I was on baby duty and I didn't begrudge a second of losing out on sleep. I was half expecting Jane to come sleepily into the nursery as she instinctively did any time our Austin made as little as a yawn.

There's something to be said for the selfless body clock of a mother to her newborn. She had hardly left Austin's side since he was born four weeks ago. I had dwelled on private fears when the expectancy date was approaching. Jane had bared the pregnancy well; there didn't seem to be any complications but the doctor had expressed worries to me in private when he would leave after checkups, muttering that she was such a small and slight thing. I fretted about everything. I was angry that she wasn't cared for as a child and had experienced malnourishment and deprivation and maybe that would affect the birth. I stressed deeply over how useless I thought I would be. Not only did I have the father-to-be anxieties in general, but my physical impairments would make parenthood even harder.

My amputated hand and lack of sight made me feel sickeningly inadequate. My eyes had been so probed and poked the past few years but to no outcome. I signed myself up for all the latest treatments and trials, but the blood vessels of the retina were beyond repair. Jane had to put a stop to these experiments because I wouldn't have known when to say enough is enough. I had grown used to the idea of blindness after a while, but the reality of never being able to see my own son is so painful.

I hold him now, carefully, perhaps awkwardly for fear of hurting him. I picture his large eyes as Jane has described. I fear he looks at me and is scared. Scared of this monster who he cannot help having for a father.

I rest him gently down in his cot as he's stopped crying about five minutes ago. His head is so soft that I appreciate how my other senses have intensified. He smells of talc and cotton. Absolute perfection.

I steady my good hand on the bar of his cot and pull myself up. I run my hand along to the rail. Four steps to the left then out the door. But I'm not tired, so I feel my way to the armchair near the grate. The room feels chilly and I worry little Austin will wake crying from the cold.

I can't remember the last time I lit a fire. Before I've even thought of it, Jane has deftly lit the fire and I'm reminded by the warm glow radiating around the room. I wonder if I am simply too slow to recognise these things or if she does it to save me from any horrid flashbacks. It's the subtle things that Jane does tirelessly that make acknowledge just how caring she is.

A little whimper escapes the cot and I freeze, praying Austin does not stir into a fit of hysterics. Jane needs sleep and I fear my clumsy care will distress him even more.

I'm not in luck, he's a baby after all and the crying is inescapable. I feel my way to the bar of the cot once again and gently slide my good hand beneath him and steady his head with my other wrist. I lift him easily enough, he's so delicate and pure. He is Jane's son after all. I press him to my chest and bob back and forth for a while. But he doesn't stop. I wish I could make eye contact and reassure him that he is loved and there is nothing to be afraid of. Instead, I lift his head up to mine and try my best at making happy faces and cooing noises, but what a fright that must be for him.

Where is Jane? Oh Austin, this was never the type of father I was supposed to be. I was strong, capable, skilled and commanding and now I'm so grotesque I make strangers cross the street to avoid looking at me. Please don't ever disown me when you grow to know me.

My back is aching so I navigate our way back to the armchair and cocoon us both in a thick blanket. I kiss his head gently, rhythmically, and whisper promises in his ear.

'Austin, man-to-man, I promise to love and protect you as my life depends upon it. Your grandfather was not the kindest of fathers to me and I only wished I had grown up with a male role model that taught me his wisdom, born from experience, ethics and philosophy. I wish I had felt my father's love but I could not feel something that was never shown to me. You on the other hand, will always know how much your parents adore and care for you. We must be friends you and I, I'll teach you what I can but I rather hope you'll show me the way too – the young are the future and I cannot wait to see you grow into your own person. Now hush, hush, my son, there, there's a good boy. Heaven forbid you need work yourself into a state that requires your blind old man having to change you on his own!

…

"Darling, wake up." I wake to a looming voice.

'Where am I?' I say instinctively. This question never ever changes every single time I wake up to a void of darkness. My back is stiff and I feel a migraine brewing in the back of my skull.

'Darling?' Jane asks, 'you two look so adorable! You must have slept all the night through.'

So we did. Jane gently prizes Austin from me and must return him to his cot. I jump up in one swift move and reach out for her hand, otherwise I'd fall back to sleep. She takes my hand and kisses it lovingly. She rubs her fingertips against my temples, already detecting the pain in my head probably from my squinting eye. My goodness, her awareness of others is faultless. Perhaps all those years under the harsh Lowood regime and servitude invested her with an ability to watch and understand human behaviour in a way one who has never sat on the outside looking in, can appreciate.

"Go to bed my love. Thank you for looking after Austin all night, I daresay I can't remember the last time I slept so soundly! I can't thank you enough!"

I try to protest but she practically pushes me out the door and I return to our chamber in need of a firm mattress.