Two weeks ago, I reached my due date. I was so ready to be done with pregnancy. I was hot, uncomfortable, exhausted, and barely sleeping – but I was on maternity leave, enjoying the quiet before our world changed. It felt like such a special time.

On Sunday, 15th February at 10:30pm, I walked into our bedroom and told my partner I thought my waters had broken – or at least I was pretty sure they had. I was frantically Googling to check if I was right. I called the birth suite, and they advised me to monitor contractions, get some rest, and come in the next morning. I remember thinking, this is it. It’s happening. In true “me” fashion, I ran to the bathroom and put on fake tan. I had to look good for birth.

The next morning at the hospital, the midwives placed me on the CTG monitor. Hearing her strong, steady heartbeat was the most beautiful sound in the world. After an examination, though, there was no indication that my waters had broken and no real sign that labour was beginning. I felt embarrassed – like l’d gotten excited for nothing and wasted everyone’s time.

After speaking with the midwife and getting approval from the doctor, we made a plan to induce on Wednesday when I would be 41 weeks. I was completely on board. I was more than ready to meet our girl. My partner planned to work that morning and wait for my call. Everything suddenly felt very real.

The following day I went out for some last-minute shopping. I must have packed and repacked our three hospital bags fifteen times. That evening, we had dinner together and talked about the next day. On the surface, it felt like any other night, but I think deep down we were both nervous.

At one point, I tried to feel her move and realised I couldn’t remember her last kick. I told myself she was just sleeping. I went to bed and still felt nothing, but again, I convinced myself she was resting. I fell asleep quickly, then woke at 2:30am with a feeling I can’t describe – something wasn’t right. I went to the bathroom and looked at my belly. It looked different, lower, softer. I stared at myself in the mirror and began to cry. Somehow, I think I already knew.

I walked around, hoping she would move. Nothing. I kept looking at my phone, debating whether to call the birth suite. At 3:30am, I finally did. They told me to come in. I woke my partner, we packed the car, and left. He was in such a good mood for 4am – he had no idea what was unfolding. I, on the other hand, felt numb. Deep down, I was terrified something was wrong.

At the hospital, they took me straight into a room. A doctor began a scan. It lasted about seven minutes, but it felt endless. I searched the screen for the tiny flicker of her heartbeat. I couldn’t see it. I stared at the ceiling, silently begging. Then the doctor looked at me and said the words no parent should ever hear: “I’m so sorry.”

I broke down. My partner didn’t understand at first and asked what was happening. I told him there was no heartbeat. He collapsed into tears. It felt as though our entire world shattered in that instant. Another scan confirmed it. We were taken to a room where the reality slowly sank in. My partner called my parents. I was admitted and asked how I wanted to deliver her. I chose a C-section. I couldn’t bear the thought of delivering her vaginally. I just wanted her out, as quickly as possible. I was told I would need to wait at least 12-18 months before trying again, but in that moment, none of that mattered. I simply couldn’t face the physical and emotional pain of labour.

Because I needed to fast, surgery was scheduled for late afternoon. It was the longest day of my life – sitting in that hospital room, trying to comprehend what had happened, while my precious baby girl was still inside me. It didn’t feel real. She was due to be born that very day. How could something so cruel happen?

Shyla Claire Scott was delivered at 5:23pm on Wednesday, 18th February. She was absolute perfection. We were blessed with five days in hospital with her – five days I will treasure forever.

She was so beautiful. I never knew a love like that existed. I was completely, overwhelmingly in love with her.

Since coming home, the grief has been heavy. I cry every day. She was perfectly healthy on the Monday. None of it makes sense, and maybe it never will. The coming months will be painful as we wait for answers.

But this much I know: Shyla will always be our first daughter. She will always be part of our family.

We will never stop saying her name. She is ours — forever. will forever honour her memory.

Thank you to Georgia, mother to Shyla, for sharing her beloved daughters story.