**For Me, Give Birth**
*”You know I can’t have children… Give birth for me, please. You know I can’t have children…”*
The first day of university began with a lecture. Emily wandered the corridors for ages before finding the right room. She barely had time to slip into a seat at the end of the front row when the professor strode in. He introduced himself and outlined the year’s coursework, stressing that exam questions would come from his lectures, not textbooks. Missing them now, he warned, would only mean scrambling for answers online later.
Then the door swung open. A strikingly glamorous girl burst in, triggering muffled giggles. The professor turned sharply.
“Here for the lecture? Your name?” he demanded.
“Grace Elizabeth Harrington,” she shot back, unruffled.
“Grace Elizabeth, I’ll let it slide this once. Next time, don’t be late. My rule is clear—no latecomers. That goes for everyone!” He scanned the room. “No recaps. Ask a classmate. Sit down.”
Grace teetered forward in her stilettos, and Emily scooted over.
“Hey. What’d I miss? Terror tactics?” Grace whispered.
“Shh! He’ll kick you out,” Emily hissed.
At break, they bonded. Grace, from Surrey, commuted daily by train; she’d miscalculated the timing. Emily, from Nottingham, lived in halls. Grace was all sparkle and wit, breezing through studies. She couldn’t fathom Emily’s textbook devotion.
“Who cares about first-class honours? Land a rich husband—that’s the real degree,” Grace declared.
“I promised my mum I’d excel. She raised me alone. Got pregnant at uni, and my dad bolted. She dropped out. I won’t let her down.”
“Suit yourself. But when do you *live*?”
“After graduation,” Emily laughed.
Despite their differences, they grew close. Emily attended every lecture, shared notes, covered for Grace’s absences. Grace danced, dated, lived large. Some called her a user.
“So? Friendship’s give-and-take,” Emily shrugged.
By fourth year, Grace fell in love and nearly flunked—until Emily salvaged her grades. Then Grace got pregnant.
“Wanted an abortion, but Steve went ballistic. We’re marrying. You’re my witness. No arguments.”
A boisterous winter wedding, a baby boy before finals—Grace scraped by on pity passes. Emily aced her degree, ready to return to Nottingham.
“With *your* marks? London’s your oyster! Steve’s dad owns a firm—he’ll hire you. Your mum can wait. Earn, gain experience. And Steve’s got a single mate… Come on, live a little!”
Emily stayed. Steve’s father hired her, and she shone. But her love life stalled.
Grace, juggling motherhood, called rarely. Then, one panicked summons:
“I’m pregnant *again*,” she groaned.
“Congratulations?” Emily ventured.
“Hardly. Just freed of nappies, now this? Steve’s obsessed with a big family—*his* dream. He’s never home. Does he even love me?”
“You’re exhausted. It’ll pass,” Emily soothed.
Another boy. More tears.
“Now he wants a girl! What if it’s another boy? I’m not a breeding machine!”
Grace’s mum helped occasionally; her mother-in-law took the eldest only on weekends. Emily, newly wed to Steve’s friend, dreamed of motherhood—but it never came. Tests revealed the crushing truth: she’d never conceive.
Her husband, rejecting adoption, soon strayed. Emily let him go. Meanwhile, Grace’s family moved to a posh Essex estate. Visiting, Emily admired the gardens, the boys’ photos—until the nursery’s blue-cloud wallpaper broke her.
“You’re lucky,” she blurted.
“Lucky? Steve’s always abroad. I’m *lonely*.” Grace sighed. “I’m pregnant again.”
“Wonderful!”
“Easy for you! I’ll be stuck, fat, unloved. I’m *aborting* it.”
“You can’t!”
“Watch me.”
A silence. Then—
“Keep it. *Give birth for me*.”
Grace recoiled. But when she mentioned visiting Emily’s mum in Nottingham, Steve agreed—”Perfect! I’m abroad till autumn.”
In Nottingham, Grace’s bump hid under loose clothes. The boys reveled in countryside freedom. Then, berry-picking, Grace’s back ached. By dawn, contractions hit. The ambulance barely made it.
A premature girl, fragile. Grace dismissed her. “What if she’s sick? Your problem now.”
Emily visited daily. The baby—*her* baby—survived. Grace returned to London, relieved. Emily resigned, moved home, devoted herself to *Sophie*. Grace never called.
**Fifteen Years Later**
Under an oak at a modest cottage, tea steamed in a pot. A woman fussed while a balding man chatted. A bright-eyed teen girl fidgeted. Grace, peering through the fence, shoved the gate open.
Emily froze. “How—? Come in. This is Grace, my uni friend.”
Grace stared at Sophie. “Mum, can I go to Lucy’s?” the girl asked.
“Go,” Emily urged.
Once alone: “*Why are you here?*”
“I want my daughter.”
“She’s *mine*. You *abandoned* her.”
Grace crumpled. “My eldest’s in Canada. My youngest died in a crash. Steve left me. I’ve got *nothing*. Let her study in London. I’ll never tell her I’m her mother.”
Emily remembered her own pleas years ago. She relented.
Grace showered Sophie with gifts, gushed about London. Sophie, wary, refused—then vanished on departure day. Emily found her in the shed.
Grace left alone. Emily confessed to her husband.
“Grace birthed her. You raised her. You’re both her mothers.”
Grace returned, persisting. Sophie finally agreed—itching for independence. Emily visited often. Grace kept her secret.
After graduation, Sophie married, had a daughter—*Amelie*. Grace, once reluctant, doted on her “grandchild.” Emily stayed for long stretches. Three grandmothers spoiled one happy child.
Amelie didn’t question her extra grandma. Not yet. But secrets never stay buried forever. Who’d tell her first?
