harry.
By now I was cracking and was completely sobbing uncontrollably, so I shook my head and pulled back and rubbed my face, fresh away from the tears that had erupted like a volcano before I woke Harry up from his sleep.
He had been so kind, so patient and gentle with me, the least he deserved was one night to himself where he could sleep peacefully without worrying about me.
He was just exhausted as I was, if not probably a little bit more as he hadn't left my side since this whole thing began.
I stood up beside our bed, the tears slowly subsiding as I began thinking about tonight in general.
For now, personally for me, I knew that I had done the right thing.
I wanted to carry my child through this massive loss in a respectful and meaningful way: which meant that I was doing this as naturally as I possibly could.
I don't suggest for a second that any other woman should choose the same path I did, but for me, it felt right.
I needed and wanted to learn to trust my body, to rebuild my faith in it's process after everything it had been through with the cancer and to give my baby boy a gentle goodbye that he thoroughly deserved.
I never expected Harry to understand why I didn't take my medication, but he never once questioned it and accepted my wishes anyway.
Mostly I wanted to miscarry at home naturally because that was how we'd begun our journey, and how I'd hoped to end it.
Together.
I had conceived surprisingly and it was the icing on the cake, the most perfect end to our relationship and the thought of going into hospital with midwives or doctors and nurses in attendance; and our baby being literally labelled as 'clinical waste' just didn't sit right with me.
My baby wasn't clinical waste, my son was a person, a little human being created out of love and joy, and so much happiness between Harry and I.
The thought of ending this much hoped for pregnancy on a hard table in a sterile, white office seemed so wrong and not how I wanted my baby's entrance into the world to be like.
I needed Harry's support, and I was 100% lucky that I got it.
He never once questioned me, he didn't think I was doing anything wrong and he went with everything that I wanted- but I made sure that it was what he wanted too, because my son was his too.
I didn't want him to think back on today and regret anything that we did, so through my grief and tears, I tried my hardest to think about Harry and his needs too.
Miscarrying naturally was a way for me to come to terms with my love for this baby, and my grief that I was losing the pregnancy that I had wanted and dreamed of since I was told my infertility was no more.
Now we knew that wasn't true, and if we wanted too, when we were both ready, we could simply try again.
I learned that despite it all, in our short time together, I had bonded with the baby inside of me, and the last thing I could give to my boy was this small gift- coming into the world with just his mummy and daddy, albeit a few tears and traumatic screaming, but it was a proper welcome and a proper send-off that our son deserved.
Under the watchful act of the doctor and the stunning care I had received from the paramedics, when Oscar was born, I quickly realised after calming down that he was about the size of a chestnut.
I inspected him slowly, tearfully, never wanting to forget his little face and body.
It broke me to pieces, but I knew if I didn't at least spend that little bit of time with him and hold him in my hand, I would never forgive myself.
I wasn't expecting Harry to do the same, but he completely threw me that he did.
I watched him with admiration, holding our little boy, watching his face as he touched him and inspected him, tears rolling down his face in sheer heart break.
It was something that I was never, ever going to forget for as long as I was breathing on God's earth.
We had also given Anne, Des, Robin and Gemma the chance to see Oscar if they wanted too, and although Gemma, Des and Robin politely declined, I was okay with that.
I didn't mind the fact that they couldn't face it and wanted to remember Oscar in their own little way; but Anne on the other hand wanted to see him.
So we gave her that moment.
I didn't want to be in the room when it happened because I wanted her to have that moment with her grandson alone; and I truly believe if I saw her reaction it would have broken me.
I was told after by Harry that she held Oscar too, and that she told him that he was the most beautiful baby in the world and that he was going to fly with the angels now because heaven needed another one and he was far too good for this horrible world.
Just hearing about it crucified me, but I was grateful to her that she had stayed with us until the end.
I was grateful that she met our peanut and said her goodbyes in her own little way.
I was glad I could do that for her.
While I was being cleaned up and checked over, making sure all tissue had been removed safely from me, I was given the all clear and came back to see my little boy sealed up in a protective cover.
