**I Won’t Give Her Up**
“May I?” A young woman peered through the half-open door of the office.
“Appointments are over for the day. We only see patients by prior booking.”
Marina Sellers frowned slightly—the girl’s face struck her as familiar, though she couldn’t place it. She never forgot a face, yet she was certain this girl had never been her patient before.
“I’m sorry, but there are no slots with you until the end of the month,” the girl said. “They’ll open bookings for the next fortnight on Monday. Or you could see another doctor,” Marina offered wearily.
Her colleagues often resented her—so many women insisted on seeing her specifically.
“I wanted to speak with you.”
And then, Marina recognized her.
***
“Hello!” Ingrid burst into the office without knocking, the scent of expensive perfume trailing behind her.
“Ingrid, how many times must I tell you to knock? There could have been a patient in the chair.”
“There’s no one in the hallway. So, you’re free.” Ingrid smiled, unruffled. “Fancy a coffee? I’ve something to tell you.”
“Say it here. Why must we go to a café?”
“Because that dentist’s chair makes my stomach twist. How can you work here?” Ingrid wrinkled her nose.
“I help bring children into the world. Isn’t that mission enough? Fine, I’ll change.” Marina disappeared behind the screen.
“Yet you couldn’t help yourself,” Ingrid murmured.
“That was a low blow,” Marina snapped from behind the divider.
“Sorry, love. I put my foot in it.”
“Never mind. You’re buying the coffee and cake.” Marina reappeared, forcing a smile.
The café next door catered mostly to clinic staff and patients. Young people flocked there in the evenings, but at this hour, it was quiet. They settled at a free table and ordered.
“Well? What did you want to say?” Marina prompted once the waiter left.
Ingrid fished for her phone in her handbag.
“Out with it,” Marina pressed. “Are you pregnant?”
“God, no. Oleg’s daughter is trouble enough. Who knew raising someone else’s child would be this hard? She’s impossible. Was I like that?”
“Ingrid, I’m tired. Just say it.”
The waiter arrived with their order. After sipping her coffee, Ingrid scrolled through her phone, then handed it to Marina.
“Look.”
“George. So?” Marina made to return it.
“Look closer. Who’s beside him?” Ingrid narrowed her eyes, a telltale sign of nerves.
“A girl. And?”
“Keep swiping.”
Marina obliged. The next photo showed George helping the girl into her coat, his arm around her. Then—they were kissing.
“Recognize the place?” Ingrid’s voice held no triumph, only regret.
Marina met her friend’s gaze, her own eyes clouded with hurt.
“Why show me this?”
“So you’d know. Forewarned is forearmed. George is cheating. I found out by chance—Oleg’s mate was celebrating his birthday at that restaurant. I stepped out and saw him. At first, I thought you were nearby. Then that girl approached him. He didn’t even notice me. You should’ve seen how he looked at her.”
Marina stood abruptly.
“Marina, I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have—” Ingrid rose too. “Where are you going?”
Marina waved her off and strode out. Outside, she took a shuddering breath, her pulse hammering. She walked blindly, the last photo burned into her mind.
They’d been married fifteen years. In all that time, she’d never conceived. George had comforted her at first, but gradually, they stopped speaking of it. She’d seen the longing in his eyes when he played with their friends’ children.
She’d known this day would come. He wanted children; she couldn’t give them. Yet betrayal still blindsided her.
By the time she reached home, she’d calmed slightly. George wasn’t back yet. She sat before the telly, staring blankly, not even hearing him return.
“You’re home already?” he asked, entering the room.
“Obviously. It’s nearly nine. Why so late?” Her voice was tight.
“Work ran over—” George loosened his tie, fingers fumbling at his collar.
“With *her*?” Marina thrust the phone at him.
He glanced at the screen. His hand froze.
“Were you spying on me?” His voice rose as a button popped free.
“No. Ingrid saw you at the restaurant and sent these.”
“It’s photoshopped. Look—she’s young enough to be my daughter! Ingrid’s playing games.”
Marina caught the panic in his eyes.
“Don’t tell me she seduced you. Be a man—admit it. You want children, and she can give them to you. Or has she already?” Despair laced her words. “Don’t torture us both. She must be jealous. Go to her.”
George stepped closer.
“Forgive me. I thought you’d shout, throw things. But you—”
“Leave. Before I do just that.”
He left. Marina fetched a half-finished bottle of brandy, poured a generous measure into a teacup, and downed it. The liquor burned, her stomach revolting. She coughed, gulped water, then drank again. The numbness helped.
Morning brought a pounding headache. She considered calling in sick but decided work might distract her.
Two days later, George returned.
“I thought it best to collect my things while you’re here. No sneaking about.”
“Fine. Take them. Where are you living?” Her calm surprised even herself.
“We’ve rented a flat.”
“If it’s serious, perhaps we should sell this place. It’s too big for me alone.”
“I’ll think on it.”
They spoke evenly, as if nothing had changed.
“You look pale. Tired,” Marina noted.
“Yesterday, I drove home on autopilot—turned onto our street before realizing…” George clutched his chest, sinking onto the sofa, face contorted in pain.
“What’s wrong? Your heart?” Marina grabbed the phone—engaged.
She dashed to the kitchen, rummaged through the medicine cabinet, found a Valium, and forced it into his mouth. Redialled.
“Forty-three-year-old male, heart attack—hurry! Hang on, the ambulance is coming. George, breathe—”
He died en route. Massive infarction.
At the graveside, Marina spotted a girl lingering at a distance, dark glasses shielding her eyes.
“This is your fault!” Marina shouted. “Leave him in peace!”
Ingrid gripped her arm.
“Hush. People are staring. Not here.”
Marina scanned the crowd—the girl had vanished.
“Time,” a cemetery worker murmured.
“You must throw earth into the grave,” Ingrid whispered.
“I can’t.”
“Then I will.” Ingrid bent, letting a handful of soil fall. The mourners followed suit, earth drumming on the coffin lid.
“And that’s it. I’m completely alone now,” Marina said as they left.
“Forgive me. This is my fault—I shouldn’t have shown you those photos.”
“Don’t be foolish. He’d have left regardless. No one’s to blame.” Marina’s eyes stayed dry.
The wake passed in a blur. After ten minutes, Marina thanked the guests and slipped out.
“I’ll walk you home,” Ingrid offered.
“No. Stay. I need to say goodbye properly. They say the departed linger near us at first. I’ll be fine.”
Two days later, she returned to work. Routine soothed her. She told herself George had left for his lover—not died. The lie helped. The anger faded.
***
“Why are you here? What do you want?” Marina demanded.
“I know you’d rather not see me.”
“I’d prefer you’d never entered our lives.” Marina moved to the window.
“Forgive me. George said you were an excellent doctor.” The girl’s voice wavered.
“George?” Marina turned sharply. “So that’s it. You want an abortion? Thought a baby would bind him to you, but he died. Now it’s inconvenient?”
“No! It’s too late for that. I can’t raise it alone. My father drinks, my mother… She’d never accept me unmarried. I’m still studying. George paid my rent—now I’ve no money.” The words tumbled out in a rush.
“You came for money?” Marina smirked.
Silence. Then she sat again.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Careless at your age. You know about contraception.”
“I do. But George wanted the baby. Promised to help. Said you—”
“How much do you need?”
“Ninety pounds for three months. The landlady won’t allow a child—I’d*”Very well,” Marina said softly, handing her the money, knowing in her heart that this child—George’s child—would somehow knit the broken pieces of her life back together.*
