Fate in the Heart: Choosing Life
When the test results came in, Emily felt her heart clench with pity. Inside her grew a tiny person—perhaps a little girl, fair-haired with a mischievous smile. But fear and despair drowned out those thoughts. She boarded a crowded bus to the clinic, stepping off at her stop only to nearly stumble in the rush. Then, suddenly, something slipped from her shoulder. She gasped—the strap of her handbag had been cut. Thieves had taken everything—her money, documents, and test results.
Tears choked her, but there was nothing to be done. Emily went home, forced to retake some tests and recover others. 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 soul: “If I go a third time, I might not make it back at all.” And then, she decided—the child would live. Fear loosened its grip, and her heart felt lighter.
The pregnancy passed peacefully. The scan confirmed it—a girl. Emily already imagined naming her Sophie. But at the second scan, the doctors stunned her: they suspected the baby might have Down’s syndrome.
“We should perform an amniocentesis, a test of the amniotic fluid,” the doctor said, scribbling a referral. “But I must warn you—it carries risks. Infection, even miscarriage.”
With a heavy heart, Emily agreed.
On the day of the procedure, she and William arrived at the clinic. He lingered in the corridor, fidgeting with his keys, while Emily, legs trembling, stepped into the room. The doctor turned on the monitor to listen to the baby’s heartbeat. It raced so wildly it seemed ready to burst.
“We’ll wait,” the doctor decided. “We’ll give you magnesium to calm it.”
Emily was sent back to the corridor, clutching her hands as William tried to steady her. Half an hour later, she was called in again. The heartbeat had steadied, but the baby had turned—now facing the wrong way for the procedure.
“We’ll wait a little longer,” the doctor sighed. “Perhaps she’ll shift.”
The third attempt was perfect—the baby turned, her pulse even. The nurse swabbed Emily’s stomach with iodine. The heat was stifling, the window wide open for air. Then, just as the nurse lifted the tray of instruments, a pigeon burst into the room. Frantic, it flapped against the walls, crashing into equipment, sending the tray clattering to the floor.
Emily was ushered back into the corridor. William leapt up at the noise.
“What happened?”
“A pigeon flew in—turned everything upside down,” she murmured, her insides turning to ice.
“Em, it’s a sign,” he whispered. “Let’s go home.”
They left without looking back.
In time, Emily gave birth to a girl. They named her Sophie—pale, bright-eyed, and full of mischief. Years later, when Sophie was ten, Emily would watch her laugh and remember that day at the clinic. The pigeon, like an angel, had swept into their lives to halt a mistake. Sophie was healthy, and every giggle reminded Emily—fate had chosen for them.
Yet a shadow of fear lingered in her heart. What if she had ignored the signs? What if the pigeon had never flown in? She held Sophie tighter, letting love silence every doubt. Life was no easier, money still slipped through their fingers, but Sophie—their little miracle—was worth every hardship.
