Pip's story began with the opening of a fortune cookie. It read: "A new love will appear in your life when you least expect it". After opening it we found out Lucy was pregnant with our second child, giving Pip the nickname of 'Cookie'. 

We were overwhelmed with happiness at the thought of our growing family. At our routine 20-week scan we discovered Cookie was a girl, a little sister for our darling two-year-old Maisie.

Telling Maisie about her new baby sister was a joy. She often talked with pride about her being 'in Mummy's tummy', 'sleeping and growing' and how she would be 'gentle' when her baby sister arrived home. She would kiss and stroke Lucy's bump before bed while 'There's a House Inside Mummy's Tummy' and 'Spot's Baby Sister' quickly made it onto her list of favourite books.

Choosing the perfect name for a new baby always feels like a big responsibility, but we knew early on that we wanted to remember Pip's paternal great-grandmother Nana, who sometimes went by the name 'Philippa' and other times 'Phyllis', but most commonly 'Phil'. Remembering loved ones through names is very important to us, which is why Maisie's full name - Maisie Susan Ella - holds memories of several important women in our family on both sides. We decided on 'Philippa' also to remember Pip's maternal great-grandfather 'Pops' who was Philip, and also Pip's maternal grandfather, Michael Philip. When we were later told our daughter appeared to be small, we thought 'Pip' as an abbreviation to Philippa was just perfect. Our little Pip.

Pip's journey in the womb wasn't straightforward. Lucy had a threatened miscarriage early on which resulted in her being signed off work to rest for a number of weeks and unable to do physical tasks over the coming months. This meant day-to-day activities with Maisie, such as park trips and bath and bed time, were left to Tim and this was a worrying and challenging time for both of us.

After our 20 week scan came concerns about the position of the placenta and Pip's weight and legs, which were apparently short, and we were put under consultant care. Eventually we were told it was likely that Pip would just be of a smaller stature. There was a chance though that she could carry a certain gene which caused a growth deficiency - something that Lucy (who is only 4ft 8 tall) also likely carried. While this caused us to worry, we tried to think positive and make light of the idea that Pip would probably just be little like her Mummy and fondly joked that she would be our little Pip Squeak.

Fortunately, the position of the placenta corrected itself and just when things were looking up came a diagnosis of gestational diabetes at 29 weeks. Lucy was required to follow a controlled diet and take her bloods four times a day. A fear of needles on Lucy's part and difficulties with getting blood out made this quite distressing for both of us.

What kept us going through the rollercoaster of the pregnancy was the happiness Pip brought to us even from the womb. From very early on, Pip was extremely active. It wasn't long before we could see her rolling around and poking her limbs out. She was so responsive to touch and our voices with each sonographer commenting on how lively she was. Many also remarked this was a sign of a well baby. Lucy's favourite time of the day was just before bed, where she would massage her belly and watch as Pip responded with wriggles and rolls. Sometimes Lucy would affectionately stroke her tummy for close to an hour. She will forever treasure the memories of those quiet times shared with Pip. They brought comfort and solace at some of Lucy's hardest times throughout the pregnancy.

As Pip's due date of August 19th got closer, we began to get everything in place so that our home would be ready for her arrival. This even involved an in-progress loft conversion which would give us an extra bedroom so that Maisie could have ours and Pip her sister’s old room. So that Maisie was settled before the arrival of her baby sister, we swapped rooms early - meaning we moved into the nursery as the building work progressed. It felt wonderfully exciting each day to wake up to the Moses basket ready and waiting, the cot that she would eventually move into and all her little toys. Her tiny clothes had been washed and were hanging in the wardrobe. The drawers were full of newborn nappies and toiletries. Meanwhile the freezer was stocked with home-cooked meals, and the kitchen cupboards with bottles. The baby seat was already in the car and the carry cot on the pram. All that was needed now was Pip.

On Sunday July 11th Lucy was 34 weeks and 3 days. We all went to the beach, Maisie with her bucket, to pick some pebbles to paint in memory of Lucy's dad and Maisie's grandfather Michael, who died following a cancer diagnosis seven years ago on July 12th. It was a sunny day and outside in the garden Maisie happily painted the pebbles blue - the colour of Grandad's football team Chelsea. We planned to put the pebbles next to a conifer that Michael had planted once Maisie got home from nursery the next day to mark the anniversary. We always expected that day to be a sad one. But we never expected it to be so tragically sad for another most unthinkable reason. 

