**A Creative Soul with a Love for the Dramatic**
“Don’t you regret it?” Max asked, his arms wrapped around Emma, who nestled against his chest.
“No. Do you?” She lifted her face to look at him, searching his eyes.
“I’m happy. You know, when you first came home with Lucy that day, I knew it was fate. Everything that happened before you—all of it led me to you. After my wife left—”
Emma pressed a finger to his lips.
“Don’t dwell on the past. Everything’s going to be alright now…”
**One Year Earlier**
Emma smoothed the festive tablecloth over the dining table, then carried in plates, forks, and two crystal glasses.
“Are you sure we made the right choice staying in? We’d have more fun at Tom’s place. We can still pop over,” James said, leaning in the kitchen doorway as she returned for more ingredients.
“I’m sure. Take these.” She handed him a platter of sliced ham and cheese, along with a bowl of salad. “We’ll see your mates tomorrow. Three years together, and we’ve never once spent New Year’s Eve just us. How you ring in the new year sets the tone for the rest of it.”
“So, you’re programming us for a whole year of hermiting together?” James smirked, arms crossed.
“It would be lovely. Shame it’s not possible,” Emma sighed.
“Alright, then. Let’s give it a go,” he relented, carrying the food to the table.
Emma fetched a bottle of champagne from the fridge along with another bowl and joined him.
“Well? Think it looks nice?” James gestured at the spread. “Can we start saying goodbye to this rubbish year? I’m starving.”
“Not yet. Give me five minutes. I need to change into my new dress and freshen up.” She headed toward the bedroom.
“New dress? Just for us?” James muttered, snagging a slice of ham.
“Because it’s a special night!” she called back.
*Bloody drama queen*, James thought irritably, grabbing another slice.
Moments later, Emma reappeared, radiant in a deep blue dress, her curls cascading over her shoulders. James gave an approving nod as she twirled on her heels, the hem flaring before settling around her legs.
“Now we can sit down and send off this dreadful year,” she said warmly, glancing at the clock.
“Blimey, we’ve gone overboard. Never finishing all this. Should we ring Rob? He’s at home with his mum,” James suggested, settling into his chair.
“Call him tomorrow. Open the champagne.” Emma’s smile was bright, her excitement palpable.
*She’s acting odd tonight*, James mused as he twisted the bottle’s cork.
“You’re different today,” he began, fumbling for the right word. “Excited?”
“Just a bit. You’ll see why soon,” Emma teased, buzzing with a secret she’d reveal at midnight. What better time?
They clinked glasses, nibbled on the food, and soon James leaned back, sated. A mindless comedy played on the telly.
“You barely touched your drink,” he noted, eyeing her still-full glass.
“Didn’t want to doze off before the countdown,” she lied smoothly.
“Gonna pop out for a smoke.” James stepped onto the balcony.
Fat snowflakes drifted down. Fairy lights twinkled in nearly every window. A few early fireworks crackled in the distance, laughter floating up from the street below.
“James? The Prime Minister’s about to speak,” Emma called through the cracked door.
He took one last drag and flicked the cigarette into the dark.
Back inside, the telly droned with the usual New Year’s address. James refilled his glass, thoughts scattered. So many wishes, none quite settling.
“You still haven’t drunk?” He frowned at her untouched glass. “How are you supposed to make a wish?”
“James… there’s something I need to tell you.” Emma straightened in her seat. “Maybe top yours up first.”
He poured obediently, waiting.
“I wanted to say… we’re not celebrating as two tonight. We’re three. We’ve got company.” Her eyes glowed.
James blinked, uncomprehending.
“Don’t you get it? I’m pregnant. We’re having a baby. Well, we already are—just a tiny one for now,” she blurted.
James drained his glass and set it down hard.
“Aren’t you happy?” she pressed, voice wavering.
“I am. Just… we said we’d wait.”
“We’ve been together three years. I’m twenty-eight. I want this,” she said, fighting tears. “What’s left to wait for? It’s happening.”
“But… you were on the pill.”
“I stopped last month. Usually, it takes time, but… here we are. Isn’t that brilliant?” Her enthusiasm faltered.
“That’s why you dodged Tom and Lisa’s party?” It clicked.
“Yes. Honestly, I thought you’d propose after this,” she admitted softly.
James exhaled sharply. “Emma—”
“Right. There’s only one thing left, then.” A tear escaped, then another. “You can still make it to Tom’s.” She bolted to the kitchen.
“Emma, I didn’t say I wasn’t happy—just surprised!” He chased after her.
She yanked the balcony door open, icy air rushing in. “This is ridiculous! You’ll catch your death out here!” He yanked her back inside.
“Why didn’t you tell me you stopped the pill?”
“Because you’d have talked me out of it! We’re just… existing. It’s not a life, James. Go on, have your fun!” She fled to the bathroom.
Outdoors, fireworks boomed. Joyful shouts filled the cold.
“Sorry I let you down. I’m not ready,” he muttered at the locked door. Water ran inside.
Returning to the table, he glared at her full glass, then downed it. *New Year, rotten mood. Why’d she do this? We were fine—just us. Ruined the whole night.* Anger simmered. *Screw it. Not sitting here all night watching her cry.* He grabbed his coat and left.
Emma heard the slam, then sobbed into her hands. Tears darkened her blue dress. She cleared the table, changed, and curled up on the sofa, hollow. A cheery concert played on the telly.
James didn’t come home that night—or the next day. When her mate Sarah finally barged in, Emma cracked.
“Men never want kids—scared of responsibility. He’ll come back. You can’t stress now. Want me to talk to him?”
“No. Just go. I won’t do anything stupid,” Emma promised.
Three days later, James returned. Apologies, excuses. Silence stretched between them. By the end of the holidays, he was glued to his phone.
“Nothing to say?” Emma finally asked.
“What do you want to hear? Fine—I’m leaving. You tricked me.”
“Then go.” She turned to the window.
“Thought you’d have calmed down by now.”
“Wanting a baby means I’ve lost it?”
“I don’t know how to talk to you.”
After he left, Emma wept for hours. That night, pain twisted her stomach. The ambulance came, but the baby was gone. She returned to work pale, gaunt, numb.
She taught piano at a music school. Lucy, one of her brightest students, had vanished in December. Assumed she was ill. By February, no word. The head confirmed—her father pulled her out.
“I need to talk to him.”
That evening, Emma trudged through icy streets to their terraced house. A tall man in his mid-thirties opened the door.
“I’m Lucy’s piano teacher. May I speak with you?” Her lips trembled from cold.
Lucy dashed over, hugging her. Her father, Max, brewed tea. Only then did he explain, voice low behind the kitchen door.
“Her mother left us. Moved abroad. Between work and Lucy… I haven’t got time for lessons anymore.”
“Let me teach her. I’ll mind her after school, help with homework too.”
“You’re serious?”
“She’s gifted. I want to help. And…” Her voice broke. “I’m alone. My partner left when I told him I was pregnant.”
Lucy returned to lessons. Emma adjusted her schedule to collect her from school, bringing snacks, supervising homework.
Sometimes Max called—held up at work. Emma would take Lucy home, play piano, read together.
Then one evening, James barged in with his old key.
“Private lessons now?”
“Yes. Why are you here?”
“I wanted to—” He eyed Lucy. “Can we talk alone?”
“She’s a child. Speak.”
“I messed up. I’m sorry. I want to fix things. We could—”
The doorbell rang. Max’sAs Max stepped inside, his protective gaze locked onto James, and in that moment, Emma finally saw the family she had been waiting for all along.
