Fate in the Heart: A Choice for Life
When the test results were in, Katherine felt her heart tighten with pity. Inside her grew a tiny person—perhaps a girl, fair-haired and full of mischief. But fear and despair drowned those thoughts. She boarded a crowded bus to the clinic, stepping off at her stop and nearly stumbling in the rush. Suddenly, something slipped from her shoulder. Her breath caught—the strap of her bag had been sliced. Thieves had taken everything—money, documents, test results.
Tears welled up, but there was nothing to do. Katherine returned home. Some tests had to be redone, others recovered. The second time she left the bus, she tripped and badly bruised her leg. Pain shot through her, and a superstitious dread crept in: *If I go a third time, I might not make it at all.* That’s when she decided—the child would live. Fear faded, and her heart lightened.
The pregnancy passed smoothly. The scan confirmed a girl. Katherine already pictured her name—Emily. But at the next scan, the doctors were stunned: they suspected Down syndrome.
“We need an amniocentesis, a test of the amniotic fluid,” the doctor said, scribbling a referral. “But I must warn you—it’s risky. It could cause a miscarriage or infection.”
With a heavy heart, Katherine agreed.
On the day of the procedure, she and Michael arrived at the clinic. He lingered in the hallway, fidgeting with his keys, while Katherine, legs trembling, stepped inside. The doctor turned on the monitor to listen for the baby’s heartbeat. It raced so fast it seemed ready to burst.
“Let’s wait,” the doctor decided. “We’ll give you magnesium to calm it.”
Katherine was sent back to the corridor. She sat wringing her hands as Michael tried to reassure her. Half an hour later, she was called in again. The heartbeat had steadied, but now the baby had turned, facing the wrong way—impossible to proceed.
“Another wait,” the doctor sighed. “Perhaps she’ll shift.”
The third time was perfect—the baby turned, the pulse steady. Katherine’s stomach was swabbed with antiseptic. The heat was stifling, the clinic window wide open for air. The nurse lifted a tray of instruments—and then a pigeon burst into the room. Frenzied and panicked, it flapped wildly, slamming into walls, darting past people. The nurse shrieked, the tray clattered to the floor, tools scattering everywhere.
Katherine was sent out again. Michael jumped up at the noise.
“What happened?”
“A pigeon flew in—ruined everything,” she murmured, her insides turning to ice.
“Katie… it’s a sign,” he said quietly. “Let’s go home.”
They left without looking back.
In time, Katherine gave birth to a girl. They named her Emily—pale, spirited, with shining eyes. Years later, at ten years old, Emily’s laughter filled the house. Katherine would remember that day at the clinic, how the pigeon, like an angel, had crashed into their lives to stop a mistake. Emily was healthy, and every giggle whispered: fate had chosen for them.
Yet a shadow of fear lingered. What if she hadn’t heeded the signs? What if the pigeon hadn’t come? She hugged Emily tighter, love smothering the doubt. Life wasn’t easier, money still slipped away—but Emily, their little miracle, was worth every trial.
