**No Regrets**
They sat on the riverbank, watching ducks snatch pieces of bread midair, tossed by children. Exams were over—two months of freedom ahead, no lectures, no tiresome assignments.
“What’s your plan?” he asked, eyes fixed on the silvery ripple of water.
“Sleep, read, walk…” she recited smoothly, as if rehearsed. “You? Going home?” Her voice faltered, her gaze clouding with worry.
“Nah. Always dreamed of the sea. Never been. Schoolmates came back tan, bragging about shells, dolphins. My parents could never afford it. Then Mum died, and it just… wasn’t a priority.”
“We used to go to Cornwall every summer when Dad was around,” she murmured, staring past the river as if seeing it. “Wait—have you got the money now?”
“Not yet. But I could borrow.”
“From who? Half our lot are already home, the other half blew their leftover grants celebrating. And you’d need to pay it back.” Emily gave his sharp profile a disapproving look.
“Just enough for tickets and food. It’s warm there—sleep under the stars if we have to. I’ll work it off later.”
“You’re joking. Off-season, maybe, but summer? A patch of sand’ll cost a fortune. And how’d that fable end, again?” she chided.
“You’re such a buzzkill. If I find the cash, will you come?” Louis turned, catching her hesitant gaze.
“Doubt it. Mum would never let me.”
A duck flapped its wings, scattering the others. They watched as it glided away, triumphant with its catch.
“Hold on.” Louis pulled out his phone. “Tom? Yeah, passed… Doesn’t matter. Listen, lend us three hundred quid. Really? That’s it? Fine. Tonight? Cheers.” He pocketed the phone. “Sorted. Coming?”
“You’re serious? Train tickets’ve been sold out for ages.”
“We’ll hitch, take buses. Or just admit you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared,” Emily shot back. “It’s Mum. She’d never—”
“Have you lost your mind? With a boy? To the coast? Do you know what people’ll say?” Her mother’s voice was sharp, her head shaking for emphasis.
“Mum, I’m an adult. Don’t make me sneak out.” Emily’s voice trembled.
“After everything I’ve done—and for *him*?”
“I love him,” she whispered, the words slipping out like a confession.
“You’ve your whole life ahead. Finish uni, marry—*then* go.”
Emily sniffled.
“Fine. But if anything happens, you call. Promise?”
“Promise.” She hugged her tightly. “We leave tomorrow.”
“*Tomorrow?!* I thought you’d at least introduce us—”
“He’ll come by. He’s decent.” She hurried to her room.
Her mother paced the kitchen, dishes clattering like her thoughts. *If her father were here…* But holding her back by force? Maybe she was overreacting.
At dawn, a knock. Emily was brushing her teeth. Her mother opened the door to a lanky boy with a rucksack.
“Hi. I’m Louis.” His smile was easy.
Stunned, she barely registered his words before Emily dragged him inside. Minutes later, they were leaving, his shoulder weighed down by her bag.
“Don’t worry, I’ll call.” Emily kissed her cheek.
“Breakfast?”
“Could we take sandwiches?” Louis asked.
Her mother shoved a bag of food at them, watching them go. *Hard not to like him.*
“Where now?” Emily asked outside. “Mum liked you.”
“Good. To the station.”
Two days of hitchhiking, sweltering on roadside benches—but when the sea appeared, they forgot the ache, sprinting toward the waves, kicking off shoes, laughter ringing over the shore.
Days were saltwater and sunburn; nights were sprawled on cool sand, the sky dizzy with stars. Their rented room was a closet, but they barely used it.
By week two, the magic frayed. Constant proximity grated—petty squabbles, restless silence. But at the station, parting, it melted away. Louis was heading north to his dad’s. Emily clung to him, sobbing.
“It’ll fly by. I’ll call daily,” he promised.
She whispered she couldn’t live without him.
“Em, I can’t crash at yours or afford a place. Just hang on.”
At home, she trailed fingers over familiar furniture, dumped laundry in the machine, soaked in the bath. Sipping tea in her robe, life felt soft again.
“Emily! You’re *brown*!” Her mother scanned her for hidden ruin. “You look… older.”
“Just tired. It was good.” The lie tasted bitter.
That night, her mother lay awake. *She’s home safe. But her eyes…*
Louis called, clipped and busy. Work was swallowing him.
He returned gaunt, three days late for term.
“You came,” Emily blurted after lectures.
“Had to finish the weeks I promised.” He handed her a velvet box.
Her breath caught—but inside were stud earrings, sea-blue stones. Not a ring.
“You hate them?”
“No! Just… unexpected.” She kissed his chin. “I’ve news too. I’m pregnant.”
His face blanked. “You were on the pill, right?”
“Yes! I don’t know how—”
“Em, we can’t. I swore to my mum I’d finish med school. We’ve no money, no space…”
Her head dropped.
“Hey. We’d just resent each other. Wait till we’ve graduated, yeah?”
She nodded, hollow. *He didn’t even flinch.*
That night, she told her mother, craving the comfort he’d withheld. They cried, and her mother vowed to “fix it.” Sleepless, she wondered: *If I’d said no to the trip…*
After, something between them curdled. Louis mistook her distance for fading love.
“We *agreed* to wait,” she’d say.
“You act like you can’t stand me.”
She never had an answer.
—
**Years Later**
Dr. Emily Carter finished her rounds, signing discharge papers.
“Emily, that motorbike crash victim’s father is here,” said the nurse.
In the ward, a man sat by the bed.
“Hello, I’m—” Her voice died.
*Louis.* Greyer, wearier, but still Louis.
“Emily?” He stood.
“Your son?” The surname hadn’t clicked—*Carter* was common.
“Will he…?”
“Fractures are clean. Youth’s on his side.” She stressed *your son*. His jaw twitched. “If that’s all—”
He caught her in the hall.
“You’re a trauma surgeon? I heard the stories. Knew he’d be safe with you.”
Her hands shook. No surgeries today—small mercies. In the café, he talked fast.
“I quit medicine. Own a small firm. You never married?”
“Your son’s eighteen? So right after uni, you—”
“Don’t,” he cut in.
“You were with his mother while we were together. A baby didn’t derail *her* degree?” She swallowed tears. “Sleepless nights, hating each other… Sound familiar?”
“Em, I thought about you. That summer—”
“No.” She stood. “You’ve your business, your heir. I’ve my work. No regrets.”
His hand caught hers. “Maybe we—”
She pulled free.
At home, she crumpled.
“Love, what’s wrong?” Her mother sat beside her.
“*Louis.* His son’s in my ward. He’s got a *grown child*. I’ll never— Why didn’t you stop me that day?!”
“Emily… Do you still love him?”
“I thought I’d moved on. But seeing him… Mum, it *hurts*. I’d have kept him, even if we’d fought. Even if—”
Her mother left, guilt heavy in her steps.
Emily stared at the ceiling. *Would it have been worse?* The sea, the stars—she dreamed of them still. Maybe it was better this way. No slow rot of love into habit. Just a clean break, two people frozen in memory, young and unbroken.
No regrets.
She wiped her face. “Mum… Fancy a trip to the coast? It’s been years.”