Usually Pip would say good morning by kicking, pushing and prodding. On this day though Lucy was in a rush to get out of bed to take her bloods and get Maisie ready for nursery so she didn't wait for this welcome before getting up. But it wasn't long before she noticed she hadn't felt Pip move yet. As she sat down to do Maisie's hair, she put her hands on her belly to encourage Pip to respond - just how she always would. "What are you doing?", Maisie asked. "Mummy's just feeling baby sister because she's not moving", Lucy said. "Why?" Maisie asked - as toddlers do. "She's probably sleeping," Lucy replied - hoping with all of her heart that was the reason. "Wake up baby sister!" Maisie shouted. But Pip didn't respond. Lucy told herself that she was probably just anxious, with it being a difficult day and she would feel Pip any minute. As she walked home from the nursery drop off, she kept stopping as she kept thinking she might have felt something. But while she could feel Pip's body beneath her bump, something felt different. She felt a knobbly knee or elbow and touched it, but Pip still didn't move and it felt as if she was floating. Lucy knew then something wasn't right and told Tim she was calling the hospital.

The time spent in the hospital waiting room was agonising, all the time Pip remaining still. Finally we were taken into a little room where a midwife checked for Pip's heartbeat. Lucy's motherly instinct knew something was wrong, but she still prayed for the familiar sound of the heart beating - even if it was weak and she needed to be induced straight away. But the midwife couldn't find it after looking for what felt like a lifetime. She assured us our baby was probably just in an awkward position and she would move us into another room where Lucy could be scanned by a doctor. When the doctor remained straight-faced and speechless as he glided the scanning probe across Lucy's tummy, we both knew now with certainty that something was very, very wrong. We had been to enough scans where you are immediately reassured they can see baby's heartbeat, but this time a painful silence hung in the air. When he finally turned to us, it was clear just from the look in his eyes that we had lost our baby. "I'm so sorry", he said. The words you never want to hear. "I can't find a heartbeat". In those short seconds, everything changed. The future we thought we had was ripped from us in that instant. First came denial, where all Lucy could cry was 'no' - over and over. It was like if 'no' was said out loud enough, it could be reversed. Then 'no', became 'why' - to which there were no answers. In a complete state of shock and despair we were told what would happen next. After taking lots of blood samples from Lucy and giving her a tablet to begin the labour process, we were sent home for two days before we would go back into hospital for Lucy to deliver Pip. 

Those two days were the longest of our lives. From the outside everything looked fine - Lucy still showing her near eight-month bump. But the reality was the opposite. Tim quickly began to move Pip's things out of sight, even the scan picture that sat alongside our other family photographs on the fridge, as they were too painful to look at. While this eased some of the pain, it was so heartbreaking to undo what we had prepared. How could it be that Pip would never wear the clothes so lovingly washed for her or sit in the car seat so carefully placed next to her big sister's? For Lucy, the most painful thing of all was the silence in her belly. As she lay down to weep in what would have been Pip's room, the absence of her movements was agonising and she had never felt so heavy yet so empty at the same time. Lucy's dad had said the day he died, 'today's the day'. Why oh why was it the day for Pip too? We tried to find comfort in the idea that perhaps the day was chosen so they could be together, and we hope and pray Pip's Grandad is holding her in his arms.

As we prepared to return to the hospital, our brains kept tricking us into somehow believing we were simply going for an early induction and that all was well. When reality hit, it felt cold and harsh. We were met by Lucy's midwife Tina and there was some comfort in seeing a friendly face, despite the tears in her eyes, and knowing that Pip was surrounded by people who had been there from the beginning of her journey. We were taken to a private self-contained room, with its own kitchen, bathroom, bed and sofa. It was at the entrance of the delivery suite, as far away as possible from the sound of any babies or elated parents. While we waited for labour to begin we talked to a number of people, including a bereavement counsellor and the hospital chaplain, about Pip and what our wishes were for her after she was born. Having these conversations over a cup of tea with the physical touch of a hand was cathartic. Suddenly the concept of social distancing following the pandemic felt a world away. Hearing people call her by name for the first time also felt comforting as we had up until that point kept it to ourselves. Now, the sound of 'Pip' spoken out loud wrapped around us like a hug. We felt it was important for Pip's name to be formally recognised before her death was registered and so the chaplaincy carried out a service of prayer and naming for us. 

