“Never Let You Go”
“May I?” A young woman peeked through the slightly open office door.
“Appointments are over for today. We only see patients by prior arrangement.”
Marina Wilkins thought the girl’s face looked vaguely familiar. She had a good memory for faces, but she was certain this patient had never booked an appointment with her before.
“Sorry, but your next available slot isn’t until the end of the month,” the girl said.
“Monday, they’ll open bookings for the next fortnight. Or see another doctor,” Marina replied wearily.
Her colleagues at the clinic often resented how many women specifically requested her.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
And then, Marina recognised her…
***
“Hi there!” Ingrid breezed into the office without knocking, trailing the scent of expensive perfume.
“Ingrid, how many times must I tell you to knock? A patient could’ve been here.”
“Nobody’s in the corridor. So, you’re free,” Ingrid smiled unabashedly. “Fancy a coffee? There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Say it here. Why must we go to a café?”
“Because just looking at that torture chair makes my stomach churn. How do you even work here?” Ingrid wrinkled her nose.
“I bring children into the world, Ingrid. Doesn’t that count for something? Fine, let me change.” Marina disappeared behind the partition.
“Yet you couldn’t help yourself,” Ingrid muttered under her breath.
“That was low, even for you,” Marina called out from behind the screen.
“Sorry, Marina. That was thoughtless.”
“Forgiven. But you’re buying the coffee and cake.” Marina emerged, smiling.
The café next door was a haunt for clinic staff and patients. In the evenings, younger crowds gathered, but it was still early, and colleagues on late shifts hurried home. The place was quiet. The two friends took a table and ordered.
“You wanted to talk?” Marina prompted as the waiter left.
Ingrid rummaged in her handbag for her phone.
“Spit it out, Ingrid. Are you pregnant?”
“God, no. Oli’s daughter is enough. Raising someone else’s child is harder than I thought. She’s a terror. Was I that bad?”
“Ingrid, just say it. I’m tired.”
The waiter brought their order. Ingrid took a sip of her coffee, then scrolled through her phone before silently passing it to Marina.
“Look.”
“James. So what?” Marina moved to hand it back.
“Look closer. Who’s next to him?” Ingrid narrowed her eyes, a sure sign of agitation.
“Some girl. What’s your point?”
“Keep scrolling,” Ingrid urged.
Marina swiped. The next photo showed James draping a coat over the girl’s shoulders. Then… them kissing.
“Recognise the place?” Ingrid’s voice held no triumph, just regret.
Marina’s eyes darkened as she looked up.
“Why show me this?”
“So you’d know. Forewarned is forearmed. James is cheating. I found out by chance—Oli’s friend had a birthday dinner there. I stepped out and saw him. At first, I thought you were nearby, but then she appeared. 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— Where are you going?”
Marina silenced her with a gesture and walked out. On the street, she took a shuddering breath, heart hammering. The last photo burned in her mind.
Fifteen years of marriage. No children. At first, James had been patient, but gradually, they stopped talking about it. She’d seen the longing in his eyes when he played with friends’ kids.
She’d known this might happen. He wanted a family; she couldn’t give him one. Yet betrayal still cut like a knife.
By the time she reached home, she’d steadied herself. James wasn’t back yet. She sat blankly before the TV, barely registering his return.
“You’re home?” he asked, entering the living room.
“Obviously. It’s nearly nine. Why are you so late?” Her voice was tight.
“Work ran over—” He loosened his tie, fumbling with his collar.
“With her?” Marina thrust her phone at him.
James glanced at the screen. His hand froze.
“You had me followed?” His voice was harsh.
“No. Ingrid saw you by chance and sent these.”
“It’s photoshopped. Look at her—she’s young enough to be our daughter. Ingrid’s really outdone herself.”
Marina didn’t miss his agitation.
“Just admit it. You want children. She can give you that. Or has she already?” Desperation crept into her voice. “Don’t torture us both. Go to her.”
James stepped closer.
“Forgive me. I thought you’d scream, throw things. But you’re just…”
“Leave. Or I might start smashing dishes.”
He left. Marina grabbed a half-finished bottle of brandy, poured a generous measure into a mug, and drank. The burn in her throat was a welcome distraction.
By morning, her head throbbed. She considered calling in sick but decided work might stop her thoughts from spiralling.
Two days later, James returned.
“I thought it’d be better to collect my things with you here. No sneaking around.”
“Fine. Where are you staying?” Her calmness surprised even her.
“Renting a flat.”
“If it’s serious, why not sell this place? It’s too big for me alone,” she offered.
“I’ll think about it.”
They spoke evenly, as if discussing the weather.
“You look pale. Tired,” she noted.
“Last night, I drove here out of habit. Only realised at the door—” James clutched his chest, collapsing onto the sofa. His face twisted in pain.
“What’s wrong? Your heart?” Marina grabbed the phone. Busy.
She dashed to the kitchen, yanked open the medicine drawer, and shoved a pill into his mouth. Redialled.
“Forty-three-year-old male, heart attack! Hurry!”
He died en route to the hospital. Massive infarction.
At the funeral, Marina spotted the girl—standing apart in sunglasses.
“This is your fault!” Marina spat. “Leave him in peace!”
Ingrid squeezed her arm.
“Quiet. People are staring.”
Marina searched the crowd, but the girl had vanished.
“It’s done,” the cemetery worker murmured.
“You need to throw earth into the grave,” Ingrid whispered.
“I can’t.”
Ingrid did it for her. The mourners followed suit.
“That’s it. I’m alone now,” Marina said as they left.
“This is my fault. I shouldn’t have shown you those photos,” Ingrid confessed.
“Don’t blame yourself. He’d have left either way. No one’s at fault.”
At the wake, Marina stayed briefly before slipping away.
“Let me walk you home,” Ingrid offered.
“No. Stay. I need to be alone.”
***
Two days later, Marina returned to work. Slowly, life resumed. She told herself James had left, not died. It eased the pain. The anger faded.
Then, the girl appeared at her clinic.
“Why are you here?” Marina’s voice was icy.
“I know you don’t want to see me.”
“I’d prefer you’d never existed.”
“James… he said you were a brilliant doctor.” The girl’s voice wavered.
“James?” Marina turned sharply. “Is that why you’re here? An abortion? You thought a baby would bind him to you—but now he’s dead, so it’s inconvenient?”
“That’s not true!” The girl burst into tears. “It’s too late for an abortion. I can’t raise a child alone. My father’s a drunk; my mother said she’d disown me. I’m still in uni. James paid my rent. Now I’ve got nothing.”
“So you’re here for money?” Marina scoffed.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
“You should’ve known better at your age.”
“I did. But James wanted the baby. He promised to help. Said you… couldn’t—”
“How much do you need?”
“£1,000 for three months. My landlady won’t allow a child. Just until the birth.”
Marina exhaled. “Six months? Doesn’t show. Boy or girl?”
“A girl. James wanted to name her Margaret, after his mum.”
“Fine. I’ll give you the money. But see another doctor—Dr. Eleanor Hart. You need proper care.”
“Thank you.”
***
Ingrid stormed into Marina’s flat.
“You’re actually giving her money? She’s scamming you!”
Marina had made her choice. The girl didn’t seem like a fraud—just desperate.
“She’s from someWith little Margaret curled trustingly in her arms, Marina finally understood that love could heal even the deepest wounds, and no heart was truly broken beyond repair.
