**Fate in the Heart: A Choice for Life**
When the test results came back, Catherine felt her heart tighten with pity. Inside her grew a tiny person—perhaps a girl, fair-haired, with a mischievous smile. But fear and despair drowned those thoughts. She boarded a crowded bus to the clinic. At her stop, she nearly stumbled in the rush of people. Then something slid from her shoulder—she gasped. The strap of her bag had been cut. Thieves had taken everything: money, documents, the test results.
Tears choked her, but there was nothing to do. Catherine returned home. Some tests had to be redone, others retrieved. 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 heart: *”If I go a third time, I might not make it at all.”* That’s when she decided—the child would live. Fear ebbed, and her heart grew lighter.
The pregnancy was smooth. The scan confirmed it—a girl. Catherine already pictured her name: Maisie. But at the next appointment, the doctors stunned her: they suspected Down’s syndrome.
*”We’ll need an amniocentesis,”* the doctor said, scribbling a referral. *”But be warned—it’s risky. Could trigger a miscarriage or infection.”*
With a heavy heart, Catherine agreed.
On the day of the procedure, she arrived at the clinic with Michael. He waited in the corridor, fidgeting with his keys. Catherine’s legs trembled as she stepped inside. The doctor hooked up the monitor to listen to the baby’s heartbeat—it raced so fast it seemed ready to burst.
*”We’ll wait,”* the doctor decided. *”Let’s give her magnesium to calm her.”*
Catherine was sent back to the corridor. She sat with clenched hands while Michael tried to reassure her. Half an hour later, they called her again. The heartbeat had steadied, but now the baby had turned away—the position was wrong for the test.
*”We’ll wait longer,”* the doctor sighed. *”Maybe she’ll shift.”*
On the third attempt, all was perfect—the baby had moved, the heartbeat was steady. Catherine’s stomach was sterilised with iodine. The heat was stifling; the window stood wide open for air. The nurse lifted the tray of instruments—and suddenly, a pigeon shot into the room. The bird, frantic with fear, flapped wildly, battering against walls, swooping at them. The nurse shrieked; the tray clattered to the floor, tools scattering everywhere.
Catherine was sent out again. Michael, hearing the commotion, sprang up:
*”What’s happened?”*
*”A pigeon flew in—wrecked everything,”* she replied, a coldness seeping through her.
*”Cath, it’s a sign,”* he murmured. *”Let’s go home.”*
They left without looking back.
In time, Catherine gave birth to a girl. They named her Maisie—pale, bright-eyed, full of mischief. Years later, at ten years old, her laughter filled the house. Catherine would remember that day at the clinic—how the pigeon, like an angel, had stormed in to halt a mistake. Maisie was healthy, and every giggle whispered: *Fate chose for them.*
Yet a shadow of fear lingered. What if she’d ignored the signs? If the pigeon hadn’t come? She held Maisie tighter, love smothering doubt. Life hadn’t grown easier—money still slipped through their fingers—but Maisie, their little miracle, was worth every trial.
**Lesson learned: Sometimes the loudest warnings come on wings.**
