Work Text:
Hold my hand, hold my
Hold my hand, my hand
I'll be right here, hold my hand
Hold my hand, hold my
Hold my hand, my hand
I'll be right here, hold my hand
No one prepares you.
When you are pregnant, no one truly prepares you for what lies ahead. The most daunting thing for most women is labour. What could happen, what obstacles could arise. There's classes and courses about what to expect, what can occur during labour and delivery, postpartum care. But no one truly prepares you for what can happen as your baby grows up and gets older. We just assume that our little one will conquer their milestones. Smiling, cooing, rolling over, sitting up, crawling, walking and then eventually talking...right? But no one tells you what to do when your child is delayed. Nothing can quite put into words the thoughts and feelings that consume your body and mind when you hear those words, "Your child is speech delayed."
Penelope sat blinking, staring blankly at the woman’s face in front of her.
"Severe receptive and expressive delay - possible disorder."
Excuse me?
No. No, he’s just a little slower.
He isn’t severe.
He can’t be.
Her body went numb. Her mind went blank.
Her baby.
Her baby boy.
She felt her husband's hand come to rest on her thigh, giving it a slight squeeze. She barely felt it.
George.
Her last baby.
Her precious, sweet little George.
He had been a surprise. The best surprise they had ever received. He completed their family.
He had been a quiet baby. Observing the chaos that surrounded him. His three older siblings causing havoc every morning from when they opened their eyes until they fell asleep at night.
He rarely cried.
He smiled and laughed.
He clapped his hands from an early age.
He chose to roll around rather than crawl, only crawling a few months before he took his first steps.
He skipped walking altogether, really. He ran. He was the fastest runner of all of her children.
But he never spoke a word.
Penelope waited.
And waited.
And waited.
By two, she was starting to get worried. Some may even say paranoid.
All three of her other children were talking in nearly full sentences by two years old and sweet little George hadn’t so much as uttered the word ‘Mama.’
Agatha had been eleven months when she started talking and she hadn’t stopped since. Penelope would sometimes ask her if her tongue ever got sore to which the little curly, haired brunette would reply, ‘No,’ and then continue on talking a hundred miles an hour.
Thomas was a little later, saying his first word at eighteen months. It was common apparently, for second siblings to talk later as the oldest generally spoke for them and that was definitely the case with Aggie and Tommy.
‘Thomas, do you want some milk sweetie?’ Penelope would ask him.
‘He does Mummy,’ Agatha’s little voice spoke up for him, standing right beside the curly haired redheaded boy.
‘Mummy, Tommy wants some crackers.’
‘Mummy, Tommy needs to poop.’
‘Mummy, Tommy hurt himself!’
She constantly narrated for him, his wants, his needs. That’s what big sisters do, right?
It wasn’t until little Aggie took his favourite dinosaur toy from his tiny hands that he screamed ‘NO!’ at the top of his little lungs. Of course, Thomas Bridgerton’s first word would be no. Once he started, it all came flowing.
Jane said her first word around one year old and by eighteen months was giving her big sister a run for her money and talking in three-to-four-word sentences. Advanced. That’s what the pediatrician had called her. Both Penelope and Colin beamed at that. Their little over achiever. Mighty and mischievous.
With George, she just expected it to happen one day.
When his second birthday came and went and he hadn’t uttered a word, Penelope set up an appointment with their pediatrician. She had done the worst possible thing in the world and Googled.
Never Google.
Google is the devil to a mother.
She found herself watching him. Watching every little movement. Analyzing everything. The way he held a fork. The way he played with his toys. The way he interacted with everyone. If he responded to his name. If he held eye-contact.
It consumed her.
‘Pen, stop. He’s fine. He will get there. We just need to keep being patient with him,’ Colin would say to her as she cried in his arms.
But everything wasn’t fine.
If it was fine, they wouldn’t be sitting in the speech pathologist's office after an hour ‘evaluation’ on her sweet baby boy with her telling them he had a severe disorder.
Disorder? What does that even mean?
Colin cleared his throat, “So, what does this mean? What are our next steps?”
The woman started listing off resources, things they could do at home as they waited for a speech therapist. The wait list was approximately six months long or they could choose to go private.
