“No. I won’t let anyone take you away.”
“May I?” A young woman peeked through the slightly open office door.
“Appointments are over for today. We only see patients by booking.”
Emily Wilson thought the girl’s face looked vaguely familiar. She had an excellent memory for faces, but she was certain this girl had never been her patient.
“I’m sorry, but your next available appointment isn’t until the end of the month,” the girl said.
“Bookings for the next two weeks open on Monday. Or you could see another doctor,” Emily offered wearily.
Her colleagues at the clinic sometimes resented how many women insisted on seeing her.
“I wanted to speak with you.”
And then Emily recognized her…
***
“Hello!” Lucy barged into the office without knocking, the scent of expensive perfume trailing behind her.
“Lucy, how many times have I told you to knock? A patient could be in the chair.”
“There’s no one in the hallway. So, you’re free,” Lucy replied with an unbothered smile. “Fancy a coffee? There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Say it here. Why do we need a café for this?”
“Because just looking at that torture chair makes my stomach twist. How can you work here?” Lucy wrinkled her nose.
“I bring children into the world. Isn’t that an important mission? Fine, I’ll change.” Emily disappeared behind the screen.
“Still couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Lucy muttered under her breath.
“That was low, throwing that in my face,” Emily called from behind the screen.
“Sorry, Em. That was stupid of me.”
“It’s fine. You’re buying the coffee and cake,” Emily said, stepping out with a smile.
The café was next door, usually frequented by clinic staff and patients. In the evenings, it attracted younger crowds, but it was still early, and the post-shift workers were already heading home. It was quiet now. The two friends took a table and ordered.
“You wanted to talk?” Emily reminded her once the waiter left.
Lucy fumbled in her bag for her phone.
“Spit it out. Are you pregnant?”
“Thankfully, no. Oliver’s daughter is enough of a handful. I never knew raising someone else’s child would be so hard. Was I this difficult?”
“Lucy, just say it. I’m tired and want to go home.”
The waiter brought their order. Lucy took a sip of coffee, then scrolled through her phone before handing it to Emily.
“Look.”
“Peter. So what?” Emily made to return the phone.
“Look closer. Who’s next to him?” Lucy narrowed her eyes, as she always did when nervous.
“Some girl. And?”
“Keep swiping.”
Emily did. The next photo showed Peter helping the girl into her coat, his arm around her. Then… they were kissing.
“Recognize the place?” Lucy’s voice held no triumph, only regret.
Emily’s eyes darkened as she looked up.
“Why did you show me this?”
“So you’d know. Forewarned is forearmed. Peter’s cheating. I found out by accident—Oliver’s friend had a birthday dinner at that restaurant. I went to the loo and saw him. At first, I thought you were with him. Then *she* showed up. He didn’t even see me. You should’ve seen how he looked at her.”
Emily stood abruptly.
“Em, I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have shown you. But you had to know,” Lucy said, jumping up. “Where are you going?”
Emily waved her off and walked out. On the street, she took a shuddering breath, her heart hammering so hard she could hear it in her temples. She walked blindly, the last photo burned into her mind.
They’d been married fifteen years. In all that time, she’d never gotten pregnant. At first, Peter had been patient, comforting. Then they stopped talking about it. She saw the way his eyes lit up playing with their friends’ children.
She’d known this day would come. What had she expected? He wanted a family. She couldn’t give him one. But she still wasn’t ready.
By the time she got home, she’d calmed slightly. Peter wasn’t back yet. She sat in front of the telly, staring blankly. She didn’t even hear him come in.
“You’re home already?” he asked, stepping into the room.
“Obviously. It’s nearly nine. Why so late?” Her voice was tight.
“Work ran over—” He loosened his tie, fingers fumbling with his top button.
“With *her*?” Emily held out her phone.
Peter glanced at the screen. His hand stilled.
“Were you following me?” He yanked at his collar, and a button clattered to the floor.
“No. Lucy saw you at the restaurant by chance and sent me these.”
“It’s Photoshopped. Look at her—she’s young enough to be my daughter. Lucy’s really outdone herself.”
Emily didn’t miss the panic in his voice.
“So now you’ll claim *she* seduced you? Be a man and admit it. You want kids, and this girl can give them to you. Or has she already?” Emily’s voice broke. “Don’t torture us both. Just go to her.”
Peter stepped closer.
“I’m sorry. I thought you’d scream. Throw things. But you’re just—”
“Leave. Before I prove you right.”
He left. Emily pulled a half-finished bottle of whiskey from the cupboard, poured a hefty measure into a mug, and drank. The burn made her cough. She chased it with water, then drank again.
The next morning, she woke with a pounding head. She considered calling in sick but decided work might distract her.
Two days later, Peter returned.
“I thought it’d be better to collect my things while you’re here. No sneaking around.”
“Fine. Take them. Where are you living with her?” She surprised herself with how calm she sounded.
“We’ve rented a flat.”
“If it’s serious, we can sell this place. It’s too big for me.”
“I’ll think about it.”
They spoke as if nothing had happened.
“You look tired,” Emily noted.
“Last night, I drove home on autopilot. Only realized when I reached our street—” His hand flew to his chest as he staggered to the sofa, face contorted in pain.
“What’s wrong? Your heart?” Emily grabbed the phone. The line was busy.
She rushed to the kitchen, dumped the first-aid kit on the counter, found the pills, and forced one into his mouth. Redialed.
“Forty-two-year-old male, possible heart attack—please hurry! Hang on, Peter, breathe—”
He died in the ambulance. Massive infarction.
At the funeral, Emily spotted the girl. She stood apart, wearing dark sunglasses.
“This is your fault!” Emily shouted. “Leave him alone, even now!”
Lucy gripped her arm.
“Quiet, people are staring. Don’t make a scene.”
Emily looked back—the girl was gone.
“It’s time,” a cemetery worker said.
“Emily, you need to toss soil into the grave,” Lucy whispered.
“I can’t.”
“Fine, I will.” Lucy bent, letting a handful of earth fall. The mourners followed suit, a rain of soil hitting the coffin.
“That’s it. I’m alone now,” Emily said as they walked away.
“It’s my fault. I never should’ve shown you those photos.”
“Don’t be absurd. He would’ve left anyway.” Emily’s eyes were dry.
At the wake, Emily stayed ten minutes before leaving.
“I’ll walk you,” Lucy said, catching her at the door.
“No, stay. I need to say goodbye properly. They say the departed linger at first. I’ll be fine.”
Two days later, she returned to work. Life crept back to normal. She told herself Peter had left for his new love—not died. It hurt less. The anger faded.
***
“Why are you here? What do you want?” Emily demanded.
“I know I’m the last person you want to see.”
“You’re right. I wish you’d never entered our lives.” Emily moved to the window.
“I’m sorry. Peter said you were an excellent doctor,” the girl said, voice trembling.
“Peter?” Emily whipped around. “So *that’s* why you came. Here for an abortion? Thought a baby would tie him to you, but he died, so now you don’t want it?”
“That’s not true!” The girl’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m too far along. I can’t raise her alone. My dad drinks, my mum… She’d never accept me unwed. I’m still in uni. Peter paid my rent, but now I can’t—”
“You want money?” Emily scoffed.
A pause. Then Emily sat.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
“At your age, you should knowEmily closed her eyes for a moment, then reached for her chequebook, whispering, *”I won’t let anyone take you away—not this time.”*
