Fate in the Heart: The Choice for Life
When the test results came in, Lily felt her heart clench with pity. Inside her grew a tiny person—perhaps a girl, fair-haired, with a mischievous grin. But fear and despair drowned those thoughts. She boarded the crowded bus to the clinic. As she stepped off at her stop, she nearly toppled in the rush. Then something slipped from her shoulder. She gasped—the strap of her handbag had been cut. Thieves had taken everything—her money, documents, even the test results.
Tears choked her, but there was nothing to do. Lily trudged home. Some tests had to be redone, others painstakingly recovered. The second time she left the bus, she tripped and bruised her leg badly. Pain shot through her, and a superstitious dread stirred in her chest: “Third time’s the charm—or I might not make it at all.” That’s when she decided: the baby would stay. The fear ebbed, and her heart felt lighter.
The pregnancy was smooth. The scan confirmed it—a girl. Lily already imagined naming her Poppy. But at the next ultrasound, the doctors stunned her: they suspected Down syndrome.
“You’ll need an amniocentesis,” the doctor said, scribbling a referral. “But be warned—it’s risky. Could cause a miscarriage or infection.”
With a heavy heart, Lily agreed.
On the day of the procedure, she and James arrived at the clinic. He lingered in the hallway, fidgeting with his keys. Lily’s legs trembled as she stepped into the room. The doctor switched on the monitor to check 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 things down.”
Lily was sent back to the corridor. She sat clutching her hands while James cracked awkward jokes to cheer her up. Half an hour later, they called her in again. The heartbeat had steadied, but the baby had turned—back facing out, making the procedure impossible.
“Another wait,” the doctor sighed. “Maybe she’ll shift.”
The third try was perfect: the baby turned, the heartbeat steady. Lily’s stomach was swabbed with antiseptic. The heat was stifling, the clinic window thrown open for air. The nurse lifted the tray of instruments—and suddenly, a pigeon burst into the room. The bird, frantic with panic, flapped wildly, crashing into walls and people. The nurse shrieked, the tray clattered to the floor, tools scattering everywhere.
Lily was sent out again. James jumped up at the noise.
“What happened?”
“A pigeon flew in, wrecked everything,” she murmured, a chill spreading through her.
“Lil… that’s a sign,” he said quietly. “Let’s go home.”
They left without looking back.
On her due date, Lily gave birth to a girl. They named her Poppy—pale, cheeky, with sparkling eyes. Ten years on, watching her daughter’s grin, Lily remembered that day at the clinic. The pigeon, like some feathery guardian angel, had crashed into their lives to stop a mistake. Poppy was healthy, and every giggle reminded Lily: fate had chosen for them.
But a shadow of fear lingered. What if she’d ignored the signs? What if the pigeon hadn’t flown in? She hugged Poppy tighter, feeling love smother every doubt. Life wasn’t easier—money still vanished like coins down a drain—but Poppy, their little miracle, was worth every sleepless night.