Private, she vaguely heard Colin say back to her.
She used a lot of big words. Words that made absolutely no sense to her. She spoke about how he would struggle the rest of his life.
Struggle.
Her baby.
She clenched her eyes shut and willed the tears not to fall.
“There will be a written evaluation of my findings today sent to you within the week. I’ll also send a copy to your pediatrician. He qualifies for support with the severe diagnosis. I suggest sending him to a school that specializes in delays and disorders. He will benefit from it as well as the private route you intend to pursue.”
School. He basically just turned two and they want him in school?
He was her last baby. She wanted that time with him. Just her and him while her other children were at nursery or primary school.
She felt the room start to close in on her.
She needed to get out of here.
Colin could sense her crumbling beside him, and he cleared his throat, “Thank you for your time today. We really appreciate it.”
“Of course, Mr. Bridgerton,” she rose from her seat to shake his hand.
Penelope rose to her feet, clinging to George with all of the strength she possessed. She nodded at the woman, forcing a polite grin and left the office.
She could hear the buzzing of the fluorescent lights above her as she put one foot in front of the other.
Colin’s hand went to the small of her back, firmly holding her in place as if he knew. Of course, he knew. He knew her better than anyone.
She kept it together. In the car. During the ride home. As they got George out of his car seat. As his sweet little hands came to cradle her face and he looked her in the eye. His sweet brown eyes looking up at her. Almost as if he sensed she was about to break. And she even kept it together as they entered their two-story family home.
She handed George to Colin, not even able to look him in the eye.
He said something to her, but she couldn’t process it.
She needed to get away.
She needed to let it out.
Climbing the staircase one at a time, the tears she had so desperately been holding back threatened to fall. Her throat started stinging as she clenched her jaw shut so tight, she felt her teeth might break.
Entering their ensuite bathroom she closed the door, making sure it was locked before her legs gave out from under her.
The sobs that escaped her body were guttural, deep down in her body.
She screamed.
She cried. And cried. And cried until she had no more tears left.
It was her fault.
It had to be.
She didn’t do enough with him.
She didn’t talk to him enough.
She didn’t read to him enough.
She had the least amount of time with him.
Constantly juggling three other children and trying to write her new novel plus spend time with her doting husband.
She neglected him. She must have.
It had come so easy to her other children, she never expected little Georgie wouldn’t talk.
Her silent sobs shook her body.
Oh God.
He may never speak.
She may never hear his sweet voice say ‘Mama’.
Her favourite sound in the world was the voices of her children. Each time they said ‘Mama or Mum or Mummy’ her heart swelled in her chest.
Now it felt hollow.
Knock knock
She sat there on the bathroom floor, motionless, cradling her knees against her chest.
Her husband's quiet knocks brought her back to reality.
Reaching up, she unlocked the door but dropped back down to the floor, her body exhausted.
She was. Mentally. Emotionally. Physically, exhausted.
“I just put George down for a nap,” Colin said as she sat next to her on the floor, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, enveloping her small frame with his.
She stared blankly at the floor.
“Pen?”
Silence.
“Pen, please. Talk to me baby.”
“I failed him.”
Her voice was a croaked whisper.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“I failed him, Colin. It’s my fault. I didn’t talk to him enough. I don’t read to him as much as I do with Aggie. I don’t sit and play with him one on one as much as I should. I don’t narrate my day to him. I don-”
“Pen, stop, stop, stop,” he took her face in his hands, “Deep breath baby.”
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
“Listen to me right now, and listen closely,” he looked her straight in her eyes, “You did not fail our son. Do you hear me? You are the most amazing mother in the world. Everything you do, you do for our children. There is not a mother out there that does more for her children than you. You amaze me with everything you do.
I watch you. I sit and watch you talking to Georgie. You talk to him all the time. You help him. You sit with him. You comfort him when he’s upset. You are so patient with him. He can’t tell us when something is wrong or when he’s hungry or when he’s sad and needs a hug, but you Pen, you always just know. So, don’t you ever feel like you’re a failure. Do you understand?”
She nodded weakly, tears continuing to fall from her brown eyes.
