The German Midwife Novels & Stories

HE IS REBORN. "We will regret this. It is not about the question if we would. We didn't - No - You should have listened when I said we should go forward and search for her." Theresa, one of the midwives - also one of the greatest confessors that ever lived lamented.

Through gritted teeth, I managed to convey that the time had arrived, that our precious twins were ready to enter the world. Within moments, the whole household stirred in response to my distress. The air crackled with a sense of urgency as Mother Tanna, a seasoned midwife, hurriedly prepared the necessary items to accompany us on our journey to the birthing chamber. The other maids rallied around Theron, assisting him in carrying me delicately out of our room and down to the waiting car. Their synchronized efforts demonstrated their unwavering loyalty and dedication, a testament to the bond we shared.

The second Gerald walked into the mid-wife home, he immediately began asking for Serena, his eyes searching frantically for her. The women in the room restricted him from going further and kept telling him to him go back. Their noises and arguments forced the mid- wife out of the room she was in, wondering what was causing the commotion. She paused when she saw the strangers in the room. Clara saw the woman and immediately rushed to her, asking for Serena's health.

Reina and Declan were ghosts in our lives now—efficient, professional ghosts who sent detailed reports through the guys and rarely needed face-to-face meetings. Their last note had been cautiously optimistic: a possible lead on an unlicensed midwife who’d operated out of a small town about forty minutes from Millbrook in the late ’80s and early ’90s. A woman named Marlene Cross. Word-of-mouth from an elderly nurse who’d worked at one of the regional clinics. Cash-only deliveries. No questions asked. I tried not to let hope bloom too brightly. I’d been burned by almost-hopes before. Then, on a rainy Thursday evening, Kian walked into the living room with his phone in hand and that careful exp

"You are doing remarkably, my Queen. The midwife says the crowning is near." "It feels like he's trying to break through my pelvis with a warhammer," I wheezed, letting out a breathy, half-crazed laugh. Varul laughed hoarsely. “I know this isn’t the time to argue, but SHE, princess. It will be a she.” I rolled my eyes at him despite the pain, and opened my mouth to give him a clapback, but I gasped instead when a sharp pain flashed through my uterus. Tara, the head midwife, a pleasant-faced middle-aged matronly woman, bustled between my parted knees, her face grim with focus as two assistant maids (both of whom were Rita

A floorboard creaked behind the fireplace. Aria froze. Then a familiar voice whispered. “Aria?” The hidden panel behind the hearth slowly opened. The midwife stepped out. Her gray hair was loose and tangled, and her face looked pale with exhaustion. But she was alive. Aria rushed forward and wrapped her arms around her. “I thought they found you,” Aria whispered. The midwife held her tightly. “I thought the same about you.” They pulled apart slowly. “What happened?” Aria asked. The midwife sighed.

The servant stepped back and, in one command, ordered the midwives to cut through the duchess's abdomen. ‘But we can’t do that. She has to give birth natur-’ her words were cut short as a shadow appeared from the darkness and wrapped invisible hands around her neck and lifted her until she was hanging loosely in the air. The second midwife got on her knees immediately and fumbled through her apron for her birthing knife. Her hands were trembling as she tried to cut smoothly through the duchess's abdomen, but the tears that blurred her eyes wouldn’t even let her do a perfect job.

and the poisoned bond carried the cold of his horror into my chest. The woman’s face was older, scarred, and pale as burial wax, but the black eye, thin mouth, and crescent-shaped birthmark near her jaw remained unmistakable. Farkas lifted his cane with a shaking hand and pointed at her like memory had become a weapon at last. “She died in the birthing chamber,” he said, his voice breaking beneath eighteen years of buried fear. “She was Rudina’s midwife.” The dead midwife smiled at both daughters she had divided.

she whispered to the other midwives. “All babies are different, maybe she’s calmed down now.” Another responded, moving towards the Luna, my mother to check on her. “....No…she’s gone…” The elderly midwife muttered. “The Luna is dead!” “It is not possible, this cannot be.” The one holding me said, as she looked down at me. My eyes began dilating to a shade of light violet. “She’s cursed!” She screamed and tossed me out of her arms as if I was some sort of a parasite. The elder midwife caught me just in time before I fell.

I clutched our daughter in my arms, wrapped snug in a soft blanket, and I was hyperaware of every little sound she made, every subtle shift she took. The midwives followed us out, three strong women who had become almost like guardians over the last few days, checking my posture, reminding me how to hold her properly, how to lift her without straining myself, how to read her signals. Their presence was reassuring, grounding me in the knowledge that if anything went wrong, there were people who knew exactly what to do.