The sight of my baby being suctioned in plastic made me want to be sick and tear him out of there because it was going to suffocate him... until I realised that Oscar was already gone, and there was nothing I could do to help him.
I was told the plastic was to preserve him, to keep him looking as normal as the hospital could until we were ready to say goodbye and have our peanut cremated.
Harry and I had briefly discussed it, and at first I wanted a burial.
I wanted somewhere to go and visit, and I also wanted Oscar to be safe and protected in heaven while we were down here still living and breathing without him.
With Harry's encouragement and I guess, blessing, I originally wanted to take Oscar back home to Wales and have him buried with my mum and dad, so at least they could take care of him as I couldn't.
But I soon realised that wasn't fair on Harry, or his family, because they were apart of Oscar too and had every right to visit our little one whenever they wanted too.
Harry made it absolutely clear that he would go with anything that I wanted and if I wanted Oscar with my parents, then that's what we would do.
But my guilt was gnawing at me and at the same time, I felt conflicted because I didn't know what to do.
It was then, that the doctor briefly told us about an organisation that helps parents who have lost a child.
Once the ashes are complete, they take them and transform them into jewellery- so you could keep your little one with you forever.
At first, I didn't like the idea, the thought of my baby being turned into jewellery was enough to turn me sick; but the more I thought about it the more I wanted it to happen.
It was a beautiful thought and tribute, especially as Harry was forever wearing rings, so I knew a ring would do him the world of good and I also knew that I would wear mine too.
So after a discussion of our options, we decided to have Oscar cremated and then we would hand him over to the organisation to create our rings.
It was perfect.
Because of UK law and the fact Oscar was only 13 weeks old, we had no death certificate or anything to keep and remember him by.
So having matching rings seemed perfectly fitting for us both, because whenever we would go and would be, Oscar would always be with us.
Miscarrying naturally was safe for my body and gave me a new measure of trust in it's workings after everything it had been through with the cancer.
If anything, miscarrying naturally was what I needed for my emotional health and it amazed me at how my body worked after so much had been thrown at it.
I may have been emotionally and physically battered and bruised with everything life had thrown at me, but I was still here and alive.
Bleeding, cramping and working through the physical act of losing my Oscar was part of my process of grief, and ultimately, of future healing.
It connected me to what was going on in my mind anyway, and I didn't feel like trying to take a shortcut and get it over with.
I was determined not to relapse too.
I had worked too damn hard to go back into that darkness, and I wanted to face this head on- with Harry beside me.
If it meant that we had to do couple counselling, then I'd do it.
I had worked too hard with Dr Webber, and with my training and work programme at college to throw all of this away, so I made the decision to not tell anyone about Oscar.
I wasn't ashamed, and I didn't want it to look like I was hiding my son away from the world, but I knew if people knew (including the world) and I was reminded of it on a daily basis, I would never recover.
So Harry and I decided to keep it to ourselves, and we swore that we would never not talk or shut each other out when it came to talking about Oscar.
It also made me feel a lot closer to Harry, knowing that we had gone through this together and he was beside me for it all.
I couldn't have asked for anyone better to share this nightmare with, honestly.
It was going to take months, maybe years for us to heal emotionally, I knew that, but at the same time because of the choice I had made for Oscar, I felt connected to my little boy.
I felt loved by him, and ready to move on healthily afterwards with his dad beside me every step of the way.
I was determined that this wasn't going to break Harry and I, and that by having Oscar, he was only going to make us stronger.
Tonight had been the hardest journey I had ever been on, and I wish I hadn't have gone through it, but these things were sent to test us.
And as much as I hated the fact that my Oscar was taken from us, I knew I had a part of him with me forever and a part of his daddy too.
We shared something that no one else could possibly touch, and in the end I was glad for what I had learned from my short time with our son.
We gave Oscar the opportunity to have a fitting end, and I was thankful for the lessons it taught me in trusting my body, loving my baby, and preparing for the what was about to come tonight.
And I wouldn't have had it any other way.