The First Day
“For me, have this child. You know I can’t have children…”
The first day of university began with a lecture. Ellen had wandered the corridors for ages before finding the right hall. She barely settled into the last seat of the front row when the professor strode in. He introduced himself and outlined the year’s coursework, sternly advising attendance—exam questions would come from lectures, not textbooks. Missing now meant frantic online searches later.
Then, the door swung open. A radiant girl sauntered in, drawing giggles from the room. The professor spun toward her.
“Here for the lecture? Your name?” he demanded.
“Gwendolyn Nichola Evans,” she chirped, unfazed.
“Very well, Gwendolyn Nichola. This time, I’ll overlook it. Next, you’re barred. That applies to everyone.” He turned back to the hushed class. “I won’t repeat myself. Ask a peer later. Sit.”
Clicking her stilettos softly, she slid into the seat beside Ellen.
“Blimey, what’d I miss? Was he scary?” Gwendolyn whispered.
“Shh! He’ll toss you out,” Ellen hissed.
Over break, they became fast friends. Gwen commuted from Surrey daily, miscalculating her first day. Ellen, from Sheffield, lived in dorms. Gwen was all sparkle and wit, breezing through studies while Ellen buried herself in books.
“What’s the difference between a first and a second? Marry well—that’s the real prize,” Gwen teased.
Ellen had made her single mother a promise. “Mum got pregnant, dropped out. My father vanished. She raised me alone. I won’t break her heart like he did.”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “You’ll shrivel up over those books. When do you *live*?”
“After graduation,” Ellen laughed.
Despite their differences, they were inseparable. Ellen attended every lecture, covering for Gwen’s absences. Gwen danced, dated, lived lavishly.
“Your ‘friend’ uses you,” others warned.
Ellen shrugged. “Friendship’s never selfless. Someone always leans.”
Fourth year, Gwen fell in love and nearly flunked—until Ellen intervened. Then, Gwen got pregnant.
“Wanted an abortion, but Sebastian found out. We’re marrying. You’re my witness—no arguments.”
They wed in a whirlwind New Year’s celebration. Gwen gave birth to a boy before final exams, scraping through on pity grades. Ellen aced her degree, ready to return to Sheffield.
“You’re *mad*! With your marks, London’s doors are open! Besides, how will I cope without you?” Gwen insisted. “Seb’s dad owns a firm—he’ll hire you.”
Ellen hesitated. “Mum’s waiting—”
“She’ll be thrilled! Earn, gain experience. After London, you’ll be snapped up anywhere. And Seb’s got that unmarried mate—remember? You *promised* to live after uni.”
Ellen stayed.
Life unfurled. Gwen juggled motherhood; Ellen climbed the corporate ladder. Their calls were frequent, visits rare. Then, Gwen phoned, voice hollow.
Ellen rushed over.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m pregnant.”
Ellen exhaled. “Christ, I thought it was serious! Congrats!”
“Congrats? I just got free of nappies! Back-to-back maternity leaves!”
“Why not prevent it?”
“I *tried*. Pills—Seb found them, went berserk. He wants a brood, a big house. But *my* say? Ha! Let men birth *one* child, see how they like it!” Gwen ranted. “Lena, does he have someone? You’d seen anything?”
“Don’t be daft. Seb adores you.”
Gwen had another boy. And another tantrum. “Now he wants a girl! What if it’s *another* boy? I’m not a factory!”
Meanwhile, Ellen’s marriage—to Seb’s friend—crumbled when infertility struck. Doctors confirmed she’d never conceive. Her husband left for another.
Gwen, meanwhile, moved to a posh Surrey estate. Ellen visited, gazing at the sky-blue nursery, photos of Gwen’s sons. Tears welled—she’d never cradle her own.
“You’re lucky, Gwen.”
“Lucky? Seb’s never home. Sweden, business trips—I’m just his broodmare.” She sighed. “I’m pregnant again. Abortion this time.”
Ellen stiffened. “Seb doesn’t know?”
“No, and he won’t.”
A pause. Then, Ellen’s plea: “Have it. For *me*. I’ll take the baby.”
Gwen recoiled. “You’re *insane*!”
But when Seb endorsed a summer in Yorkshire with Ellen, Gwen agreed.
At Ellen’s mum’s, Gwen’s belly swelled unnoticed beneath her curves. The countryside soothed the boys. Then, a berry-picking trip triggered early labor. A frail girl arrived.
“She’s yours,” Gwen said coldly. “If she lives.”
She did. Ellen named her Claire.
Fifteen years later, under an oak in a modest garden, Ellen served tea. Claire, now fifteen, fidgeted. Through the fence, Gwen watched hungrily before barging in.
Ellen’s pulse spiked. “How—? Come, sit. This is Gwen, my uni mate.”
Claire frowned. “Mum, I’m off to Lucy’s.”
Once alone, Ellen hissed, “Why are you here?”
“I want my daughter.”
“You’ve *none*. She’s *mine*.”
“I’ve no one left,” Gwen wept. “My eldest moved to Sweden. The younger died in a crash. Seb left me. Let her study in London. I’ll never tell her I’m her mother.”
Ellen remembered her own desperate pleas.
Claire refused at first, but London’s lure won.
Years later, married with a daughter, Agnes, Claire remained—her origins a quiet truth between three grandmothers who doted on one child. Agnes, yet unknowing, would one day ask the question. But for now, love—complicated, sprawling—was enough.