“But I-”
“No buts. I’m serious Mrs. Bridgerton. No more. No more blaming yourself. We couldn’t have done anything more than we have. And now we know. We have resources, we can get him the help he needs.”
She nodded. He was right. Now, they had a plan. But why did she still feel so helpless?
“You advocated for our son before any of us and you always will. We are so lucky you are ours.”
She sniffed and cried into his shoulder. God, she was so lucky to have this man as hers.
“If anything, I’m the one who failed him, Pen.”
His voice cracked at that statement.
Penelope whipped her head up and saw the look of torment on her husband’s face.
“What? How can you say that?”
“You knew there was something wrong for months. You were the one trying to get us to notice. I kept saying nothing was wrong, that he would catch up. If we had gotten him help sooner, maybe...maybe he would-”
“No. Now, you listen to me now Colin Bridgerton. You. Did. Not. Fail. Okay?”
Colin nodded, “Okay,” after a few beats of silence, he spoke up again, “So, if you don’t want me blaming myself then you can’t blame yourself. Deal?”
“Deal.”
They sat together in silence for what felt like hours. In reality, it was probably under thirty minutes.
Colin cleared his throat and brought a hand up to wipe the tears from his cheeks, “I’m going to go and do some research on some private speech therapists. I’ll send a few emails, start the process. My Mum should be back with the kids soon.”
“How are they?”
Colin smiled, “They’re great. She took them to McDonald’s.”
Penelope couldn’t help but smile at that as she shook her head, “Of course she did.”
He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, his lips lingering on her skin as she closed her eyes and savoured the feel of his lips on her.
“We will be okay Pen. Georgie will be okay. He has a family who loves him bigger than the world,” Colin pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, “And even if he doesn’t talk, we will always be there to help him. Just because he may never speak, doesn’t mean he doesn’t understand. Remember that, okay?”
Once again, all she could do was nod.
She felt him get up and close the door behind him gently, leaving her to sit in silence once more.
She knew he was right. There wasn’t anything different she could have done.
This was just Georgie.
This was just part of his story.
And she wouldn’t do anything to change him.
All they could do was continue to love him and support him. She would keep encouraging him to talk but never pushing. She would enroll him in school, as much as that made her heart ache in her chest. She would get him signed up for private therapy. They would give him all the tools he needed. But most importantly, they would love him no differently.
He would always have them.
- A few weeks later -
Penelope collapsed on their unmade king-sized bed. All the kids were finally fast asleep in their own rooms. Nighttime routines were chaos. Absolute chaos.
Baths consisted of one or more kids refusing to either go in the bath or get out of the bath. No one wanted to brush their teeth. Half the time they didn’t want to wear the pyjamas Penelope had laid out for them which caused a tantrum in Thomas’ case because heaven forbid, he wore the Captain America pj’s and not Spiderman. World War III would almost break out when fighting over who would read to them. Mum won, obviously. Multiple books were read, even negotiations were made on how many books, which resulted in yet two more being read as they all fell asleep snuggled tightly together in one of the kids' beds. Colin then had to remove each kid, one by one, slowly and gently to their own respective bed which would cause Jane to wake up and start sobbing about a ghost in her room so Colin would need to lay with her until she fell asleep again.
Bathroom clean up looked like a bomb went off, water and suds all over the floor and the wall and the ceiling? How on earth did that happen? The kid's day clothes scattered all over the floor in heaps. Bath toys. Oh God, the bath toys. They multiplied; Penelope was sure of it.
By the time it was done, Penelope and Colin succumbed to the pure exhaustion that was having four children.
They wouldn’t change it for the world regardless of how much they joked around about what life would be like if they got more than eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Every night like clockwork since she was three, Aggie would crawl into their bed around two in the morning and nuzzle into Colin’s side. She was like a cat; you didn’t hear her or know she was there until Penelope would jolt awake with a foot kicking her in the face.
Tonight though, Penelope had changed into her nightdress and had just picked up her book to have some ‘Mummy Time’ as Colin snored like a tractor beside her.
She was halfway through page 158 when she heard George’s cries echoing through the baby monitor.
She placed her book down and made her way to her littlest’s room. Colin hadn’t even moved an inch; their sons' cries being drowned out by his snoring.
He sleeps like the dead.
