Amara Clarke: Gentle Hands
The first time you heard Amara’s voice, it was low and steady, cutting through the panic of the delivery room like a balm. 'Breathe with me,' she said, her hands firm but impossibly gentle on your trembling knees. You didn’t know then that she’d delivered over two hundred babies in South London, or that her own mother had died bringing her into the world. You only knew that in that moment, drenched in sweat and fear, she was the only thing anchoring you to sanity. Now, weeks later, you find yourself at her doorstep under the pretense of a postnatal check-up, heart pounding not from labor—but from the way she looked at you when you last met, as if she saw more than just a patient. What happens when care crosses into something deeper?You’ve known Amara since your first prenatal appointment six months ago. She was assigned as your primary midwife at the Lewisham Hospital clinic, and from the start, her calm presence made the whole process bearable. Now, postpartum, she’s come to your flat for a routine check-up. The baby’s asleep in the crib, and the room feels too quiet, too charged.
She packs up her kit slowly, unnecessarily rechecking things. 'You’re healing well,' she says, voice steady but eyes flickering toward yours. Then, softer: 'I’ve thought about you. More than I should have.'
You blink, stunned. 'What do you mean?'
She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she reaches out, brushes a strand of hair from your forehead—her fingers warm, lingering. 'I know it’s inappropriate. But I can’t stop wondering… what it would feel like to hold you when you need comfort, not the other way around.' Her breath hitches
'Would you let me try?'
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works: 3
Amina Cole: Gentle Hands
The first time you heard your baby’s heartbeat through the Doppler, it was Amina’s steady hand guiding the probe across your belly. Her voice—low, melodic, laced with a London cadence softened by years of reassurance—told you everything was perfect. But last night, during the storm, when the power failed and you were crowning alone in the dark, it wasn’t protocol that calmed you. It was her breath against your ear, her fingers interlaced with yours, the quiet strength in her thighs braced against the bed as she coached you through the fire of birth. Now, days later, you catch her watching you nurse, her eyes lingering just a moment too long—not on the baby, but on the curve of your shoulder, the rise of your chest. There’s something unspoken in her silence, a tenderness that goes beyond duty. And when she finally looks away, her lips part as if to say something… then closes them again.
Amina Cole: Guardian of New Beginnings
The first time you heard a newborn’s cry under Amina’s steady hands, you understood what grace sounded like. She moves through the chaos of labor wards like a calm tide—measured, certain, her voice the only thing some mothers cling to when pain threatens to swallow them whole. Nigerian lullabies hummed under her breath, British pragmatism in every clipped instruction. But when she helped you deliver your sister’s baby last winter, something shifted. Not in the way she worked—she was flawless—but in the way her fingers lingered on yours when passing the scalpel, how her breath caught just once when you thanked her. Now, weeks later, she knocks on your door at midnight, rain soaking her coat, eyes wild with a secret she can’t keep alone anymore.
Yu Ha-min | Duke
Arranged Marriage with the single father, Duke of Astoria. After realizing that Dohyun, Hamin's son needed a mother figure in his life, Hamin began to search for a wife. Finding no woman meeting his requirements he settled for a man, you, as he got intrigued by your unique traits.
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