A different midwife, Juliette, took over from Tina that evening to see us through the delivery. Lucy was terrified and couldn't stop irrational thoughts that she herself was going to die. After losing her father, the idea of life being unpredictable and fragile was so apparent, and losing Pip brought these fears to the surface. That, and knowing at the end of the labour we wouldn't hear those first newborn cries, meant the experience was extremely traumatic and we're not sure now how Lucy found the strength. We had brought to the hospital a framed photograph of us with Maisie on holiday and we both focussed on that throughout - knowing that in times of darkness, Maisie would be a great source of light now and in the future. Juliette was also an incredible support and together, the four of us, managed to get through it and Pip was born at 10.35pm on July 14th.  

The moment a new life is brought into the world is a very special one. The moment Pip was born, and a lost life was brought into the world, it felt even more precious because we knew our time with her would be so short. For a situation which felt so wrong in many ways, felt so natural in others when we took Pip into our arms and held her close. The first thing we noticed was her hair - it was hard not to! Her little head was covered in it. It was thick and straight in a shade of deep brown, along with defined dark eyebrows, just like her Daddy's. We studied her face and it was as if we were looking at an angel. Everything was perfect. She had the most dainty features - a button nose, tiny ears, rosy pink lips and delicate eyes tightly shut. We held onto her hand and noticed her long and elegant fingers. We opened the blanket that she was wrapped in, which we had brought from home, to see her body. It looked strong. After all, she was a healthy weight at 4lbs 13 - not underweight like we had been told. Her legs, which we had been warned so many times would be short, were perfectly in proportion. We uncurled them and ran our fingers across them with love before tenderly stroking the soles of her soft feet. What was so cruel, yet so beautiful, was that it seemed as if our darling Pip was simply asleep and at any given moment her little tummy would rise as she took a breath. What should have been one of the happiest moments of our life, was the most painful. Yet it was also one we will treasure forever. We breathed in Pip's scent and planted kisses on her head. 

Once we were too tired to continue memorising her face, we all got into bed as a family together - Pip placed between the two of us. When this felt overwhelming, Juliette was there to hold us, touch our hand or stroke our hair which calmed us. We have since somehow managed to laugh about the fact that she was almost in the bed with us at times! Her support helped us to create a lasting and even happy memory. With Pip beside us, it felt like she was finally safe. We will always hold onto that feeling and pray that Pip felt the love which surrounded her. 

Despite the gravity of what had happened the night before, the sun still rose the next morning. It was the day we had to say goodbye - after just 12 short, but very special, hours with our daughter. The midwives dressed Pip in a sleepsuit and vest that we had brought for her. Incredibly, as we had prepared for a small baby and had bought 'tiny baby' clothes, it fit her perfectly. We smiled to each other at the irony that after all the worrying about her size, they would have been far too small if she had arrived at 40 weeks! We had some final cuddles and then placed her back into her Moses basket, wrapped in her blanket that had once been her big sister's. Alongside her were two little teddies: one would stay with Pip and the other we would one day give to Maisie. When we were ready to leave, we held onto each others hands tightly, knowing this would change us forever. "Bye, Pip" we both said. "We love you." We would next see Pip for the last time at her funeral. 

Coming home without Pip was nothing short of devastating. A feeling of emptiness surrounded us both and the question we kept asking ourselves was 'why?'. Explaining what had happened to Maisie was also utterly heartbreaking and we know she will ask about her baby sister in the near and also distant future. There has so far been nothing to explain what caused Pip's death. We have requested a full post-morterm and various tests to be carried out in the hope we will find some answers. We also hope this could assist research and prevent future neonatal and stillbirth deaths. Until then, Pip's passing will feel painfully confusing. For Lucy, having carried, nurtured and loved Pip for almost eight months, the absence of her feels overbearing. This is especially the case in these early days, with cruel physical reminders as her body recovers from labour. Lucy cannot lay down or sleep without cuddling a bunny we had bought Pip. It just feels too unnatural not to have something to hold now that Pip is gone.

We may never be able to hold Pip again, but we will forever hold her close in our memories. They say some people have long stories, like Pip's Great Nana Philippa who lived until she was 90; others have short stories, like Pip who wouldn't even see the world outside the womb. But the length of a life doesn't make either less or more meaningful. Pip may have come into this world silently, never getting the chance to walk this Earth, but she will leave imprints on our hearts forever.

Rest in peace our Angel - lost to this world on 12 July and born 14 July 2021.

By sharing Pip's story, we hope to raise funds for our two chosen charities (click Home to do this):

Sands - to support anyone affected by the death of a baby; improve the care bereaved parents receive from health care and other professionals; and reduce the number of babies who do die by funding research.

Home-Start - Pip's father Tim is a trustee of the charity Home-Start, a local community network of trained volunteers and expert support helping families with young children through challenging times.