Penelope opened the door and found her sweet little George sitting up, clutching his blue bear that her own mother had purchased for him the day he was born. He never went to sleep without it. His wee face was red and wet with tears, tears that just kept falling. His chest shaking with little sobs.
Approaching his crib, Penelope bent down and reached for him through the bars. He grabbed her hand tightly and held it to his face.
She thought about bringing him to her and Colin’s bed but thought Colin could use some sleep before Aggie crept in between them in a few hours.
Oh, screw it , she thought.
She hoisted herself up and climbed over the railings of his crib, she sat down on the mattress and pulled Goerge close to her chest, rubbing circles on his back as he clutched the front of her nightdress, his bear long forgotten as his Mummy was now all he wanted and needed.
“Oh Georgie, what’s wrong sweetie?”
He just continued to cry.
“Did you hurt yourself?”
He shook his head.
“Did you have a bad dream?”
He shook his head.
“Are you cold?”
He shook his head.
She rattled off more questions, trying to find out why her sweet boy was so distraught.
She never got frustrated, but she could tell he was getting agitated. All she wanted to do was help him.
He looked up at her with his big brown eyes, just like hers.
She could see so much in his eyes. There was so much he wanted to tell her; she could see it. There was so much emotion. But he just couldn’t get the words out.
How frustrating it must be , she thought. To have so much to say, to want to talk but being unable too.
It broke her heart.
He was crying for a reason. He just couldn’t tell her why.
“It’s okay Georgie, Mummy’s here,” she lay down in his crib thank Goodness she was ‘pint sized’ as Colin affectionately called her, and she could somewhat fit in his bed. Her knees only had to bend slightly, and she cradled the youngest love of her life to her chest.
“I’m here baby. I’ll hold your hand. I will always be here to hold your hand,” he gripped her hand in his when she said that.
He knew. He understood.
Of course, he understood. That was one of the most frustrating things about this whole circumstance. He knew everything you said to him, he just couldn’t communicate how he was feeling or what he was wanting/needing.
“I won’t leave you sweet pea. I’ll never leave you. Mummy won’t leave,” she rocked him softly back and fourth, her own eyes filling with tears.
She started singing to him. Her voice shaky as she held back her sobs.
“So cry tonight
But don't you let go of my hand
You can cry every last tear
I won't leave 'til I understand
Promise me, just hold my hand”
His little sobs grew quieter, and his breathing eventually slowed, letting her know he had finally drifted off to sleep, clutching the material of her nightgown.
She was still unsure of what was wrong and why he was crying. Maybe he just needed a cuddle, maybe he just wanted to feel her there with him.
She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, a few minutes, a few hours maybe. She wasn’t sure.
In that moment, George needed her but what he didn’t know was that she needed him just as much.
- One year later -
It was a typical Wednesday in the Bridgerton household It was just after four thirty and Penelope was in the middle of getting dinner ready all while her four children ran around the kitchen playing ‘Knights & Dragons’ a made-up game that resulted in Jane and George being appointed the dragons while Aggie and Thomas ran around with foam swords trying to ‘slay the dragons!’.
Chaos.
Penelope smiled as she cut into the red peppers on the chopping board.
George’s laugh filled the room. Loud. Infectious. Just like hers, Colin would say.
Sweet, little Georgie. He still hadn’t spoken a word. They had been in private speech for about nine months now. He had been in school for a few months also. Penelope was not ashamed to admit she sobbed every day at drop off for a good hour for the first month. The first week, she sat in her car in front of the school just counting the hours. It was only three hours he was in school for, so it wasn’t even a full day, but still. Her mama heart broke every time. He cried the first week which made her feel worse.
She loved watching all her children play. They had such a beautiful relationship. Something she wished she had with her sisters so to watch her own children love each other made her beam with joy.
“I’m gonna slay George the Dragon !” Aggie shouted as she swung her pretend sword at George, who in turn squealed with delight and ran away from his big sister and hid behind Penelope’s legs.
Penelope huffed out a laugh as he threw his arms around her, and she fell forward slightly.
“Careful, Georgie,” she smiled down at him then moved to grab another red pepper.
“Mama!”
Her hand stopped in midair, her eyes growing wide.
