Martin had just got home from work, it was half past five, he hung his black coat on the rack and walked over to the door on the left to the kitchen. The kitchen was relatively large; that is if you counted the sitting room area connected to it. The walls were a light green-grey colour with oak furniture and deeper grey leather sofas with a red tribal rug that Martin had bought in Dubai several years ago. Leaning on one of the walls and looking out the window was Emily who seemed to be in a pressured argument on the phone. Martin watched her defend her case as he set his bag down on the table and proceeded to look for Martha. He walked back out of the room and went to Martha's bedroom to see her lying in her bed in tears.
"Hey, Martha." He greeted, his brows lowering as he noticed her crying, she was only three at the time. He climbed into bed beside her, kicking off his shoes as he let her hug him. "What's the matter?" He asked her.
"I have to move school." She said, sniffing.
"Well everyone has to move school, you're going to big school in September." He told her,
"B-but I have to move tomorrow." She cried, and he stroked her back as Emily walked into the room.
"Martin, can I speak to you?" She asked, standing at the threshold.
"Why does Martha have to move school?" He questioned, still holding his daughter gently as she cried into his chest.
"Martin, please I need to speak to you outside." Emily pushed.
"I'm not leaving her like this." He replied, looking over, "tell me what's going on."
"Martha came home from school crying and she told me she had to move school.. I just got off the phone with the principle. She's dyslexic and autistic, apparently. And they aren't equipped to teach her, they want her to go to a special school."
"Excuse me- what?" He quizzed, horrified as he sat up and continued to stroke Martha's back.
"She doesn't speak, Martin. Apparently when they try to get her to speak she just loses concentration, and she gets scared of everything." Said Emily, climbing into the other side of Martha's single bed. She lay on her side and placed one hand around her daughter who lay on Martin's stomach.
"She doesn't.. speak? At all?" Asked Martin, looking down at Martha.
"Apparently she doesn't even respond to her name in the register." Said Emily, stroking Martha's hair with her polished red fingernails.
"B-but that makes no sense, she speaks to us so much." He said.
"She doesn't eat in school either." Emily added.
Martin's mouth dropped slightly, "Martha? Martha, tell me about school." He said, stroking her red cheeks, she shook her head.
"No? Come on, sweetheart, don't be scared. Do you have any friends?" He asked her. She looked down before nodding her head.
"Yes? What's their name?" He questioned her,
"Ellie." Said Martha quietly.
"And what's Ellie like?" Emily Added,
Martha shrugged her shoulders, "she's nice." She said, more tears falling down her cheeks.
"Okay, that's good. That's really good, Martha." Complimented Martin, wiping her tears with a tissue from the side of the bed.
"Do you know why you don't speak in school?" Asked Martin, but Martha shook her head.
"Are you scared?" Emily Suggested, which was evidently true by Martha bursting into tears and nodding. Martin embraced her closely,
"You're gonna stay in that school, Okay? Daddy's gonna speak to your teachers. It'll be alright." He promised, much to Emily's surprise.
"Will you?" Emma asked him,
"I'll do anything as long as she's happy." Martin Replied, holding Martha tight as Emily joined the hug, touched by what Martin had said, she kissed his cheek before kissing Martha, making him blush and smile a little.

Martin woke up in the van in a considerable amount of pain. He had fallen asleep on one of the rows of seats, it was four o'clock in the morning, the sun was beginning to rise. As quietly as he could, Martin limped into the passenger seat and lifted up his t-shirt, seeing the blood that had accumulated. He closed his eyes in frustration and opened the glove compartment, collecting the first aid kit before opening the passenger door and climbing outside, closing it behind him. He walked onto the sand and fell to his knees in pain. Panting, he undid the blood-saturated bandage from his waist and watched the wound open and gush with blood. Martin lay down on his back in absolute agony, his mouth wide open before a huge wave of nausea hit him and he threw up into the sea, his eyes blotched with tears from the wind and pain.
He struggled to reach for a new bandage but groaned in the agonising pain before he fell flat on his back.
Jemma woke up after hearing him outside. She looked around, noticing that everyone was asleep except Martin who was nowhere to be found. She glanced out the window to see him on the sand with his arms over his eyes and his t-shirt drenched in blood.
Immediately she ran out to Martin, "what happened?!" She gasped,
"Go back inside.." he mumbled, covering his face.
"If I go back inside you're gonna die. I'm gonna call for help, okay?" She reassured.
"If you call for help I will make sure that the university you want to go to never receives your application." He threatened.
"You know you're a fucking twat when you're desperate, you have three kids on the way." Muttered Jemma, rummaging through the first aid kit. "Take off your shirt."
"You can see the cut anyway." Complained Martin,
"Do as I fucking say or I'm gonna leave you here to die on your own!" She warned him with wide and threatening eyes.
Martin did as she asked, his breathing unsteady. He shrieked as more blood spilled from the wound and cried as he brought his hands to his face again.
Jemma took his top from him and used it to soak up the blood from the wound.
"I'm gonna need to stitch this, okay?" Said Jemma, threading the needle before holding Martin's arm.
"Okay... s-sorry.." he replied before pressing one hand to his mouth and biting down on his knuckles every time the needle punctured through his skin.
"Stop.. stop Jemma stop.." he eventually moaned, an abundance of tears collecting on his cheeks.
"I'm nearly done." She told him, "you're doing amazing."
"I c-can't do this.." he breathed, his vision fading.
"You're not the one who's covered in your teacher's blood. Come on. I believe in you, Mr McCafferson. Keep going." Encouraged Jemma, taking his shaking hand.
"I can't.." he cried, his eyes packed with tears.
"Do it for Martha." She said, stroking his wrist lightly as his face became straight. She proceeded to finish off the stitches.
"There." She concluded, "I'll get you a clean t-shirt and some water."
"Can I have some paracetamol please?" He breathed, wiping the sweat and tears from his face.
"Of course." She Replied, "I'll only be a minute."
"Thank you." He told her, closing his eyes with fatigue."
Martin was sick again after she left, but was able to wash his face with the sea water, and the blood from his fresh stitches.
When Jemma returned she dried his torso with a towel before letting Martin lean on her while she wrapped a bandage around his waist.
"You're gonna make an awesome doctor." He told her, putting on the navy t-shirt she had brought him and swallowing two tablets whole.
Jemma kneeled down beside him, still in shock with what she had just done. She burst into tears and leant her head on his shoulder while he exhaled with relief and hugged her meaningfully.
"Im sorry for being such a dick.. you shouldn't have had to see me like that.. you're amazing, you're really amazing and you've probably just saved my life." He said, kissing her cheek as they split apart. Jemma sniffed before she stood up, "You need to go to hospital first thing when we get home and get those stitches checked out and fixed. If those come loose again you're definitely gonna die." She told him.
"I will." He said, nodding as she helped him onto his feet again.
"take some water," She Suggested, "you lost a lot of blood."
Martin did as she asked and opened the door to the van, falling into a deep sleep in one of the seats again.