The late summer dawn was glinting through the curtains as Patrick let himself back into their bedroom. Quietly, he shrugged the robe from his shoulders and turned to the bed. As was her habit, Shelagh had slipped over to his side of the bed to keep it warm while he was called out to a patient. She dozed on his pillow, her only covering the thin sheet. He could feel his heart start to pound harder as he gazed at her lovely form, and he knelt beside the bed to watch her sleep.

She looked younger than ever lying there asleep. There had been so many obstacles to being together that they had never really considered the age gap between them. Sixteen–no, seventeen years between them. Today was his birthday. He was fifty-one now, and his beautiful young bride was still barely into her thirties. Most days he didn’t think of it, but today he felt it sorely.

Even now, he could not believe that she had willfully, determinedly, left her old life behind to be with him. He knew no matter the outcome of their own personal drama, she would have left the Order. But this was not the only path she could have taken. Away from the life of Nonnatus she could have joined a new community, one peopled with men who would jump at the chance to be her one and only. Her luminous beauty would draw suitors to her, and her intelligence and dry wit, her compassion and abilities would convince them to pursue her.

With no false modesty, Patrick didn’t think he was much of a catch. He was too old, too poor, and had too much baggage. He did hold a place of esteem in the community, was respected by most and idolized by some (but that was mostly hormonal pregnant women and new mothers looking for someone to help them make sense of their chaotic lives, he believed). But this esteem came with a catch. He was poorly paid and his time was not his own. Add to that a son on the verge of adolescence, a worn home in need of constant repairs and the worries he never completely shook off, and the sum total was not much.

His knees cracked as he moved slightly. He knew that for his age, he was in better shape than most. But there was that phrase: for his age. In his twenties, even in his thirties, he has been proud of his lean physique. Now, he had grown a bit softer in the middle, his faced lined with the years. He didn’t think he’d turn many heads. Even at his most attractive he thought he should never have been paired with such a beauty as his wife.

Shelagh’s eyes fluttered open, and she caught him staring. A smile graced her lips as she reached out her hand to touch his cheek. “Patrick,” she sighed.

He caught her hand against his cheek and turned to kiss the palm. His eyes closed and he breathed in the scent of her skin. Shelagh pulled on his hand, coaxing him back into their bed. She slid over to her side to make room for him and Patrick more than happily complied, gasping when he realized that the nightdress she had donned at bedtime was no longer on her body.

Shelagh giggled. “Happy birthday, dearest.” She reached up and pressed a warm kiss to his mouth. Patrick groaned softly and pulled her lithe form tighter against his body. “Shelagh,” he whispered. Then the tenderness his ego had been feeling moments ago rose back to the surface and he buried his head in her hair.

Her hands slowly stroked over his shoulders, coming to rest at his heart. “I love you, Patrick.” When he didn’t respond, she nudged his face towards hers and kissed him again, lightly. “Was it so very difficult tonight?” The call had come for old Mr. Morgan, in the final stages of bone cancer.

Patrick breathed in heavily. “No. The pain is getting close to unmanageable, though. There’s not much more that can be done for him, now. I left the family to say their last. I’ll go back in a few hours.”

They lay together in silence, each feeling the burden of the old man’s illness, grateful for their own happiness.

“So, do you have a birthday wish?” she asked, stirring from the quiet.

When he didn’t answer, Shelagh looked up to see a bleak expression in his eyes. “Patrick?”

Gently he threaded his fingers through her hair. “I want to live forever with you. That’s my wish. I want to stay right here, in this moment, with you.”

Shelagh’s eyes filled with unshed tears. “I will love you forever, Patrick Turner. If we stay here in this moment, or if we move on with time.” She caressed his cheek, her thumb soft against his temple. “Please don’t let your birthday worry you, dearest. It doesn’t matter, truly. We had to change so many things to be together. We can’t change that you’re a bit older than me, or that I have so little experience of relationships.” She kissed him, a slow, intimate kiss that both made and kept promises. When it came to its conclusion, her hands covered his heart. “I can make your heart pound,” she said a bit smugly. Her fingers found their way to the buttons of his pyjama shirt and she began to undress him. “I’ve been telling you for years and years, Patrick. There is Forever.” She smiled. “And we’ll be together. Don’t waste your birthday wish on something you already have.”

The melancholy was gone. Shelagh was right. Why worry about what you couldn’t change? They wouldn’t be where they needed to be if it hadn’t been for their pasts. He pulled her even closer, his hands gliding over the smooth skin of her thighs.

“I have another wish,” he whispered.

Shelagh laughed throatily, sliding her hand lower. “I’ll bet you do.”