Time stopped.
The world stopped spinning.
Even her children froze, their mouths falling open.
“Georgie?” it came out like a whisper.
No, no she had to be imagining things.
“Mama!” Little George shouted, from the top if his lungs as he looked directly up at her, “Dwagon!”
He then pretended to roar, his hands like claws and continued to run around the kitchen, his mother and siblings completely dumbfounded.
“Mummy...di-did Georgie just talk?” Aggie asked her mother, who looked like she was about to pass out.
“He-he did...” she stuttered, trying to comprehend what the bloody hell just happened.
“Mama!” Her little tornado boy ran around again, “Dwagon!”
He stopped in front of her and smiled that beautiful smile and she felt her heart soar.
She dropped to her knees in front of her, a sob escaping her. This time, it was from pure happiness. The smile on her face grew as she reached and grabbed her baby boy in a tight hug.
His voice. Oh, his sweet, precious little voice. It was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.
“Georgie!” Jane ran to him, throwing her arms around her little brother, “You talked!”
Aggie and Thomas soon followed, all of her children throwing their arms around their mother and little brother.
“We knew you would Georgie!” Aggie kissed her little brother on the top of the head.
“You’re the best Georgie,” Thomas smiled and laid his head on his brother's shoulder.
As they continued hugging on the kitchen floor, the dinner long forgotten about, Colin walked in to see his family in a tight embrace.
“What’s going on?” His voice made them look up, all with bright smiles.
“Daddy! Georgie just talked!” Thomas excitedly yelled, leaving the embrace to run into his father's arms.
“He...” Colin looked as shocked as they had been as he glanced over to his wife, “He-he said something?”
Penelope nodded, her smile wide but before she could answer, Aggie spoke up, “He said ‘mama and ‘dragon’ but it was more like ‘dwagon’ but that’s okay because he talked!”
Colin approached them, Thomas still perched against his side, “Georgie, what did you say? Can you tell Daddy?”
“Mama!” Her little man grinned up proudly at his family who all beamed at him.
Colin’s eyes filled with tears as he dropped him and Thomas to the floor, joining his family’s embrace.
Nothing could beat this moment. Nothing could be better than this moment.
Hearing his beautiful, little voice for the first time was one of the best moments, she couldn’t put into words how it felt.
It was only upward from here.
“Dwagon!” George roared, escaping his family’s arms and made a beeline for the living area.
“Oh no! The dragon is escaping!” Thomas yelled as he ran after his little brother, his sister's laughter echoing throughout the house as they trailed behind the boys.
Colin pulled his wife to his side, running his thumb over her wet cheek and catching a tear as it fell.
“I hope these are happy tears Mrs. Bridgerton,” he grinned at her, his own eyes wet but full of pride.
“The happiest.”
- Just Under Two Years Later -
“Hey Google! Play ‘Hold my Hand by Lady Gaga,” George’s voice boomed across the living room.
Penelope couldn’t help but smile. Her baby boy, in the almost three years since his diagnosis had come so far. His disorder was now considered ‘Mild’ and he kept catching up to his peers. They were so beyond proud of him.
He spoke in full sentences. He talked from the moment he woke up until the minute he went to bed. He recited stories from his day. He sang, oh goodness he loved to sing. The song she had sung to him, laying together in his crib was now being belted out by his sweet voice as she watched him lovingly. He had conversations with his school friends and siblings. He could tell her what he did at school. He could ask for something he wanted or needed.
If she could go back three years and tell herself that everything would be okay...she wouldn’t actually. Because going through what they did as a family made them stronger. It made her appreciate every little thing about her children. She never got mad or annoyed when her kids would constantly call her name (okay, she sometimes still did but I mean she’s human). She found herself enjoying the ‘why’ and ‘no’ phase with George because it meant she could communicate with him. They had singing and dancing parties in the kitchen nearly every night because he loved to sing now that he could. They read stories together, with George asking questions after every sentence.
And some nights after a nightmare or just needing a cuddle, he would come into their room and ask for his ‘Mummy’ to sleep next to him in his bed. They would walk hand in hand back to his room and lay together, their hands clasped tightly together.
‘Hold my hand, everything will be okay.’