The door creaked open slightly, and a young woman peeked in.
“Can I come in?”
“Appointments are over for the day. We only see patients by prior arrangement.”
Marina recognized the girl’s face, though she couldn’t quite place her. She never forgot a patient’s face—but this one had never been hers before.
“I’m sorry, but there are no slots with you until the end of the month,” the girl said.
“Monday opens bookings for the next two weeks. Or you could see another doctor,” Marina suggested wearily.
The other doctors in the clinic resented how many women insisted on seeing her.
“I wanted to speak to you.”
And then it hit her.
***
“Hello!” Ingrid swept into the office without knocking, the scent of expensive perfume trailing behind her.
“Ingrid, how many times have I told you to knock? There could’ve been a patient in here.”
“There was no one in the hallway. So, you’re free,” her friend replied with an infuriating smile. “Fancy a coffee? There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Say it here. Why does it need to be a café?”
“Because that dentist’s chair gives me the creeps. How can you stand working here?” Ingrid wrinkled her nose.
“Just so you know, I bring children into the world. That’s not a bad mission, is it? Fine, I’ll change.” Marina vanished behind the screen.
“Too bad you couldn’t do the same for yourself,” Ingrid muttered under her breath.
“That was cruel,” Marina snapped from behind the divider.
“Sorry. Stupid thing to say.”
“Forget it. You’re buying me a coffee and a slice of cake.” Marina emerged, forcing a smile.
The café was next door, usually filled with clinic staff and patients. At this hour, it was quiet. They took a corner table and ordered.
“You had something to tell me,” Marina prompted as the waiter walked away.
Ingrid fumbled in her bag for her phone.
“Come on, out with it,” Marina urged. “Are you pregnant?”
“God, no. Oleg’s daughter is enough of a handful. I never realised raising someone else’s child would be this hard. She’s impossible. Was I that awful?”
“Ingrid, don’t stall. I’m exhausted.”
The waiter returned with their order. Ingrid took a sip of coffee, then began scrolling through her phone before silently handing it over.
“Look.”
“James. What about him?” Marina tried to hand it back.
“Look closer. Who’s that next to him?” Ingrid’s eyes narrowed, the way they always did when she was tense.
“Some girl. So what?”
“Keep swiping,” Ingrid pressed.
Marina flicked to the next photo. James was helping the girl into her coat, his arms lingering. The next image was worse—them kissing.
“Recognise the place?” Ingrid’s voice held no triumph, only quiet pity.
Marina’s eyes darkened with hurt as she looked up.
“Why show me this?”
“Because you needed to know. Forewarned is forearmed. James is cheating on you. I found out by accident—Oleg’s mate was celebrating his birthday at that restaurant. I stepped out to the loo and saw him. He didn’t notice me. Wouldn’t have noticed if the roof caved in. You should’ve seen the way he looked at her.”
Marina pushed back from the table.
“Marina, I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you—” Ingrid scrambled up after her. “Where are you going?”
A sharp gesture silenced her. Marina walked out, gulping cold air as she strode away from the café. Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out everything else. The image from Ingrid’s phone burned behind her eyelids—James, arms wrapped around another woman.
Fifteen years of marriage. Fifteen years of trying to conceive. At first, he’d reassured her, but over time, they stopped talking about it. She’d seen the longing in his eyes as he played with their friends’ children.
She knew this would happen eventually. What had she expected? He wanted a child, and she couldn’t give him one. But none of that softened the blow.
By the time she reached their London flat, her anger had dulled to numbness. James wasn’t home yet. She sat in front of the telly, staring blankly, barely registering the sound of the front door.
“You’re back 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, undoing the top button of his shirt.
“With her?” Marina held up her phone, the damning image displayed.
James glanced at the screen. His hand froze mid-motion.
“Were you following me?” He yanked at his collar—a button popped off and skittered across the floor.
“No. Ingrid spotted you at the restaurant. Sent me these.”
“It’s photoshopped. Look at her—she’s young enough to be my daughter. Your mate Ingrid’s really outdone herself.”
Marina didn’t miss the panic in his eyes.
“Tell me she seduced you. Go on, be a man and admit it. You want kids, and she can give them to you. Has she already?” Desperation laced Marina’s voice. “Don’t torture me or her. If she’s jealous, just go to her.”
James moved closer.
“Forgive me. I thought you’d scream, throw things… but you’re just—”
“Get out, or I’ll start smashing crockery like you predicted.”
He left. Marina pulled a half-empty bottle of whisky from the cupboard, poured a generous measure into a mug, and drank. The alcohol seared her throat. She coughed, swigged water, then downed another.
By morning, her head pounded. She contemplated calling in sick but decided work would distract her.
Two days later, James returned.
“I thought it’d be better to collect my things with you here. No sneaking around.”
“Fine. Take what you need. Where are you living with her?” She was surprised by how steady her voice sounded.
“We’ve rented a flat.”
“If it’s serious, we could sell this place and split it. I don’t need all this space.”
“I’ll think about it.”
They spoke calmly, as if nothing had changed.
“You look pale,” Marina observed.
“Yesterday, I drove home on autopilot and turned onto our street. Only realised when I pulled up outside…” James clutched his chest, collapsing onto the sofa. His face twisted in pain.
“What’s wrong? Your heart?” Marina snatched the phone and dialled 999. Busy.
She sprinted to the kitchen, dumped the medicine cabinet contents onto the counter, found the nitroglycerin, and forced a tablet into his mouth. Redialled.
“Forty-three-year-old male, suspected heart attack… Please, hurry!”
He died in the ambulance. Massive coronary.
At the funeral, Marina spotted the girl. She lingered at the back, hidden behind dark glasses.
“This is your fault!” Marina shouted across the gravesite. “Leave him alone!”
Ingrid grabbed her arm.
“Quiet,” she hissed. “People are staring.”
Marina searched the crowd, but the girl had vanished.
“Time to go,” a graveyard worker murmured.
“Marina, you need to throw earth onto the coffin,” Ingrid urged.
“I can’t.”
“Fine, I’ll do it.” Ingrid bent, scooping up a handful of soil. The other mourners followed suit, dirt drumming against the wood like rain.
“That’s it. I’m alone now,” Marina said as they walked away.
“Forgive me. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have shown you those photos.”
“Don’t be daft. He’d have left anyway. No one’s to blame.” Her eyes stayed dry.
The wake was held at a nearby pub. After ten minutes, Marina thanked everyone and slipped out.
“Let me walk you home,” Ingrid called after her.
“No, stay. I need to be alone. To say goodbye properly.”
She returned to work two days later, pretending James had left her, not died. It hurt less that way.
***
“Why are you here?” Marina demanded when the girl stepped into her office.
“I know you’d rather not see me.”
“I’d rather you’d never existed.” Marina turned to the window.
“James said you were the best doctor…” The girl’s voice trembled.
“James?” Marina spun around. “So that’s it. You want an abortion? Thought you could trap him with a baby, but now he’s dead. It’s inconvenient, isn’t it?”
“That’s not—” The girl choked back tears. “I’m too far along. I can’t raise it alone. My dad’s a drunk, and my mum…She looked down at the baby in her arms, and for the first time in years, Marina felt the hollowness inside her begin to fill.
